The scent of yeast and cinnamon hung heavy in the air of the tiny shop, warm enough to banish the autumn chill creeping through the windowpanes. A flour-dusted apron wiped the counter, moving with practiced ease. "Three lemon tarts and a coffee, black. You look like you need the caffeine." "I didn't sleep a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that umbrella stand in the foyer." "The one the police took into evidence? You really think it’s the murder weapon." "It was heavy enough. But the point is, the handle was loose. I remember hearing it rattle when the mayor walked in yesterday afternoon." "That’s a slippery slope. Accusing the town's most distinguished citizen." "I’m not accusing, just observing. And I also observed the new librarian polishing her shoes in the alley behind the post office at midnight. Who polishes suede in the dark?" "You spend too much time watching people and not enough time eating. It’ll make you old before your time." "Maybe. But if I don't figure out who the umbrella belongs to, I might not have time to get old at all."