Chapter 7
Jesse
All I’m saying is, if you leave a tray of
Gingerbread men unattended, that’s on you.
~ Unknown
The Oh,Sugar! bakery smells like cinnamon, frosting and warmth. Alex and I arrive after Jeanie’s slightly frantic call. Apparently someone stole a pan of gingerbread right out of the kitchen while it was cooling.
It’s early afternoon, so the shop is filled with kids in basketball uniforms, moms, and a few local businesspeople picking up orders for holiday parties.
The owner of the bakery, Thea, is in full panic mode. She asks her workers to cover the counter and walks around to greet us.
“Thea, this is Alex, my new partner,” I say.
My voice feels commanding and official, but when I look at Alex, there’s more. I’m proud to show her off as my partner—as the new addition to the force. I think that’s all it is, but my mind drifts to the way she looked yesterday after her visit to the Dippity Do. I push those images down along with the rush of warmth that floods me. We’re on the job. She’s my coworker.
Thea and Alex shake hands. Thea glances around, and then she says, “Follow me to the back.” Her hands fly around as she tells us the details of what happened. “We were all out front. I had just taken a pan out to cool. We had an influx of morning customers. When I went to pull the gingerbread onto a rack to finish cooling, they were gone—tray and all.”
My eyes rove the scene. I’m listening to Thea. Alex has her pad out, taking notes as usual. I admire how she zeroes in on the details—methodical, calm, cutting out the noise of the world to get the job done.
I step out the back door and look around the wide alley that runs behind the shops. Anyone could make their way into the bakery from here. I glance to the left and right, hoping to see something—anything that might be a clue—when I look at the trash cans sitting to the left of the stoop, a glint of metal catches my eye.
I step down, move the bin and grab hold of the tray. A piece of paper is stuck to it by way of a wad of gum.
“Alex! Thea! Come see this.”
They appear side by side in the doorway. I hold up the tray.
“Good going, Heinz,” Alex says. “What’s that paper?”
I turn the tray and read the note. “Thank you for the cookies. Sorry I couldn’t pay. They’re for a good cause.”
Alex and Thea’s expressions match mine. My brows knit together in confusion.
“Robin Hood,” I mutter. “Stealing for a good cause.”
I get it, maybe more than I should—sometimes we take what someone would freely give us, convincing ourselves it’s harmless. I’d never steal cookies from a bakery, but I understand grasping at crumbs.
“Well, I’m just glad you found my tray. I can replace two dozen cookies. Those trays are industrial grade and I’ve got them to the point where they bake just right for me.”
“You can get back to your customers,” Alex tells Thea. “We’re just going to look around for any other clues. We’ll keep you posted as to what we find.”
“If this gingerbread thief had come to me, I would have gladly donated cookies to a good cause,” Thea says. “We do it all the time.”
I look at the handwriting. It’s scrawled and messy. Maybe a child. Maybe someone in a hurry, more typically male than female, with sharper angles and a slope to the printed letters.
“If you catch them, issue a warning,” Thea adds before turning back to her business. “I’m not pressing charges.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. Though, after reading the note, I tend to agree with her. Someone obviously thinks they’re being a Good Samaritan.
“I’m sure. In the spirit of holiday forgiveness, I’m letting this go.” She glances between Alex and me. “Can I get you two anything?”
“We’re policemen—er—people. Police people. We won’t turn down donuts.”
I say it as a joke, but Thea nods and says, “Coming right up.”
