The buttery aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla. The bell above the bakery door jingled gently as another customer strolled out, pastry bag in hand. “Did you hear about Old Man Jenkins’s prize rose bush? Completely trampled this morning. They say it was vandals, but I think there's more to it.” “More to it? Like what, a clandestine meeting in the rose garden? Perhaps a secret society of garden saboteurs?” “No need for mockery. But it’s peculiar, don’t you think? Happening the same week the fair’s in town?” “That’s a stretch. Though, Mr. Jenkins has been feuding with the Carters about that disputed land patch. Could be sabotage.” “Exactly! And Mrs. Carter was in here this morning, buying an unusual amount of blackberry jam. She seemed… jittery.” “Blackberry jam isn't exactly a smoking gun.” “But what if it’s a signal? Maybe the more jam she buys, the guiltier she is.” “Or maybe she just really likes jam?” A soft chuckle filled the space between them, dissolving into the soft hum of ovens and the clatter of pans. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, as if trying to unearth the secrets hidden beneath the town's tranquil surface.