Forty Thousand Dollars and the Deed to Maple Avenue Bakery

on it. Someone dropped this off by hand.”

I took the envelope from her and slid it under the stack of bakery bags.

My used blue Buick was parked in the driveway, its engine ticking in the quiet autumn evening. Inside my living room, I sat at the dining table with the brass flour sifter and a clean rag, rubbing the metal until my wrist ached.