Connor straightened his shoulders. “What’d you put in those cookies?” he demanded. His voice cracked halfway, but he pushed louder. “Some powder or something? Was this your trick, huh?” Behind him, the gate wobbled in the wind. His friends hovered afar, watching like reluctant witnesses.
Magnolia tilted her head, lips curving into the faintest of smiles. Her blue eyes blinked once, as her voice, gentle as chamomile, said, “Oh! Were you the ones who took my cookies? I had baked them for Mrs. Jennings’ old dog. If you had asked me, I would’ve made proper ones for you lot.” She returned her gaze to her knitting, needles clacking with unhurried certainty.