The bell above the door jingled as a gust of autumn wind swept in, sending a few golden leaves skittering across the checkerboard floor. The scent of cinnamon and warm bread wrapped around the two women like a cozy blanket. "Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Every time I try to bake a pie crust, it turns out like a Frisbee." A soft chuckle came from behind the counter. "Well, you’re not using enough butter, for starters. And you’re probably overworking the dough. Patience is key—just like with everything else in this town." The first woman sighed, tracing a finger along the glass display case. "Speaking of patience, did you hear about what happened at the harvest festival last night? Poor Mrs. Henderson’s prize-winning pumpkin was *stolen* right off her table!" "Stolen? That’s ridiculous. Who would even want a giant pumpkin?" "Exactly! Unless… unless someone was trying to sabotage her chances at the baking competition. You know how she’s been bragging about her secret spice blend all month." A pause. The sound of a loaf being wrapped in paper. "You don’t really think someone would go that far, do you?" "In this town? Oh, I absolutely do."