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1. Cupcake – Punk rocker – Chopsticks (any or all)

2. Cold case

3. Crystal ball – geisha girl – dive bar (any or all)


On Tuesday I opened the front door of my bakery and walked into chaos. There was a powdering of flour on every horizontal surface and unappetizing streamers of egg decorated the back wall. I flipped the light switch only to find that the destruction was far worse than I’d first thought.

As far as I could tell, every dish and plate had been flung against walls and now millions of little shards glimmered under the fluorescent lights. I reached for my phone and dialed 911 before I walked any further into the room. I didn’t want to find out that the intruder, who apparently didn’t like me much, was still on the premises.

The police arrived within a couple of minutes, before I had really had a chance to calm down enough to speak rationally.

“Who could do this to me?” I shouted at them. “Why do people get away with this?”

The first officer took my arm and led me to an overturned chair, which proved to be the only reasonable place to sit.

“Hold on, Mrs. Scott,” he said. “We’re the good guys, remember?”

Somewhat chastened, I apologized. “I can’t imagine anything like this. I’m afraid to even look in the freezer or the cold case.”

He made a small motion with his hand and the second man hurried to the back room to check. When he came back in less than a minute, I didn’t have to hear the words to know the rest of my establishment was in a similar condition.

“Oh, God, is it just a mess, or did they break the machines?” I couldn’t hold back the tears, and my body shook as much as my voice did.

The Cake Shop was my life. The cupcakes and tortes and pastries were a part of me, not only my livelihood, but also the tangible expression of my joys and disappointments. I truly loved sharing the