The smell of cinnamon rolls filled the small bakery as morning light streamed through the checkered curtains. A woman in a flour-dusted apron leaned across the counter, lowering her voice. "Did you hear about what they found in Margaret's garden shed?" "The whole town's heard by now. A genuine human skeleton, can you imagine?" "I always said there was something off about that property. Remember when old Harold lived there? Never let anyone past the front porch." "That was thirty years ago. You don't think—" "I don't think anything. I just bake bread and mind my business." "Since when?" A nervous laugh echoed off the vintage cake display. The bell above the door chimed, and both women straightened immediately. "Two blueberry scones, please. And whatever information you've already shared with half the neighborhood." "Sheriff! We were just discussing the weather." "In December, with a skeleton turning up? Sure you were." A badge glinted as coins dropped into the tip jar. "If either of you remembers anything actually useful about Harold Pemberton, you know where to find me." The door swung shut. Silence lasted exactly four seconds. "Well, that confirms it's Harold's place they're investigating."