The morning light slanted through the lace curtains of Butter & Thyme, catching dust motes above flour-dusted counters. The scent of cinnamon rolls and burnt sugar curled in the air. “You’re in early. Usual?” “Double shot today, please. Didn’t sleep. Kept thinking about Marjorie’s missing parrot.” “The one that squawked gossip better than Doris at the post office?” “That’s the one. Vanished Tuesday. No cage damage. Just… gone.” “Huh. Maybe it flew the coop after one too many renditions of ‘Tax audit!’” “Funny. But Marjorie’s convinced someone took it. Says Boris knew things. Names. Habits. Who bought laxatives every Thursday.” “That *is* valuable intel. So, you sniffing around now?” “Only with a scone in hand. But I did notice something—parrot seed sprinkled near the back door. Not inside the yard. Outside.” “Meaning someone lured it?” “Or someone it knew waited there. Birds don’t trust just anyone.” “You implying Mildred took it? She’s got that parrot envy ever since hers passed.” “Mildred *and* her suspiciously well-stocked birdseed drawer. Also, she was ‘visiting her sister’ Tuesday. Sister lives in Pottsville. That’s two hours away. And Marjorie saw her blue van near the square.” “Huh. Maybe I’ll avoid the cranberry scone today. Mildred bakes those.” “Too late. Already ate two.” “Hope you’ve got a good life insurance policy.” A chuckle, then the clink of a spoon in a porcelain cup. Outside, a shadow passed the window—familiar, hat pulled low. “Speaking of… think she knows we’re onto her?” “Nah. But she *does* know I hate raisins. Yet here I am, chewing.”