In the warm, aromatic embrace of the bakery, flour dusted the counters like a gentle snowfall. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp tang of cinnamon. "You know, it's strange how things happen in this town." "Strange? More like predictable. Just last week, old Mrs. Perkins claimed her rose bushes were haunted." "I'm serious. People don't just vanish into thin air." "You're talking about that newcomer, aren't you? The one with the fancy car?" "Yeah. One day he's here, chatting up everyone like he's known us for years, and the next—poof—gone." "Maybe he just left town. People do that, you know." "Without his car? Without any of his things?" "Maybe he's got a secret life. Or maybe he's on the run from something. This isn't the big city; we don't have the kind of excitement that makes people disappear." "I heard he was asking questions about the old Miller place. You know, the one that's been empty for years." "The haunted house?" "Don't be ridiculous. It's not haunted. Just abandoned." "I bet there's more to it than that. He was digging into something he shouldn't have been." "Or maybe he was just fascinated by the town's quirks, like everyone else who comes through here." "Well, if he doesn't turn up soon, we might have more to worry about than a few ghost stories."