The scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee filled the morning air as flour clouds danced in the sunbeam streaming through the bakery's front window. "Did you hear about what happened at the library last night?" "You mean poor Mrs. Henderson? I still can't believe it. She was just here yesterday buying her usual dozen sugar cookies for the book club." "The sheriff says it wasn't a heart attack after all. They're calling it suspicious circumstances now." "Suspicious? What could possibly be suspicious about Eleanor Henderson? That woman wouldn't hurt a fly. She's been running the children's reading program for fifteen years." "Well, apparently someone disagreed with her strongly enough to—" The voice dropped to a whisper. "They found her collapsed between the mystery and romance sections." "How fitting, in a terrible way. She always said she wanted to be surrounded by books when she went." A pause, then the sound of dough being kneaded more vigorously. "But if someone did this to her, they picked the wrong town to commit murder in." "What makes you say that?" "Have you forgotten? Half our customers are retired detectives and mystery writers."