Forty Thousand Dollars and the Deed to Maple Avenue Bakery

the street below, where a few dry leaves were blowing across the concrete.

“We need to get back to the kitchen,” I said. “The yeast will be rising.”

“The bakery is ours,” Clara said, as if she were trying the words out for the first time in months. “Really ours.”

“It always was,” I said.

The door to the probate room opened, and Arthur continue reading …