The door to Charlene’s cooler stood wide open. Organic cheeses and ready-to-eat tofu sandwiches lay in a pile on the floor, as if someone had swept them out of the cooler in one movement. The cool air dissipated quickly in the hot room. Olivia reached out to close the door but changed her mind. The scene suggested a hurried, impatient search by an intruder who might have been careless enough to leave fingerprints.

Only one item appeared untouched—Charlene’s cash register. Had the intruder assumed the cash would be locked in a safe overnight? Or maybe cash wasn’t the motive for the break-in. Except there hadn’t been an actual break-in, had there? Olivia examined the front door lock and saw no damage. Either the intruder possessed a key or Charlene had left the store unlocked Saturday evening. Olivia tried to imagine Charlene forgetting such an important detail—or any detail, for that matter—and failed. Charlene loved The Vegetable Plate. Olivia thought about how she’d feel if she walked into The Gingerbread House one morning and found her beloved cookie cutters tossed on the floor and stepped on, her precious cookbooks and baking equipment ripped and smashed. Her heart would crumple. Impossible as Charlene could be, Olivia felt a surge of empathy for her.

Olivia flipped open her cell phone, intending to call Chatterley Heights’ sheriff, Del Jenkins. Hesitating, she listened to the store. Had she heard a sound coming from the hallway that led to the kitchen? The Vegetable Plate was smaller than The Gingerbread House, having only a few rooms downstairs and a dormer upstairs. The kitchen at the back of the store led out to a tiny, overgrown back yard.

There it was again. Olivia heard a faint click, like magnets catching as a cabinet door opens or closes. She shut the cover on her cell phone. If the kitchen was in the same chaotic state as the sales area, Charlene might be back there straightening up. Maybe she’d already phoned the sheriff.