Page 29 of The Hanging Dolls
“Great,” he mumbled under his breath. “Stubborn, just like her mother.”
The bell above the door chimed softly as Zoe and Scott stepped into the small bakery nestled on the corner of Harborwood’s main street. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries assaulted her senses. The bakery was quaint, with a rustic charm—wooden shelves lined with baskets of pastries, a glass display case filled with beautifully decorated cakes and cookies, and a chalkboard menu with the day’s specials written in looping script.
Behind the counter, a young woman with flour-dusted hands and a friendly smile looked up from arranging a tray of croissants. “Good morning! What can I get you?” she asked cheerfully.
Zoe exchanged a quick glance with Scott before stepping forward. “We’re here about your Tahitian vanilla bean truffles. We understand you sell them here?”
The woman’s smile faltered slightly, replaced by a hint of curiosity. “Oh, yes, we do. They’re one of our specialties—made with real Tahitian vanilla. We get the beans from a special supplier in Seattle.”
Scott nodded, his eyes scanning the display case, noticing the empty spot where the truffles should have been. “We need to know if anyone’s been trying to buy them lately,” he said.
The woman’s brow furrowed as she thought for a moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can give out that information?—”
Scott flashed his badge. “We’re from Harborwood PD.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh! You’re here about the theft! Finally! I called it in five days ago but with the young girl that went missing and then found dead, I thought you’d be busy.”
“What are you talking about?” Zoe said.
The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking between them. “Well, about a week ago, we had a break-in. Someone stole a bunch of desserts, including some of the truffles. That’s why we are out of them until our next delivery, which is two weeks from now. We thought it was just a homeless person looking for food. We reported it, but honestly, we didn’t think much of it after that.”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed, the pieces starting to fall into place. “A break-in?”
“Yeah,” the woman confirmed, nodding. “They didn’t take any money or valuables, just the desserts—truffles, cookies, croissants. We were a little shaken up, but we figured it was just someone desperate for food. Like I said, we reported it to the police, but they didn’t find much.”
Scott frowned, his mind already working through the implications. “How much was taken?”
“A few dozen of each, I think,” she replied, glancing back at the display case. “We had just restocked them that day. Whoever took them knew what they were looking for.”
Zoe exchanged another look with Scott, a silent understanding passing between them. This was no coincidence. “Do you have any security cameras?” she asked, her mind racing.
“Yes, but we only keep recordings for a week. Though, we did send a copy to the Harborwood PD. So you should have it… what is this about?”
“Thank you for your help. We might need to come back if we have any more questions,” Scott said.
“Of course,” she replied, a little less cheerfully.
As they turned to leave, Zoe stopped at the door and turned back to the woman. “If anything else comes to mind, anything at all, please let us know.”
As they stepped outside, the chilly air hitting them, Zoe turned to Scott. “Did you not hear about this break-in? It’s a small department.”
“I’ve been focused on Lily’s abduction. Travis assigned all low-priority cases to patrol.”
“This can’t be a coincidence. You know this town better than me.”
“It’s not.” His tie whipped in the wind like it was trying to get away from him. “But we can head to the station and see if there was anything in that surveillance. It must have been logged.”
“Why didn’t anyone follow up on that?”
“Probably because of Lily. All cases were put on a backburner and resources directed at her.”
“But now we might have the footage of the killer. And this could all come to an end.”
SEVENTEEN
Zoe climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, her small feet making the old wood creak under her weight. The dim light bulb barely cut through the dust and shadows as she pushed open the heavy door. The air was thick with the smell of aged wood and forgotten things, and she wrinkled her nose, brushing a stray cobweb from her face.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered to herself, her eyes scanning the cluttered space. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, old furniture covered in sheets, and stacks of yellowed newspapers sat in a corner. Gina’s wails echoed faintly from downstairs, a high-pitched cry that made Zoe’s heart race. Her baby sister had been inconsolable, demanding her favorite doll that seemed to have vanished into thin air.
