"Morning, Martha. The usual?" the baker asked, already reaching for the bag of flour. "Please, Henry. And a scone, if you've any left." "One scone coming up." He paused, wiping his hands on his apron. "You hear about old man Jenkins?" Martha raised an eyebrow. "What now?" "He's been found dead, down by the river. Police say it's foul play." She gasped, hand flying to her chest. "Not another one. This town's becoming as dangerous as the city." Henry shook his head. "I've lived here all my life. Never seen anything like it." Martha took her order, her mind racing. "I'll have to keep an eye out. Can't be too careful these days."