The scent of caramelized sugar and yeast hung heavy in the air, thick enough to coat the tongue. Sunlight streamed through the flour-dusted front window, illuminating a row of perfectly glazed bear claws. "I’m telling you, the Colonel didn't just 'forget' his heart medication. Not with the bridge tournament on Tuesday." "Maybe he was distracted. He did seem quite taken with that new librarian from the city." "The woman wears heels to the park. She’s suspicious, not distracting." "Oh, hush. You suspect everyone who doesn't buy their jam at the seasonal fair. Grab those tongs, would you? The sourdough is cooling." "I saw her yesterday, lurking behind the gazebo. She wasn’t looking at books, she was looking at the bakery’s back entrance." "Well, who wouldn't be? My cinnamon rolls are a local treasure." "This isn't a joke. If she’s looking for the recipe, that’s one thing. If she’s looking for the Colonel’s porcelain collection, that’s another." "Take a deep breath and have a scone. You’re getting flour on the floor again." "I just think it’s strange that the moment she arrives, the town’s wealthiest bachelor ends up in the hospital and the library gets a fresh coat of paint." "It’s called civic pride, dear. Now, serve Mrs. Higgins. She’s been staring at the crumpets for three minutes."