"One hazelnut latte with an extra shot, coming right up!" chirped the barista, arraying cupcakes in the display case. "Thank you, honey. Kept you waiting, didn't I?" apologized the elderly woman, brushing flour from her apron. "No worries, Mrs. Jenkins. Vanilla-chai this morning?" "Heavens, no! Surprise me. I need something to rejuvenate after last night's book club." The barista winked. "How 'cozy' was your mystery?" Mrs. Jenkins exchanged amused glances with the cashier. "Oh, far too cozy for my liking! Woke up with quite a start. A gruesome murder in our quaint little Kensington!" "You don't say? Real life imitating fiction, eh?" Mrs. Jenkins sipped her latte, eyes twinkling. "One could say that. Poor Mr. Fletcher was found dead in his study last night." "No!" gasped the cashier. "But he was in here yesterday, talking about his vintage stamp collection." "Indeed, which reminds me, I meant to ask..." The conversation drifted as the doorbell jingled, announcing the arrival of a gray-haired man in a tweed jacket. He ordered a blueberry scone and a decaf, glazing over the gossip until he found a corner table. "Tsk, tsk," tutted the barista. "Officer Thompson never appreciates the true art of sleuthing." "All work and no play," agreed Mrs. Jenkins. "Well