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 thinks. She’s convinced it belongs to someone in town." "Sounds like a mystery. Maybe the cat's a kleptomaniac." "Or maybe there's more to it. You know how things are around here." "True. Secrets have a way of surfacing, especially in a place this small." "Speaking of secrets, did you hear about the new tenant at the old Miller place?" "Only that he keeps to himself. Some say he's a writer." "Or hiding from something. You know how people talk." "Well, if he’s hiding, he picked the wrong town. Nothing stays hidden for long here." "Especially with Mrs. Thompson’s cat on the prowl." "Guess we’ll have to keep our eyes peeled, then." "Always, Sam. Always."