The morning sun streamed through the flour-dusted windows of Maple Street Bakery as the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls filled the air. Behind the counter, hands worked methodically, kneading tomorrow's bread. "I heard you found Mrs. Henderson's cat yesterday." "Poor Whiskers was hiding in the old mill. Scared half to death by all the commotion over there." "What kind of commotion?" "Police cars, mostly. Someone reported strange lights in the windows Tuesday night." The cash register chimed as a customer left with a box of glazed donuts. "Strange lights? The mill's been abandoned for years." "That's what makes it strange. Deputy Martinez said they didn't find anything, but old Tom swears he saw someone with a flashlight moving around inside." "Tom also swears he saw Elvis at the gas station last month." "True, but this time Mrs. Chen saw it too. She was walking her dog when those lights started flickering on and off." "Flickering? That doesn't sound like someone exploring with a flashlight." "No, it doesn't. More like a signal." The conversation paused as the oven timer chimed, but the unspoken question hung in the warm air between them.