The morning sun slanted through the lace curtains, illuminating sugar-dusted countertops. A bell tinkled as the door opened, and flour footprints marked the worn wooden floor. “I never thought I’d see you sneak into a bakery before dawn,” a low voice whispered. “I could say the same about you,” came the soft reply. “Forty years in Maplewood and you still haven’t cracked our secret muffin recipe.” A tray clattered gently. “It’s not a recipe I’m after. Did you hear about old Mrs. Halworth’s missing brooch?” “Only that it was last seen perched on her dresser.” “Exactly. But look at this.” A folded scrap of ribbon poked from a flour bin. “Hand-tied, pale blue—identical to the bit Mrs. Halworth wore.” A heartbeat passed. “You think someone dropped it here?” “Or planted it.” The scent of warm cinnamon filled the air as they leaned closer. “Why frame a missing brooch in a bakery?” “Because everyone expects a baker to knead dough, not dig up secrets.” A hush settled over the morning rush. The baker slid a plate of pastry under the glass display and smiled. “Let’s see who comes asking for a second helping.”