Flour dusted the air as the scent of sweet vanilla wafted through the cozy bakery. Rows of golden-brown pastries lined the shelves, enticing the early morning crowd. Behind the counter, a baker slid a tray of freshly baked scones into the display case. "I heard Lucy Crawford was spotted arguing with the victim at the farmers' market last week." "Oh, really? What were they fighting about?" "Apparently, Lucy's homemade jam was being undercut by the victim's new imports. It got heated, fast." "Hmm, motives are piling up. First, there's Tom Harris and his real estate deal gone sour, and now Lucy's jam rivalry. I'm starting to think our little town isn't as quaint as we thought." "Quaint? We're a pressure cooker of secrets and grudges, just waiting to blow. I'm surprised no one's been killed before this." "Ooh, careful what you wish for. Now, which pastry do you want? The scones are still warm." "The chocolate croissant, please. And don't skimp on the chocolate chips – I need the caffeine kick to tackle this murder investigation."