The bell above the door chimed as morning sunlight streamed through the flour-dusted windows. "Mrs. Henderson was in here yesterday, wasn't she?" "Around four o'clock. Ordered two dozen lavender shortbreads for her book club." "Strange. Her neighbor found her back door wide open this morning. No sign of her anywhere." "That doesn't sound like her at all. She's always so careful about locking up." "The shortbreads are still sitting in the box. She never came back for them." "Maybe she had an emergency? Her daughter lives in Portland." "Already checked. Haven't heard from her since Sunday. And there's something else." "What?" "Her cat was outside. You know how she never lets Whiskers out." "Oh dear. Should we call Sheriff Bradley?" "He's already been to the house. Found her purse on the kitchen counter with her car keys inside." "This is terrible. First the museum curator, now Mrs. Henderson." "You think they're connected?" "Two prominent members of the historical society vanishing within a week? In a town this size?" "Here, take the shortbreads to the sheriff's office. Maybe they'll help somehow." "I'll go right now. And lock up behind me, will you?"