The bell above the door jingled, signaling the departure of the morning rush and leaving behind the scent of wet raincoats and fresh yeast. "Hand me that tray of scones, would you? The blueberry ones." "Here. But you can’t honestly believe Mrs. Halloway poisoned the judge’s prize pig." "I’m just saying, she bought red velvet cupcakes yesterday. She never buys red velvet. It’s too flashy for her." "People change. Maybe she’s living on the edge. Besides, what does cake have to do with a sick pig?" "Arsenic has a distinct almond taste. Red velvet masks it perfectly." "You read too many crime novels. She probably just wanted a treat." "She was sweating. In November. And she kept glancing at the closet where we keep the rat poison." "That closet is also where we keep the napkins. Which she asked for. Twice." "Because her hands were shaking." "Because she’s eighty-two, not because she’s a criminal mastermind. Now, stop profiling the elderly and help me frost these cinnamon rolls before the lunch crowd hits. Unless you think the frosting is a clue, too?" "Only if it tastes like almonds."