The scent of fresh cinnamon rolls mingled with the faint hum of the old espresso machine. Light from the window cast a warm glow on the checkered tablecloth where two cups of coffee steamed gently. “You really think someone’s been sneaking in after hours?” “It’s the only way the pies keep disappearing without a trace. The shelf was full yesterday.” “And no sign of a break-in? The front door always locks automatically.” “Exactly. Whoever it is knows the routine—and the schedules.” A chuckle drifted from the corner where a jar of cookies sat half-empty. “Maybe it’s the ghost of Mrs. Fletcher. She always did have a sweet tooth.” “Funny. But the truth is, it's probably someone local. Someone who knows everyone’s habits.” “Could it be Tom? He’s always hanging around, joking about ‘borrowing’ a muffin.” “That would be petty theft, not a heist. No, I think it’s someone with a real motive.” The bell above the door jingled softly, and a familiar figure entered, wiping flour from their hands. “Speaking of motives, have you seen the new batch of blueberry scones? They’re disappearing twice as fast this week.”