The scent of cinnamon and yeast hung heavy in the air, a welcome contrast to the crisp autumn morning outside. The display case was a masterpiece of sugar and butter, but one pastry sat slightly apart, a lone, perfect apple turnover. “That’s a dangerous-looking turnover.” “It’s for Mr. Abernathy. He’ll be in at ten for his coffee and the paper. He always has this one.” “The one with the extra lattice on top? How do you remember all their little rituals?” “It’s not a ritual, it’s a comfort. People come here for more than flour and sugar. They come for the familiar.” “Maybe. But Mrs. Gable’s lemon tart seems to have a bit more… pep… in it this morning. A little extra zest, perhaps?” “A baker never reveals her secrets. But I will say a sharp mind needs a sharp flavor.” “Speaking of sharp minds… I saw the lights on at the museum last night, long after closing.” “Did you, now? Well, some things are best left uncovered, don’t you think? Just like a good apple turnover.”