“That’s the third time Mrs. Penwell’s circled the block.” “Maybe she’s hoping you’ll save her a raspberry danish.” “She always gets the lemon tarts. Always. She hates raspberries, remember?” “I doubt she hates them enough to forget who iced your wedding cake.” “You don’t think she’s here for the cake, do you?” “I think she’s here for gossip. Or maybe for the police officer who keeps looking in the window every ten minutes.” “Are you saying Mrs. Penwell’s a suspect?” “I’m saying that backpack she’s so fiercely clutching looks awfully… lumpy.” “Honestly, I thought she just had her knitting. She brings it everywhere since the knitting club was shut down for ‘suspicious conduct’.” “Suspicious conduct or not, she’s eyeing the register like it owes her money.” “She’s probably just counting her coins. She does that before buying tarts.” “Or maybe she’s about to confess to something. The town’s gone haywire since those footprints showed up behind the old mill.” “If anyone tries to rob me for pastry, I swear—” “Too late. She’s coming in. Quick, smile—and if she asks for a raspberry danish, I’ll eat my hat.” “You? Baking or haberdashery, you never disappoint.”