The bell above the door jingled as a waft of cold air rushed through Sweetstuff Bakery. Fresh cinnamon and warm butter scented the air, mingling with the aroma of percolating coffee. "Morning. The usual sourdough and those almond croissants that'll be the death of me?" "Not today, Marge. I'm here about what happened at the library fundraiser." The rolling pin paused mid-stroke against the floured counter. Marge's flour-dusted hands stilled. "Three hundred people at that event, and somehow Mayor Peterson's prized antique watch goes missing during my cake presentation? Seems a bit convenient, doesn't it?" "Now hold on. Nobody's accusing you of anything." "Not directly, but Florence Wilkins has been whispering to the garden club. I saw her pointing at me this morning through the window." A sigh filled the space between them as a tray of scones was slid into the display case. "Look, I'm just doing preliminary inquiries. But between us... did you notice anything unusual while you were setting up?" "Only that Deborah Thompson spent an awful lot of time near the coat check. And for someone who claims to hate sweets, she lingered by my table before I unveiled the cake." "Deborah? The bank manager's wife?" "The very same. And she was wearing a new bracelet at church yesterday. Very sparkly for someone on a budget."