The door chimed as a bell jangled overhead. Warm air smelled of vanilla and freshly baked bread. Sunlight caught sugar crystals on the counter. “Did you hear the safe in the back was found ajar this morning?” “I’m more concerned about the case of missing pastries. Someone could be doing nightly taste tests.” “And the ledger’s gone. Papa always kept detailed notes on every recipe.” A tray of cupcakes and cinnamon buns steamed between them, dotted with caramel swirls. “Maybe the thief left a clue crumbs in the cinnamon rolls.” The baker wiped floury hands on a worn apron, gaze drifting to the half-open back door. “Or someone staged this to look like an inside job.” “But why take the ledger instead of the tip jar?” The oven’s timer beeped, brittle and cheerful as a birdcall. “Because whoever did this knows where the real secrets are hidden.” “Like your grandmother’s blackberry jam recipe?” “Exactly. It’s worth more than gold around here.” A bell tinkled as a customer stepped in, peering at the display. “One lemon tart, please.” They exchanged a knowing glance as a cold draft stirred the air behind them. “And you still think this is just another quiet morning in Maplewood?”