In the heart of Willow Creek, at the Sweetly Done Bakery, the air buzzed with the mingled scents of freshly baked bread and sugary pastries. The morning crowd had thinned, leaving only a few stragglers caught in conversations over steaming mugs of coffee. "Digging into old cases, eh? What's got you so curious, Frank?" A melodic voice carried over the clinking of spoons. "Purely for the intellectual challenge. Sometimes the present hides answers in the past." A deep chuckle followed, robust and hearty. "And you think you'll find yours in cinnamon rolls?" The reply was laced with amusement. "Well, every great detective needs a culinary muse. Yours truly, Sherlock Holmes with a side of sweet." A playful poke accompanied the words, hinting at a long-standing friendship. "I'll keep that in mind when I craft the next batch. Mysteries and muffins, a winning combination." A gentle laugh, like the tinkling of bells, filled the space. Taking a sip from his mug, the man with the enquiring eyes nodded. "Indeed. Now, tell me, has that wandering cat of yours brought in any interesting guests lately?" "Oh, if you mean Bertie, he's been quite the socialite! Managed to escort a couple of lost tourists right into my kitchen door. They left with more than just directions, I assure you." Her eyes sparkled, a twinkle of shared humor. "I wouldn't expect less from Bertie, or from you, Marjorie. You have a certain knack for making everyone feel found." A smile, wide and genuine, met the warm gaze of the baker. "Aren't mysteries just stories about finding lost pieces? Sounds like we have more in common than I thought, Mr. Detective." Marjorie teased, a blush creeping up her cheeks, as she returned to the rhythmic whoosh of the pastry brush.