The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the small bakery as the doorbell chimed. Mrs. Thompson smiled, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. "Good morning, Agatha. How may I help you today?" Agatha set her purse on the counter, glancing at the trays of pastries and cakes on display. "I'll take a dozen of your cinnamon rolls, please. My book club is meeting later and I promised to bring something sweet." "Excellent choice. Those just came out of the oven this morning." Mrs. Thompson carefully arranged the gooey, golden treats in a box. "By the way, how's your daughter doing? I heard she moved back to town." "Oh, Emily is doing well. She's working as a waitress over at the café down the street." "That's great. I'm sure it'll be nice to have her closer." Mrs. Thompson finished tying the box with twine. "She's been keeping me on my toes, that one. Always asking questions and poking her nose into things." "I'm sure that's just her curious nature. I hear she used to write stories as a little girl." Mrs. Thompson's expression darkened slightly. "Well, she's not a little girl anymore. And some things are best left alone in this town." "I understand." Agatha placed her money on the counter and took the box. "Thanks for the rolls. I'll see you at the library tonight for book club." Mrs. Thompson nodded, watching Agatha leave. She sighed, turning to start preparing dough for the day's batch of cookies. But her mind was elsewhere, worrying about her daughter's inquisitive ways. Emily always had a knack for stirring up trouble. And in a small town like this, secrets could be dangerous things.