The bell above the door tinkled, a cheerful sound that always made Mrs. Gable smile, even when the rain was a relentless drumbeat against the bakery windows. She dusted flour from her apron, a faint scent of cinnamon clinging to her. "Another scone for the road?" "Good morning, Agnes. And yes, if you have one left with cranberries. My niece has a particular fondness." "Just baked a fresh batch. The kettle's just started whistling, too. Tea?" "A strong Earl Grey would be delightful. Did you hear about poor Mr. Henderson? The incident at the library last night." "Don't tell me. Not another one. This town is becoming quite the… hotbed of activity lately." "Indeed. And right before the annual pie competition, of all times. Poor Martha will be beside herself." "She always wins, though. Except when someone sabotages her crust. Remember the great blueberry scandal of '09?" "Ah, yes. A dark day for all pastry enthusiasts. This new business, though… it feels different. More… deliberate." "Always is, when someone ends up with a mysteriously overturned shelf of historical biographies. Now, about that tea…"