The aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries wafted through the air as the bell above the door tinkled merrily. "Good morning, Dot," the shopkeeper greeted. "Care for your usual blueberry scone?" "No thanks, Agnes. I came to talk about the murder at the country club." "How ghastly! Tell me everything." "The victim was found face down in the swimming pool, his breakfast still digesting in his stomach." "Did you see the body?" "I did, and let me tell you, Pasty McDeever looked as blue as one of your pies. Terrible way to go." "So it was poison? I always knew not to trust those club lunches. Too many fishy folk around." "Indeed. And the cherry on top? A missing inheritance of a million bucks. Pasty was supposed to get it all, but now..." "Now his wife Misty stands to inherit? That female's catty as a wet hen. How's her alibi?" "Rock solid, honey. And anyway, I heard she's been seeing the pool boy on the side." "I declare, Dot! What a scandal! Those country club types, always getting themselves into trouble. Well, let me know if there's anything I can do to help." "Appreciate that, Agnes. Now, about those scones..."