The cinnamon rolls were still steaming behind the glass case when the bell above the door chimed, carrying with it the scent of autumn rain. "You're seventeen minutes late. Mrs. Henderson already collected her scones." "Traffic. Or rather, the lack of it blocking the Henderson driveway again." "You parked in her hydrangeas, didn't you?" "Only the outer blooms. Listen, did you check the flour bin this morning?" "At five sharp. Why?" "Because someone measured out three precise cups and left a note tucked under the scale. 'Check the mayor's wife.'" "That's ridiculous. Dolores is strictly keto until Christmas." "Exactly. And yet, yesterday I found this ceramic button buried in the sourdough starter." "The blue willow pattern? From the Historical Society's missing quilt?" "Stitched right into the dough. Someone's baking evidence into our bread." "Or framing Dolores for gluten-related crimes she didn't commit." "We need to review the security footage. Right after you sweep those purple petals off my bumper." "Fine. But if we find another clue in the croissants, I'm switching to gluten-free investigations." "You wouldn't dare."