The scent of sugar and yeast hung heavy in the air, a comforting warmth despite the chill outside. Glass cabinets gleamed, displaying frosted cakes like crown jewels. "Morning, Doris. The usual?" A hand, gnarled with age but surprisingly strong, plucked a pastry from the display. "And one of those lemon tarts. Young Tommy next door, he won first prize in the pie-eating contest, you know." A chuckle, accompanied by the clatter of a bakery box. "Didn't know there was such fierce competition in apple pie these days." "Oh, sweetheart, you should see them go. Cherry, blueberry, even rhubarb this year. Though I must say," a conspiratorial whisper, "Tommy's victory might have had something to do with the unfortunate incident of Billy Jenkin's pie going missing..."