“No! No! No!”
The shiny golden door chimes barely moved a millimetre as a silent
“ding” is heard. Bob turns, no one. His state of franticness rushed back to him
like an enormous tidal wave flooding its surrounding area. Bob gropes for his bag
when he jumps. A woman, who looked about in her early 20s stood in front of
him. Not a hint of light reflected off her, apart from her face and hands which,
like the ice and snow on the roof, basked in their milky white color.
Bob’s head tilt like a lost puppy as one eyebrow raised higher
than the other. The woman, scanned the vicinity with her laser-like eyes and
the shop, spoke for itself. No bread, no pastries, no cash, total desolation. Her
eyes then met the baker’s which were a deep forest green, his complexion was as
white as the snow on the frigid paths outside. He sort of broke a stereotype
against bakers, since his body was almost like an old man’s staff.
A sudden snap pierced the air as the woman tried to regain
her focus.
“Hello Bob.” she started the conversation with an unsettling
smile. His eyes had been fixed on her from the very moment he saw her.
“H-hello” he replied. His arms and legs began to shudder.
“My name is Detective Rarelle, an agent from… somewhere in
the northern hemisphere.” she mysteriously whispered. “No more questions, right?”.
“Righ-”
“Wrong.” she cut him off. Detective Rarelle flipped open a sleek
black notebook. “When was the shop robbed?”
“I’m not quite sure, because I didn’t come to work on Thursday
and Friday this week.” he carefully responded.
“Who last entered your shop last before the robbery?”
“Me, my assistant or my wife…”
“How much food was left before you left the shop?”
“A few loaves of bread and cupcakes.” The notebook shook
from side to side as it was filled. The book was then flapped shut as Rarelle asked
her final question.
“Bob, who do you suspect to have robbed your shop?”