Hand over the bakery keys, Grandma, before you embarrass the family any further. A

Tyler slid the folder across the counter like he was closing a merger. “Sign here, Grandma. Power of attorney. The building, the recipes, the accounts. I’ll handle the sale. You’ll get a nice room at Cedarbrook.” The bell above the door jingled. In walked Margaret Hollis, the town attorney, holding her own folder, followed by Sheriff Daniels and three of my regulars who’d been sitting in the corner booth nursing coffees a little too long. Tyler’s smile flickered. “What is this?” Margaret set her folder beside his. “This, Mr. Pace, is the trust your grandmother established eighteen months ago, after your last visit. The bakery, the building, and the original recipes were transferred into the Pace Community Trust. Eleanor is the sole trustee for life. Upon her passing, ownership transfers to her employees and the local culinary scholarship fund.” I finally looked up from my dough. “I had a feeling you’d come knocking the day the developers offered four million for the corner lot, sweetheart. Funny how the diagnosis you’ve been telling everyone about never came from any doctor I’ve seen.” Tyler’s face went the color of unbaked pastry. “You tricked me.” “No,” I said softly. “I listened. For two years I listened to you tell your father I was slipping. I listened to you tell your wife this building would be your retirement. I listened, Tyler, and then I planned.” Sheriff Daniels stepped forward. “Son, forging a medical affidavit to obtain power of attorney is a felony in this state. Your grandmother isn’t pressing charges today. But the bar association in Massachusetts has been notified.” Tyler grabbed his folder with shaking hands. At the door, he turned. “You’ll regret this.” I dusted my palms and reached for a warm cinnamon roll, sliding it into a paper bag. “Take this for the road, honey. It might be the last thing this senile old woman ever gives you.” The door jingled shut. The regulars clapped. I went back to my dough.