The scent of cinnamon rolls filled the warm bakery as flour dust danced in the morning sunlight streaming through gingham curtains. "Did you hear about Mrs. Henderson's garden gnomes going missing again?" "Third time this month. Though between you and me, I'm starting to wonder if she's moving them herself for the attention." "Now that's not very charitable. She's been beside herself ever since Harold passed." "You're right, I shouldn't gossip. Hand me that rolling pin, would you? These scones won't make themselves." "Speaking of Harold, wasn't he acting strange those last few weeks? Coming in here at odd hours, always looking over his shoulder." "I noticed that too. Ordered the same blueberry muffin every day but barely touched it. Just sat in the corner booth, watching the street." "And he kept asking about delivery schedules. When the bread truck came, when the milk arrived. Said he was thinking of starting a garden, but what does that have to do with deliveries?" "Maybe he was planning something special for Eleanor's birthday. It would've been next week." "Or maybe he knew something was going to happen to him." The oven timer chimed, breaking the sudden silence that had settled between them like settling flour.