“Nonsense.” Great-Aunt Grace tosses the paper on the kitchen counter and slams a plate each of burnt waffles and bacon in front of Tiffany and me. She barks, “Tiffany, feed Mr. Shuffle,” and leaves the room. Tiffany groans and gets to her feet. When I hear Great-Aunt Grace’s footsteps on the stairs, I get up from my breakfast and pick up the newspaper. Dot’s on the front page, cheesing mighty hard for someone who has lost a treasure. “It says everyone wants to do whatever it takes to put an end to the robberies. The whole town is on edge.” I read the article aloud to Tiffany, who is too busy measuring out half a cup of dry food for Mr. Shuffle to listen to me. As soon as he hears the sound of the food hitting his dish, Mr. Shuffle darts in from the living room. “Crazy old Gag won’t even talk to the sheriff,” I say, putting the paper back down. “If he comes to interview her, she said she’s not going to let him in.” “Do you think Great-Aunt Grace stole those people’s stuff?”
