The crust of the matter

Mabel Fitzgibbon sat behind the counter of the Pottsville Post Office and finished her morning coffee while she stared at her crossword puzzle. The latest stumper: 23 down. Seven empty boxes. The clue: tie.

She sighed, still unable to figure out the answer. I’ ll need to up my game to be competitive in the Posttsville Puzzlers next month, Mabel thought.

The door jingled. Otto, owner of the town’s newest bakery, Dangerously Delicious Pies, walked inside.

“All set for the grand opening?” Mabel asked.

“Nearly.” Otto shifted a backpack onto the counter revealing a black hoodie, binder, and manila folders inside. “I just came to use the copier.”

Mabel pointed to the machine. “Help yourself.”

A few minutes later Otto paid for his copies— a stack of fliers about the opening that boasted fruitfilled pies with perfectly flakey crusts. Mabel’s mouth watered just thinking about it. Otto left some fliers on the counter.

Soon, she heard the rumble from his Harley as he drove away and Mabel went back to her puzzle and considered the clue again: tie.

She worked through synonyms—fasten, fix, connect. Connect had seven letters, but this didn’t work either.

The door jingled again. This time it was their street sweeper, Tommy. “Just here to grab the mail.” Once a month Tommy traveled to Anchorage to visit his sick sister and put a hold on his delivery. “How’s Gretta?”

“Improving.” Tommy pushed up the sleeves of his black hoodie revealing an anchor tattooed on his forearm, an homage to his long service in the Navy. “Got a check for me today?” He smiled, but his voice was strained—his life clearly stressful since he’d taken on his sister’s medical bills.

“I wish I did.” Mable grabbed Tommy’s mail wrapping one of Otto’s fliers around the bills to hide the past due notice stamped on the envelopes. She handed the mail to Tommy and watched him leave. She wished there were something she could do to help. Maybe her church congregation would have some ideas.

Mabel went back to her crossword puzzle.

Still, no luck.

At lunch time, she locked the door and crossed the street to Luanne’s Bakery. A fellow Pottsville Puzzler, Mabel thought Luanne may know the answer to 23 down.

It was Tuesday, the only day Luanne was closed for business. But her Volkswagen Bug was at the curb. A young college kid with an oil-leaking truck earned extra money by pickingup ingredients for Luanne at Costco. She would meet him at the bakery and prepare for the week ahead.

Mabel noticed how perfectly clean the street looked. She thought about Tommy, and her heart broke again. Maybe Luanne had an idea how they could help him, too. At the bakery, she pushed the door open. No smells of freshly brewed coffee. No yeasty scents from rising dough. Mabel knew something was wrong.

“Luanne?” She called for her friend, but there was no answer.

In the back office, Mabel found Luanne gagged and tied to a chair. The rope looped around her was hastily knotted— similar to how Mabel’s young niece tied her shoelaces. She pulled the gag from Luanne’s mouth.

“I’ve been robbed!” Luanne cried.

Mabel followed Luanne’s gaze to the safe— open and empty. “He took my money, and all my recipes.” “What did he look like?” “I don’t know. He wore a black hoodie and a mask.” Mabel’s mind swirled. “Call the sheriff. We need to find that thief.”

Mabel would make the call, but she already knew the identity of the thief, and now, blessedly, the answer to 23 down.