The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the sweet scent of cinnamon as the bell above the door jingled. "Morning, Clara. Busy as ever, I see." "Morning, Sam. You know how it is. The early bird gets the scone." "Or the gossip. Heard anything interesting lately?" "Well, Mrs. Thompson was in earlier, claiming her cat's been acting strange. Says it’s been bringing her little gifts from the garden." "Strange gifts?" "Shiny things. Buttons, bits of foil. She swears one of them was a ring." "A ring? Like, a wedding ring?" "That's what she said. Looked like it had been in the dirt for a while." "Do you think it could be...?" "From the old Jenkins case? Maybe. But you know how people talk." "True. But it’s been, what, ten years since he disappeared?" "Eleven, come November. Still, a cat finding a ring in the garden? It’s a bit of a stretch." "Maybe. But it’s a small town. Secrets have a way of surfacing." "Especially when there’s a curious cat involved." "Or a curious baker." "Touché. Want a scone while you ponder the mystery?" "Why not? I’ll take one of those blueberry ones. Maybe it’ll help me think." "Here you go. And Sam, if you hear anything else, you know where to find me." "Always, Clara. Always."