The bell on the door jingled as I entered the bakery, the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filling my nostrils. I scanned the display case, my mouth watering at the sight of flaky croissants, gooey cinnamon buns, and piled-high pies. "Well if it isn't Dakota Wilder, as I live and breathe!" Jenny, the baker, called out from behind the counter. "I'd just put a new batch of blueberry muffins in the oven. You're just in time!" "Evening, Jenny. So kind of you to have a care package ready. I'll take a dozen, please." Jenny laughed and began bagging the golden brown muffins. "Careful, don't burn your tongue! They're scorching hot." She slid the hefty bag across to me with a wink. As I reached for my wallet, the door shook on its hinges as it burst open. A disheveled man stumbled in, wild eyed and sweating. His glance darted frantically around the lobby. "P-please, Miss Jenny...it's Mr. Abernathy. He's...he's collapsed! Not breathing! I think he's dead!" The man looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. Dead? My mind raced with the implications. Despicable Norman Abernathy, the town's most hated land speculator and loan shark, dead in our quiet little hamlet? I traded a meaningful look with Jenny as fear and suspicion swirled in her eyes. Looks like I had myself a murder to solve.