The scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar hung heavy in the air. A flour-dusted counter separated the two of them. “Another one? This is the third delivery this week that’s been… off.” “I know. Mildred’s lemon tarts are usually perfect. This one tastes of nothing but regret.” “And Mr. Henderson’s sourdough was flatter than his jokes. He’s been baking that loaf for twenty years.” “Something’s wrong. It’s not just a bad day. It feels deliberate.” “You don’t think…” “No. Not Mildred. But someone is sabotaging them. Using their own recipes against them.” “Why? What could anyone possibly gain from ruining a bake sale?” “It’s not about the sale. It’s about the judging. The ribbon for ‘Best in Show’ is quite prestigious, you know. And the winner’s recipe gets featured in the town calendar.” “So you’re saying this is culinary warfare?” “I’m saying someone is very, very hungry to win. And they’re not above playing dirty. We need to find out who before the judging this afternoon.”