The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air as the two women stood at the counter, studying the display case. One leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh my goodness, look at those cinnamon rolls! They're enormous!" The other woman nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And that caramel drizzle? I think I gained five pounds just looking at them." They both laughed, the sound echoing through the cozy bakery. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged blonde with a flour-dusted apron, glanced up from her work and smiled. "Go on, then," she said, her voice warm and inviting. "Treat yourselves. You deserve it." The first woman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, if you insist. We'll take two of those cinnamon rolls, please." As the baker carefully wrapped their pastries, the two friends resumed their conversation, their voices low and conspiratorial. "Did you hear about the Petersons?" one asked, her eyes wide. The other shook her head, leaning in closer. "No, what happened?" "Well," the first woman began, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Apparently, they found Mrs. Peterson's body in their backyard this morning..."