The scent of cinnamon and sugar hung heavy in the air, a warm blanket against the morning chill. A bell jingled as the bakery door opened, letting in a gust of cool air. “Just the one I wanted to see.” “Is that so? I hope it’s to tell me my new lemon tart is a masterpiece.” “It’s to tell me why you were arguing with Silas Blackwood behind the post office yesterday. He looked fit to be tied.” “He’s always tied in knots. That man could start a fight in an empty church.” “Don’t play coy. I saw you shove a piece of paper into your apron pocket. Looked an awful lot like the deed to the old mill property.” “It’s a free country. A man can accept a delivery without it being a town scandal.” “Not when that ‘delivery’ was found clutched in his hand this morning. They say he never made it home last night.”