The bell above the door chimed, and a blast of crisp autumn air swirled around the display case of freshly baked pastries. "You're not seriously thinking of investigating this yourself, are you?" "Someone has to figure out what happened to Margaret's missing recipe book. The whole town knows how much those family recipes meant to her." Flour dusted the wooden counter between them, and several half-decorated sugar cookies sat abandoned near a rolling pin. "It's dangerous. Whoever took that book might not want it found." A soft laugh. "Dangerous? In Maple Grove? The most excitement we usually get is when the library changes its book club selection." "Don't underestimate small-town secrets. Remember what happened with the chamber of commerce last summer?" The baker leaned forward, pressing both hands flat on the counter. Sunlight caught the silver whisk hanging from a hook nearby, casting a glinting shadow. "I'm not dropping this. Those recipes are generations old. Some of them date back to Margaret's grandmother who came over from Italy. They're more than just instructions—they're family history." A heavy sigh. "Fine. But promise me you'll be careful." "Always." The bell chimed again, signaling the arrival of another customer, conversation suspended but the mystery clearly just beginning.