Two detectives, one terrified baker, and a mystery hidden inside a mountain of stolen dough.
The Glazed Grilling
The scent of powdered sugar in Interrogation Room 4 was cloying, almost suffocating. Detective Miller leaned back, her chair creaking like a coffin lid. She took a slow, deliberate bite of a raspberry-filled long john, letting the crimson jam smear against her lip.
“It’s good, isn’t it, Arthur?” she whispered. “The way the yeast hits the back of your throat? Too bad this is the last one you’ll ever see without iron bars in the way.”
Arthur, trembling and dusted in a suspicious fine white powder, shook his head. “I—I just like the smell.”
The door slammed open. Detective Vane strode in, dropping a heavy evidence bag onto the metal table. Inside sat a single, mangled cannoli. “Cut the crap, Arthur! We found the crumbs in your floor mats. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You didn’t just rob ‘The Rolling Pin.’ You took the seasonal éclairs. All of them.“
“I was hungry!” Arthur wailed.
Vane leaned in, her eyes cold as a freezer unit. “Hungry? You broke into six patisseries in three days. You left the cash registers untouched but took every sourdough starter in the city. That’s not hunger, Arthur. That’s a pastry-based vendetta.”
Miller sighed, sliding the remaining half of her donut toward him. “Look, Arthur. Vane is… cranky. She hasn’t had her carbs today. Just tell us where you hid the Golden Croissant—the one encrusted with edible 24k gold—and maybe I can convince her not to ‘accidentally’ lose your blood sugar medication.”
Arthur looked at the donut, then at Vane’s twitching hand near her handcuffs. He leaned in, his voice a shaky rasp. “You don’t understand. It’s not about the sugar. It’s about what’s inside the dough…”
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