"Have you heard the news?old Ms. Dawson was found dead in her kitchen this morning. shotgun blast right between the eyes." The gossip spread through the bakery like butter on a freshly baked croissant. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the trays of cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins waiting to be filled. But I couldn't help eavesdropping. "Who do you think did it? Her family?" That was voiced in a stage whisper, as if the speaker didn't want to be overheard. But in a small town like Willowbrook, there were no secrets. "Maybe it was that electrician, Bill. He and Dawson had an argument last week," another voice piped up. "I heard him threatening her about something to do with the old mill." I rolled my eyes. Bill was a bear of a man, but the gentlest soul. He'd do no harm to anyone. I shifted the tray higher, making the bells on the front door jingle. As if on cue, Bill lumbered into the shop. "Mornin' Chinee," he grunted, rounding the counter to where I was waiting. "Just a coffee, black as pitch." He plopped down on a stool, stretching his long legs out. "Mmm, smells good in here as always. Big news, it would seem." He jerked his head towards the gaggle of women huddled around a table, heads together like a team of sparrows. I began measuring out the grounds. So Bill had heard the rumors too. "I don't pay them much mind," I said, reaching for a mug. "Ms. Dawson went by the wayside last year. Doesn't surprise me in the least." Bill snorted. "Tell that to the gossips. They'll make a murder pork out of a single shot. You mark my words." He leaned forward, voice low. "You find out anything, you tell me, right? I want the real story here, none of this speculation malarkey." I met his eyes, nodding solemnly. A promise between us, sealed in the sacred space of my little bakery.