THE CASE OF THE DEAD BREAD

She came to my garage office at 10 a.m. Short, pale, with brown hair waving around her face. Melanie. I’d seen her around. But today, her blue eyes sparkled with tears. Smears of flour decorated her red vest.

“Are you a really a detective?” she asked.

“Brock Lee, at your service.”

She raised one eyebrow. “I don’t believe you are any older than I am.”

“On the contrary, Melanie,” I said. “You are ten years old, whereas I am twelve.”

She took a step backward. “How do you know my name and my age?”

“Elementary,” I said. “Legacy Elementary and Middle School, to be exact. You were in Miss Lawson’s fifth grade English class last year, right across the hall from Mr. Maple’s seventh grade math class, where I was sitting. Simple observation and deduction.”

“All right, Brock. Maybe you can help me.” She held out a mysterious object wrapped in a white dish towel. “Today is my dad’s birthday. He loves home baked bread, so I made some as soon as he left for work. This is the result.”

I took it from her, unwrapped it and stared at the lumpy, brick-like brown object. I rapped it with my knuckles. Hard, rock-like. I set it on my workbench and grabbed a chisel and mallet.  A few whacks and the interior lay revealed. It wasn’t pretty. Although warm, it didn’t smell like bread.

“Can you tell what’s wrong? Can you help?” Melanie asked.

“Off hand, I suspect murder,” I said.

“Murder!” She stared at me, eyes wide.

”Somebody killed the yeast,” I said. “Take me to the scene of the crime.”

When we reached her kitchen, I said, “Let’s make sure the victim was alive before you started. Get me yeast, a bowl with warm water, and some sugar.”

She silently handed me a jar of dried yeast, small bowl of warm water, sugar bowl, and spoon. I put a spoonful of sugar in the water and stirred. Next, I sprinkled a teaspoon of dry yeast over the water and set the bowl aside.

“Now, show me what you did, exactly as you did it,” I said. “Don’t change anything.”

Melanie dumped flour in a large bowl, added yeast, salt and cold water. She grabbed a spoon and started stirring.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Where’s the sugar?”

“Sugar?” she said. “My dad avoids sugar, so I left it out.”

“Starvation,” I said. “Yeast is alive. You have to feed it. It likes sugar even if your dad doesn’t.”

“But….”

I interrupted. “You used cold water?”

“Yes,” she said.

I shook my head. “Yeast is alive. Like all living things, it needs care. In this case, warmth and food promotes growth.”

“I didn’t know.” She bit her lower lip.

“What else did you do this morning?”

“That’s all. I just mixed everything together, poured it in the pan, and baked it right away.”

I groaned.

“Look.” She pointed toward the small bowl I’d set aside. The top was mounded with tan foam.

“That,” I said, “is proof the yeast was alive when you started. It grows when you keep it warm, feed it, and give it time to grow.”

She leaned over and sniffed the bowl. “It smells like bread.”

“You are the murderer.” I pointed at her. “You starved the yeast. You didn’t feed it or give it time to grow. You killed it in the hot oven before it even had a chance.”

Her eyes glistened with tears. “Will you help me?”

“Sure. It’s pretty easy, really. It just takes time and care.”

Together we mixed warm water with flour, yeast, sugar, salt and a bit of butter. We took turns kneading the dough on a floured surface. It took a lot of fold, press, turn, fold again to get it smooth and elastic. We put it in a large buttered bowl, put it in a warm place and covered it with a towel. “It needs to rest and grow,” I said.

We needed a rest, too. “Tell me more about yeast,” Melanie said.

“Yeast is a microscopic, eukaryotic, single cell fungi technically named, ‘Saccharomyces cerevisiae’,’’ I said. “The tiny oval cells form buds which pinch off to form new cells. The process is called Mitosis.”

“That sounds complicated,” she said.

“Understanding the process will help you,” I said. “Saccharomyces cerevisiae needs moisture, sugar, and warmth. It releases carbon dioxide gas and alcohol as it grows. The carbon dioxide forms tiny holes in bread. Yeast makes bread dough puff up because it adds air to the dough. The particular alcohol only this type of yeast creates gives that characteristic smell of baking bread.”

She opened her eyes wider. “You mean there are other kinds of yeast?”

“Sure,” I said.

“When can I bake it?” she asked.

“Let it grow for 45 minutes,” I said. “Then knead it briefly. Put it in a well buttered bread pan. Let it grow for another 45 minutes. Only then can you bake it.”

“Won’t that kill the yeast?” she asked.

“Yes. By then Saccharomyces cerevisiae has done its job.”

I left, mission accomplished.

Melanie came back that evening and paid me in fresh, warm bread. “Dad was thrilled with his gift.”

Case closed.