The bell above the door gave a cheerful jingle, announcing a new arrival. The scent of cinnamon and baked apples hung heavy in the air, almost as thick as the morning fog outside. “Morning, Agnes. You’re early today.” “Couldn’t sleep a wink, Bernard. That whole business at the library… it’s just gnawing at me.” “Anything new?” A sigh. “Just whispers. Mrs. Gable insists she saw a shadow by the rare books section just before closing. Said it was tall, like a… like a scarecrow.” A soft chuckle from behind the counter. “A scarecrow in library hours? Bless her heart. Probably Arthur Finch trying to sneak a peek at the historical society’s latest findings.” “Arthur wouldn’t be lurking in the shadows, he’d be demanding them. No, this felt… different. And the way Mr. Henderson was acting yesterday, all flustered and stammering when I asked about the overdue notices. He’s usually so steady.” “Steady as a good sourdough starter, that one. Maybe he just misplaced his spectacles again. Happens to the best of us.” “Perhaps. But my gut tells me something’s amiss, and it’s more than a misplaced pair of glasses.”