The bell above the bakery door tinkled as warm cinnamon-scented air wafted out. “Did you try the new blackberry scones, or are you still loyal to your lemon tarts?” “I like to think of myself as adventurous, but nobody makes lemon tarts like these.” “Not even Mrs. Perkins from the garden club?” “Mrs. Perkins buys her crusts. Don’t tell her I said that. Besides, she’d never come up with the rosemary in the lemon curd.” “Secret ingredient. Don’t tell anyone, but I borrowed the idea from Aunt Charlotte.” “Aunt Charlotte, who was suspected of poisoning the mayor’s tea in ‘98?” “Suspected, sure, but never proved.” “I think I’ll stick to my tart after all. If I drop dead, at least it’ll be for something delicious.” “Tempted to put that on the chalkboard. ‘Die Happy, Eat Here.’” “It would fit. This place has killed every diet I ever tried.” “At least you keep coming back.” “I’d come back even if you confessed to murder. But you’d tell me if you were hiding something, right?” “Of course. Secrets go best with pastries.”