Rows of glass flour jars and dented metal sugar canisters lined the middle shelves, untouched by Pamela’s pricing gun.

I dragged a wooden step stool over from the corner, set it firmly against the lower cabinets, and climbed up to check the very top shelf.

Tucked far back behind a huge ceramic mixing bowl, I saw the familiar faded blue metal.

I reached back and pulled the rusted butter cookie tin free.

It weighed at least five pounds, and the lid was pressed on tight.

I climbed down from the stool, unzipped my canvas tote bag, and dropped the heavy tin inside.