Everybody in the neighborhood heard Mitchell screaming his lungs off at 5:15A.M. Someone had entered his bakery shop down Crimson Oak Street during the night and messed up the whole place, worse than all, someone stole his secret ingredient.
At 86 years old, Mitchell had just started selling his brand-new Christmas cookies a week ago. He was, to say the least, devastated after seeing everything destroyed. Flour on the floor, eggs cracked on the table, the sink covered in whipped cream.
Every year, right after Christmas, the bakery owner would start a new recipe for his famous cookies. However, there was one ingredient that would never be replaced, as he used to say. If you are wandering what that is, I will remind you that it is a secret ingredient.
How do I know all that? Well, I’m Mitchell’s granddaughter and the town’s sheriff. That’s almost unbelievable but I know how true it is because I heard with my own two ears how this man screamed early in the morning.
After arriving at the crime scene, I spoke to Grandpa who had no clue whatsoever who could have possibly done something so terrible as this. He wasn’t crying but his eyes were full of tears about to stream down his face.
If something like that had happened to me I would be crying since the moment I saw it. I wanted to cry but I knew better. Who would respect the sheriff if she had red eyes of so much crying?
Grandpa wrote me a list of names of people who could have walked into the bakery and left with the little jar, where he kept the condiment. The list wasn’t long but the population isn’t big. I knew them all.
I headed two houses down the bakery. Jack Bismarck’s place.
“What’s that fuss all about?” Jack said while opening the door.
“Hello, there, Mr. Bismarck. How are you?”
“I was asleep, you know, but after the old man’s scream, no one can close its eyes no longer. I thought he had a heart attack, but Mrs. Bismarck couldn’t stay in bed. She had to check what was going on. She came back home to tell me Mitchell lost his secret ingredient.”
I must be the sheriff here, otherwise I would punch him in the face. No matter how hard I wanted to arrest this individual, I knew there were no chances he could have possibly enter the bakery to steal anything. The guy was barely awake, no way he would manage getting anything from Grandpa without leaving evidence behind.
I walked to the house across the bakery. Mary Ann Lindt. The richest person in town.
“How dare you, young lady? I did not steal anything. What an absurd. How can you think such a thing?”
“Ma’am, I am not accusing you of anything. I am trying to understand where you were during the night.”
I know it sounds an odd question but it is my grandfather’s bakery. Even though nothing was a real damage, it was still his secret ingredient and my duty to find out who did this.
“I was at home, of course. Don’t you see? My cats can’t stand being alone, and the cat sitter doesn’t work late. You can ask her if you want. I never leave my kitties by themselves.”
As I know the population of Crimson Oak, I know the good and bad habits this crazy people have. When I was younger, my friends and I would have competitions to see who could guess most of the animals’ names. I was always first.
I went to the house on the corner. Harry Donald. I was sure he knew something.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I saw someone leaving the bakery late at night.”
“Can you describe this person?”
“Sorry, Sheriff. I didn’t see if very well, see, I had no glasses on.”
“Anything is helpful.”
“I know that. I watch all the crime series on TV. But I really can’t help you. But the person saw me, the little thief looked at me but left as if he knew I didn’t have my glasses on.”
I came back to the bakery shop, to find Grandpa sitting on his favorite seat. I broke the news to him, saying no one from the list was guilty.
“I knew it.”
“Grandpa, if you knew it, then why did you give me the list at all?”
“You know, love, you can cancel your searches. My secret ingredient was not stolen. The person must have thought I am a crazy old man who would leave his most precious condiment on top of the shelf, sitting next to the baking powder.”
I wasn’t understanding much and I did think he was getting way too old to hold a bakery shop on his own. The bakery was still the same from many years ago and it was time for a change. Maybe the break-in wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps it was time for Grandpa to pass on his secret ingredient and retire once for all.
“Grandpa…” I started.
“No, my dear, no. The person who broke in the bakery is still too naïve to understand. I would never leave the ingredient here. I just left an empty recipient on the shelf. The real one is a secret, you know, nobody will ever know where I keep it. So, worry no more with your old grandfather here. Let this stealer get away with the fake secret ingredient.”
I helped Grandpa clean up the bakery. We talked about other things, laughed, remembered old days. When he was all settled, I left home. I wanted to cry. I know Grandpa wasn’t getting any younger and neither was I.
As I got home, I opened the kitchen cupboard and grabbed the little object where I read “Secret Ingredient.” As Grandpa said, there was nothing inside of it. I was tricked after all. I can’t believe Mitchell doubted his own granddaughter. I can’t believe he told me yesterday where he had put the secret ingredient and I fell for it like a little girl.
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