Martin Voss stood near the entrance.
He was a thin, elegant man in his forties, wearing a dark wool coat, expensive gloves, and polished boots.
His hair was neatly combed.
His expression was pleasant.
Too pleasant.
“Miss Whitmore.”
Elena smiled politely.
“Good evening.”
Voss removed his hat.
“I apologize for arriving so late.”
“Not at all.”
He glanced toward the empty tables.
“Business looks good.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes moved toward the storeroom door.
Then back to her.
“I understand you've inherited a considerable amount of old paperwork from your aunt.”
Elena folded her hands.
“Yes.”
Voss smiled.
“Some of it may concern accounts that were settled many years ago.”
She nodded.
“Probably.”
He leaned closer.
“Mr. Rusk has asked me to offer assistance in sorting those records. Our office could take the old freight documents off your hands.”
Elena studied his face.
Then smiled.
“How thoughtful.”
Voss appeared relieved.
“We'd be happy to compensate you for the inconvenience.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Compensate me?”
“Certainly.”
He reached into his coat.
Removed a small envelope.
And placed it on the counter.
Elena looked toward it.
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
Her expression didn't change.
It was a substantial sum for old paperwork.
Enough to cover many bakery expenses.
She looked toward Voss.
“That's generous.”
He nodded.
“Mr. Rusk believes in supporting local businesses.”
Elena smiled faintly.
“Does he?”
Voss hesitated.
Then continued.
“The documents have no use to you, of course. They're simply outdated freight records.”
Elena looked toward the envelope.
Then back at him.
“Then why does Mr. Rusk want them?”
For a moment, Voss stopped smiling.
Only briefly.
But Elena noticed.
He adjusted his gloves.
“Recordkeeping.”
She nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
Then she pushed the envelope back toward him.
“I appreciate the offer, but I'm keeping Aunt Lydia's papers.”
Voss stared.
“Miss Whitmore—”
“They belong to my family.”
His expression hardened.
“Those accounts concern company business.”
“Then your office presumably has its own copies.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Voss lowered his voice.
“I strongly advise you not to interfere in matters you don't understand.”
Elena felt cold.
But she kept her expression steady.
“Mr. Voss, I'm a baker. I've spent years managing flour accounts and delivery invoices.”
She smiled politely.
“I assure you I understand the importance of keeping records.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he looked past her.
Gideon stood in the storeroom doorway.