“Did you hear about Mrs. Waverly?” “No, what about her? Is she still baking those awful fruitcakes?” “Worse. They found her in the back of the bakery this morning, fainted beside the dough mixer.” “Fainted? Or was she trying to hide the evidence? You know how she feels about competition.” “She swears she was just adjusting the mixer. But someone said they saw her fumbling with a bag of flour right before that.” “Right. A bag of flour. Sounds like a mystery novel waiting to happen. I mean, who faints in their own bakery?” “Maybe she was up all night again, working on that new recipe. She’s bound to burn out soon.” “Or burn something else! Maybe you could go check on her, see if she needs help. A fresh pair of hands might keep her from, you know, becoming a doughnut herself.” “Ha! I’m not sure I’d survive in that kitchen. Remember last time? I barely escaped with my taste buds intact.” “True. But if you bring me a cinnamon roll, I’d consider it.” “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll see what I can do, but you owe me a coffee if I don’t find her face-down in a pie.”