The spoon was missing before anyone opened the lemon curd.

The display case stood empty between the raffle table and the preserves bench. A crescent of dust marked where the Larkspur Silver Spoon should have rested.

The case was locked. Raspberry jam dotted the floorboards. Last year's winner was crying beside the raffle basket, while half the village independently decided not to say the one useful thing it knew.

Then Reverend June lowered her voice. “The spoon has gone missing before.” Mrs Petherick turned sharply. Marigold made a sound so small it was almost not a sound.