The scent of cinnamon and yeast filled the air, a warm blanket against the autumn chill creeping through the bakery’s front door. A flour-dusted counter separated the two figures. "Another one, just like the others. Left in the alley behind the post office." "And you're sure it's the same? Same little knot, same kind of string?" "Positive. It's him. Or her. It has to be. They’re getting bolder, leaving them where anyone could see." "They're not for anyone to see, though, are they? They're for you. It's a message." "A message I don't understand. Why a perfectly good scone? Why not a note?" "Perhaps the scone *is* the note. Think about it. The first was a simple plain one. Today, it's a cheese and chive. The ingredients are changing." "So you think they're trying to tell me something… with baked goods?" "In a town like this, what better way to send a secret message? Now, are you going to finish that eclair, or can I have it? We have a code to crack."