The morning sun streamed through the front window of Sweet Crumbs Bakery, casting golden light across the display case filled with fresh pastries. The bell above the door chimed as a familiar figure stepped inside, bringing with her the scent of autumn leaves. "You're here early. Couldn't sleep either?" "Not after what happened at the library last night. I keep thinking about poor Harold slumped over that atlas." "The police are calling it natural causes, you know. Heart attack." "Harold walked five miles every morning and hadn't touched sugar in thirty years. That man's heart was stronger than mine." "What exactly are you suggesting?" "I'm suggesting that someone wanted him quiet before he could finish his research into the town's founding families." The espresso machine hissed and sputtered. A cranberry scone was slid across the counter on a delicate china plate. "Be careful. The Pembrooks have deep roots here. Deeper than anyone knows." "That's precisely what Harold was uncovering. He told me he found something in the old church records. Something that would change everything." "And now he's dead." "Exactly. Now, how much do I owe you for the scone?"