"Morning, Martha. Usual?" The bell above the door chimed, signaling another customer's arrival. "Morning, Sheriff. Yes, please." Martha's hands, dusted with flour, kneaded the dough on the counter. "Any news on the old mill?" "Nothing yet. Doc says it was an accident, but..." The sheriff's voice trailed off, his eyes scanning the fresh pastries in the display case. "But what?" Martha paused, her gaze meeting his. "Just a feeling, Martha. Something's not adding up." He tapped his finger on the glass, pointing at a cinnamon bun. "I'll take one of those, too." Martha wrapped the bun, her brow furrowed. "You think it's connected to the break-ins?" "Could be. We'll see." The sheriff took his coffee and pastry, leaving a few bills on the counter. "Keep your eyes open, Martha. Something's stirring in our little town." The bell chimed again as he left, leaving Martha with her thoughts and the dough, now ready for shaping.