The bell over the door chimed as a cool draft swept through the small town bakery, mingling the scents of freshly baked bread and cinnamon. The display cases were artwork unto themselves, glistening with sugar and brimming with pastries shaped like folded secrets. "Did you hear about Mrs. Dalrymple’s garden gnome mysteriously reappearing last night?" one of them whispered, leaning closer across the counter laden with trays of powdered donuts. "The one that went missing three Sundays ago during the Peterson's barbecue?" the other asked, eyebrows raised as they slid a tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven. "Yes, exactly that one! But here’s the kicker—it was returned wearing a tiny cape. A cape, can you imagine? Now, who around here would do such a thing?" "With the festival coming up, it might be a prank. Maybe teenagers, or perhaps it’s a statement? You know how eccentric some folks around here can get around the holidays." "Or it could be a clue. Remember last year's pie contest debacle?" They both chuckled, the memory hanging between them like the sweet aroma in the air. "Seems like there’s always a mystery baking in this town."