The bell above the bakery door jingled softly as the morning rush began to subside. The scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon swirled in the air. “Have you noticed how Mrs. Carmichael hasn’t come by for her usual morning scone?” “Well, with the fair last weekend, I assumed she was otherwise occupied. But now that you mention it, that does seem odd.” “She called me last night, sounded flustered. Said she needed to talk but didn’t say what about.” “Maybe it’s nothing. People get caught up in their own troubles.” “True, but Mrs. Carmichael’s troubles usually come with a pot of tea and a good gossip. This felt different.” “Do you think something’s wrong? Should we check on her?” “Absolutely. If she’s not popping in here by noon, I’m swinging by her house. You can’t just disappear in a town like this without someone noticing.” “Agreed. And if there’s anything we can do, you know I’m there.” The warmth of the bakery suddenly felt a little less comforting, the afternoon sun casting longer shadows across the tiled floor.