"I’ve been standing less than three feet behind you since you walked in," Lieutenant Miller stated coldly. "I watched you swipe the cake off the counter, scoop frosting onto your own face, and deliberately ram your forehead into the cabinet frame. Furthermore, every single customer standing in line behind me witnessed your entire act."
Before Karen could process her utter failure, a second man sitting at a small bistro table in the corner stood up, adjusting his tailored suit jacket as he walked over to the counter.
"And from a physical evidence standpoint," the suited gentleman added, smiling pleasantly, "that glass display partition is four feet high. Milly is standing over two feet back behind the register. It is physically impossible for her to have reached over the barrier to push your head, let alone throw a fifteen-pound cake at you from that angle. Not to mention, your thumbprints are still clearly pressed into the side of the smashed cake board."
Karen’s face drained of all color. "Who the hell are you to tell me what happened?!"
The man pulled a sleek business card from his pocket and placed it on the counter. "I am the owner of Sweet Ribbon. I happened to be conducting a surprise quality inspection this morning."
Realizing she was caught in a trap of her own making—facing an off-duty police officer, the business owner, and fifteen eyewitnesses—Karen’s victim persona vanished in a flash of sheer panic.
Desperate to escape arrest and public humiliation, she scrambled off the floor and bolted toward the glass front doors.
However, in her wild, frantic rush to flee, the sharp four-inch stiletto heels of her shoes landed squarely in the middle of the crushed, slick buttercream frosting and sponge cake spreading across the tile floor.
SLIP... CRASH!