The Great Cookie Caper

           It was a cool November morning on the east side of town. I was hired by Gladys Barker to investigate a break-in at her tiny store named, “BARKER’S BAKERY”. My name is Johnny Hardcase, Private Eye.

The seventy-five-year-old widow spent all day in that little store. People came from all over just to get a batch of her famous cookies that she called, “Granny’s Best”.

           It was said that everyone who had a taste could not stop at one cookie. Even though her inventory consisted of more than just cookies, it was Granny’s Best that kept her in business.

           “Ms. Barker, approximately how much money was stolen from your store?”

           “Oh, no money was stolen, Mr. Hardcase.”

           “Are you positive, Ms. Barker? Nothing was taken?”

           “I didn’t say that. Something much more valuable than money was taken.”

           “I’m not sure that I understand. What could be more valuable than money? Was there jewelry on-site, or antiques?”

           “Oh no, nothing like that. The only thing missing is my most prized possession; my secret ingredient for the Granny’s Best cookie recipe.”

           “Can you please tell me what the ingredient is so I can try and find it for you?”

           “Dear no! I couldn’t do that! It would not very well be a secret ingredient if I told you what it was, now would it? Silly man.”

           “Ms. Barker, I’m not sure how I can help you if I don’t know what it is that I am looking for.”

           “I do not doubt that you are quite capable of finding this crook, Mr. Hardcase. When you find the thief, you will find my ingredient. You can start with his footprints. He left one in the flour on the kitchen floor.”

           After taking a picture of the shoe print in the flour, I proceeded back to my office where I went through a list of competitors that would profit by Ms. Barker’s failure. The list was extensive. There were a surprising number of bakeries in the area that had a drop in sales ever since Granny’s Best started being sold.

           My first stop was Alfonzo’s Italian Bakery. It was the closest in proximity to Ms. Barker’s store. Alfonzo’s real name was Earl, but Alfonzo had a better ring to it.

           “So, Earl, can you tell me how business has been lately?”

           “Not great, but I’m keeping my head above water so far. I heard about the break-in at Ms. Barker’s place. I hope they don’t hit my store next. I would install security cameras, but I don’t make enough profit for luxuries like that.”

           “I see. Can you account for your whereabouts last night? Let’s say between midnight and 3:00 AM?

           “I sure can. I was at home with the wife. She said that my snoring kept her awake half the night. You can call her and ask if you don’t believe me.”

           “Maybe later. Just one more question; Have you and Ms. Barker ever had any altercations in the past?”

           “Never! That sweet old lady is one of the kindest people I know.”

           “Thank you for your time, Earl. If I have any more questions, I will be in touch.”

           Next on the list was “BETTY’S BAKED GOODS” over on Third Street. The owner’s name was Betty Richard. I found out from our conversation, that Betty and Gladys were once partners until Betty’s husband, Lance started flirting with Gladys. Betty accused Gladys of leading him on and ended their partnership as well as their friendship.

           Betty smiled as she spoke with me about the break-in. I was not so sure if that was a smile of guilt, or if she was just pleased to see her old partner having a hard time. So far, Betty was on the top of my list of suspects.

           The investigation led me next to a supplier that most of the bakeries use in town, “SWEET TOOTH DISTRIBUTION”. I spoke with the manager, Kevin Fountain. He said that he had been delivering to Barker’s Bakery for the last twelve years. She always paid on time and her order was almost always the same each time. The only thing that had changed, was the amount of vegetable oil that she used. Her order had been cut in half over the last four years or so.

           The next stop was a bakery across town called, “GODFATHERS”, which ironically was run by a group of local mobsters. Vinnie met me at the counter. When I told him who I was, he told me to wait there while he talked to “the boss”. The next thing I know, I am being escorted into the back by a goon the size of a gorilla. He patted me down and told me to have a seat.

           An elderly Italian man sauntered into the room and had a seat behind an elegant mahogany desk.

           “How can I be of service to you today, Mister…?”

           “Hardcase, but you can call me Johnny. Thank you for meeting with me.”

           “Johnny it is then. You can call me Tony. Why did you request this meeting?”

           “Sir, I mean, Tony, are you familiar with another bakery in town called “Barker’s Bakery”? Perhaps you know of the owner, Gladys Barker?”

           “I am and I do. Gladys and I have known each other for a great many years. We were even a couple before I met my wife, God rest her soul. I heard about her cookie sales and tried to make her an offer for the recipe, but she refused. I knew better than to try and force it out of her. She can be a scary woman when she wants to be.”

           “Did you hear about the break-in at her bakery? She had something of value taken and I am trying to track it down. Have you heard any rumors that might point me in the right direction? Any help would be appreciated.”

           “I did hear about the break-in. So sad for Gladys. I might have something you can use, but it comes at a cost.”

           “How much are you talking about?”

           “I don’t want or need your money, Johnny, but I may need your services in the future, and I want you to make this agreement to me right here in front of my associate, Bruno, that when that day comes, you will make my needs a priority. Are we in agreement?”

           “Yes, that can be arranged. I agree. What do you have for me?”

           “One of my associates, who will remain nameless, spotted a man with flour all over his boots and the cuffs of his pants. He had been seen in the area after the break-in. This man that you are looking for goes by the name of “The Weasel”. His real name is Clarence Rutledge. You can find him hanging out on Fifth Street near the Walmart store.”

           “Thank you, Tony. Your assistance is greatly appreciated. Goodbye for now.”

           I headed over to Fifth Street. The sun was starting to set, and this was not the part of town you want to hang around after dark. I asked some of the locals for information, and after a while, a homeless drunk pointed me in the right direction. I rewarded him with a $10 bill.

           The Weasel was a scrawny, redhead with a long, slender nose that came to a sharp point. He had patches of whiskers that did not want to grow in fully around his chin and jawbone. He was huddled up in the corner of a large cardboard box. His boots were covered in mud, but his pant legs were still covered in a coating of white powder that resembled flour. I snuck up on him slowly and grabbed him by the leg before he could react.

           He wriggled around trying to escape my grasp, but his life in the gutter had left him weak and he soon gave up. I questioned him about the break-in, and he confessed that he was there. I asked him what it was that he stole from the store, and he handed me a paper bag. All that was inside was a half-empty bottle.

           I reclaimed the bottle and brought it home with me. After examining it carefully, I was unable to identify it. There were no labels on the bottle. The liquid inside had the consistency of cooking oil, but it was a reddish color.

           The next morning, I returned to Barker’s Bakery with the bottle in hand. When she saw me walk in with the bottle, she motioned for me to wait as she finished up with a customer. After the customer left, she locked the door and put up a sign saying that she would be back in five minutes.

           She thanked me for returning her secret ingredient to her and asked me where I found it. I told her the story and she just stood there without interruption. A smile did cross her face, however, at the mention of her old fling, Tony.

           After my explanation, I pressed her for more information about the contents of the bottle. All she would tell me is that it was a common liquid found anywhere in the world, but it is not normally used in baking. That was all I could get out of her. Once again, she thanked me and packed a bag of Granny’s Best cookies for me on the house. I was then on my way back home, munching on the tasting treats as I walked.

           Just outside my apartment, someone had smashed a bottle against my wall. I am guessing that it was one of the people I had investigated in the past. I have made quite a few enemies over the years.

           I grabbed the paper bag that I confiscated from The Weasel and I began to pick up the shards of glass from the ground and placing them into the bag. One of the pieces had sliced my fingertip. I quickly brought the finger to my mouth to catch the blood before it dripped. The blood mixed with the chocolate taste of the cookies and that is when I realized what the secret ingredient was.