The bell above the baker's door jangled merrily as customers bustled in and out, discussing overfluffed cinnamon rolls and gossip about the recent murder. "I heard Eydie Diamond dropped dead in her office," mumbled a geriatric patron, swirling his tea in the cup of his four-hour-old latte. Fingers rustling ever so slightly over the plucking of cream puffs, the baker mumbled, "Oh. That's too bad. Did anyone find out why?" "Goobraggen said it looked like she was poisoned but he couldn't say for certain." Teeth sunk into chewy bit of pastry sounded like bones crushing. "Heavens. Bones?" The baker wiped grains of sugar from flour-dusted countertops. Fluffy white powder bloomed in the grooves of his hands. He brushed them together, the tiny particles dancing in the light. "Earth to Baker Murphy." The other patron, an elderly woman with grey hair lubricated with last week's hairspray, tapped the baker's gloved fingers with her cane. "You with me?" "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, Helen. Please do forgive me." His eyelid fluttered as he took in the room again, noticing it had changed in the brief absence. His eyes focused on a new customer crowding the doorframe, face hidden beneath the dark brim of her peaked cap. "Hmm," the baker waved Helios' light through his teeth. "Shall we be getting on now?"