The sweet aroma of cinnamon rolls filled the empty bakery as morning sunlight streamed through the front windows, casting long shadows across the checkerboard floor. "Did you hear about old Mrs. Henderson's cat?" "You mean the one that's always lounging in her front window? What about it?" "Found dead yesterday morning. Right there on her welcome mat." "Oh, that's terrible. She loved that cat. Natural causes?" "That's the thing. There was a half-eaten cruller next to it. One of ours." "But we don't make crullers on Mondays." "Exactly." The whisk stopped its rhythmic beating against the metal bowl. A drop of vanilla batter fell to the counter with a soft plop. "You don't think..." "I do think. And I'm also thinking about how Sarah was so angry when Mrs. Henderson refused to sell her that corner property." "The one where she wanted to open her own bakery?" "The very same." "But Sarah wouldn't... I mean, she's been my assistant for three years." "People do desperate things when their dreams are crushed. Especially when they know every recipe in this kitchen."