The bell above the door tinkled softly as she stepped inside, the warm aroma of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread enveloping her. "Morning, Clara. How are you holding up?" "I'm managing. It's been a week since Richard... well, you know." "Have you spoken to the sheriff?" A deep sigh. "What's there to say? They still don't have any leads." Flour-dusted hands wiped nervously on an apron. "Someone must have seen something that night. Small towns like ours, secrets don't stay hidden for long." "I wish I knew what happened. He was acting strange in the days before..." "Strange how?" "Jumpy. Checking over his shoulder. Said he was working on something big, but wouldn't elaborate." The gentle clink of ceramic mugs punctuated the silence. "I'll keep my ears open. Nothing happens in this town without someone knowing something." Another sigh, this one weighted with grief and uncertainty. "I just want answers." The soft rustle of a paper bag being pushed across the counter. "Here. Blueberry muffins. On the house." A whispered "thank you" and the gentle chime of the bell marked another departure, leaving behind only questions and the lingering scent of freshly baked hope.