The bell above the door chimed, and a blast of chilly autumn air swept through the bakery, carrying the scent of fallen leaves. "I saw him standing by the old maple tree, just watching the shop." "Who? The stranger?" "Something about him seemed off. He wasn't just passing through." The rolling pin paused mid-stroke, flour dusting the worn wooden countertop. A batch of pumpkin spice cookies waited to be cut, their warm orange dough promising comfort on a crisp morning. "Did you get a good look at his face?" "Just his profile. Dark coat, dark hat. Like something from an old detective novel." A china mug clinked against the saucer, steam rising from fresh-brewed coffee. "You think he's connected to the missing antique brooch?" "I know he is. Call it intuition." Soft laughter, then the rhythmic sound of dough being worked. "Last time your intuition spoke, we ended up chasing a raccoon through Mrs. Henderson's rose garden." "This is different. I can feel it." The oven timer dinged, golden cookies emerging with a promise of sweetness and secrets yet to be revealed.