The smell of cinnamon and yeast hung thick in the air, a fragrant blanket over the small town bakery. A single fly buzzed against the glass display case. “Two of the sourdough loaves, please. The ones with the dark crust.” “Of course. They’re still warm from the oven. Will that be all for you today?” “I was hoping you might have heard something. About Mr. Henderson.” A heavy sigh. “Everyone’s heard something, dear. That doesn’t mean any of it’s true. They say he argued with someone down at the pier.” “Specifically, they say he argued with his own nephew. The night he disappeared.” “The nephew’s a good boy. Works hard. Just because they had a disagreement doesn’t mean…” A pause, the rustle of a paper bag. “Here you are. That’ll be eight dollars even.” A few coins clattered onto the wooden counter. “Thank you. And for the record, I don’t think the boy did it either. But someone did. And they weren’t careful. I found a monogrammed handkerchief stuffed behind the old bait barrels.”