Wheat

Danny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing over at Maria from the driver’s seat of the cop car as they pulled up to the red light.  “You don’t think that guy was, you know…?” 

“No,” she said firmly. Maria shook her head, even as her heart thudded in her chest. “No. There’s no way.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Maria nodded, even though Danny had looked away. She gnawed on her bottom lip, pushing down the surge of butterflies that rose in her stomach. She still couldn’t believe where she was: on her way to a case. Her very first case. 

It had all happened so fast:

It was Saturday night. Maria’s friends were out. The new recruit, Michael, who had been following Maria like a dog these past couple of months, had been on his six recount of how he learned to “shift dimensions” during his trip to Mexico, and Maria had thought her brain was gonna pop. 

She had been bored; beyond bored, sitting around like that, when the call came in. At that point, she would’ve taken on just about anything to fill the time. So checking out a break-in of a famous bakery? 

Interesting enough. 

Especially after she’d heard the story, (or more accurately, theory), of what had happened.

Danny parked at the curb, just managing to turn off the car before Maria had her seatbelt off and the door open. Maria stepped out from the cop car with a sense of authority, realizing she actually did have authority, and the slam of her passengers' side door was quickly followed by Danny’s. 

He came next to Maria, letting out a low whistle as they looked up together at the building. “Kinda freaky without all the obnoxious lights, ain’t it?”

Maria nodded. She had to agree;  Taft’s Terrific Tasties (with the best baked goods from here to Timbuktu!) wasn’t looking too hot. The popular bakery, usually aglow twenty-four-seven with its flashy advertising, was washed in shadow. It made the smiles of the cupcake-cartoons stuck across the windows creepy in the way that only clowns, and the fixed faces of dolls, were. 

Maria smiled at the sight, rushing up to the door. She had to admit, she was excited. And yes, Beth, her unofficial police-partner and very official best friend, was going to absolutely kill Maria for taking the case without her, but what was she supposed to have done? It was still only her first year on the job, but it wasn’t every day that a man came stumbling into the station claiming not only theft but the calculated sabotage of his arch-enemy. 

No, that was not every day. Maria would have to find a way to make Beth forgive her, but that was for a later time.

Maria used her elbow to nudge open the translucent door of Taft’s Terrific Tasties, taking care not to contaminate the handle with fingerprints. Danny followed close behind, kicking the door shut with his foot. It was pitch black inside, and neither Maria nor Danny bothered with trying the light switch. Danny pulled out a flashlight, and Maria clicked on one of her own, using it as a guide around the main dining area. 

The majority of the cramped space was filled by small circular tables, all made of that same plastic crap they used for seating in food courts at the mall. The glorious baked-goods display was full and fully intact, sporting various sizes and colors of cakes and desserts, most of which had labels in languages Maria didn’t speak. She went to examine the back counter, but it didn’t take much inspection to conclude that everything was untouched; extra to-go boxes were stacked neatly on the counter, and the cup of pens was undisturbed, along with a tray of cookies. She shined her flashlight on the register, but not even that had evidence of being mangled with. 

That puzzled her. What kind of robber broke in and didn’t even attempt to steal money? 

Maria manipulated her flashlight to the back wall, which had even more baked-delights, but knew before she searched the whole thing that she wouldn’t find anything missing. Besides the lack of electricity, nothing seemed out of place; just as the owner, Taft Dillard, had claimed when he ran into the station:

“Bastard cut the power. Took out the lights with it, but, ya see, what he really wanted off was them cameras. Can’t be caught without the cameras, you know. And I betcha he made good that those filthy fingerprints of his didn’t touch nothing. It’s sabotage, I tell ya! Filthy sabotage!”

Sabotage. 

That was what the old, crooked baker’s reasoning had been; that it was all sabotage. A calculated attempt to ruin him just a week before the annual Roseville Bake-Off. “Cause he knows better than to think he can win without playing dirty,” as Taft had phrased it. And Maria had heard cases of sabotage before. Of friendly rivalries turning criminal. But what Taft was suggesting…it didn’t seem wholly realistic.

Though he had been right about only the power being cut out.

“All clear over here,” Danny called from his back corner of the room. “You got anything?”

Maria stepped out from behind the counter, sighing. “Nothing.”

Danny walked up, sweeping his flashlight along the counter as he came. Nothing new appeared, and Danny rubbed the back of his neck, putting a hand on his hip. 

“Kinda strange, ain’t it?” he asked. “Not even a scratch on the wall. Not a scratch anywhere.”

Maria shook her head. Danny had only been doing this for about a year more than her, but had seen a lot more. If he thought the situation was strange, Maria felt justified in her confusion. “Do you think he was fibbing?” she asked.

Danny raised a brow. Shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

Maria nodded again, and Danny eased his way around the counter. Off in the corner was a side door; the one they’d been informed led to the pantry and kitchen. Maria followed, turning around at the last moment to do a final sweep of the room with her flashlight before pushing through the door after him. 

The kitchen was much the same as the other room, save the smooth, metal surfaces. It was ridiculously clean, without a single indication of foul play. No mixing bowls knocked over. No cupboards hanging off their hinges. 

Maria sighed. Their investigation so far wasn’t as exciting as she’d hoped it would be.

They made their way down the skinny aisle, again shining flashlights. At the end of it, all was a single door, it’s plain white exterior imprinted with a drawing of wheat, bundled together. It was the only room left; the only one they hadn't checked.

Danny directed his light on the symbol. “Pantry.” 

He grinned. 

“Jackpot.” 

He took a step forward and glanced over a shoulder when Maria didn’t move. He jerked his chin towards the door as if asking “You coming?”

Maria shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” she said, repeating his words.

Danny grinned again. Turned back to the wheat. Used his elbow to turn the doorknob. Nudged it open his foot, and---

Maria gasped.

“Well, damn.” Danny whistled. “Twisted-Taft wasn’t lying.”

He was right. Taft hadn’t been lying.

This. This was what Maria hadn’t wanted to miss.

The pantry, which was now less a place for storage and more of an empty shell, looked nothing like the rest of the Bakery. It was as if someone had simply shoved everything off the shelves. The hard-wood floor was visible only in small slits beneath mounds of flour, sugar, frosting pipes, sprinkles, liquids of indistinguishable type, and most of all, glass. Nearly all the shelves were barren, their clean white surfaces smeared in streaks of color, and more than a few had messy piles of their own. What was left intact of the stash was scattered throughout the higher up shelves, like the disturber hadn’t wanted to bother with a ladder.

And right there, wide open in the far left corner of the middle self, was a safe. Maria could guess what used to be inside. She thought back to the hour before:

“I don’t know how he knew,” Taft had whined in the station. His face had fallen in his hands, distraught. “I don’t know how he knew,” he’d whispered.

“Knew what?” Danny had asked.

“He took it.” Taft had groaned. “He took it from me. He took the secret ingredient!”

Maria took a step forward, crushing glass beneath her boot. She grinned.

Finally, she had a case on her hands.