The bell above the door chimed, letting in a gust of autumn leaves and the scent of rain. Behind the counter, a cloud of flour poofed into the air as a heavy tray hit the wood. "You’re out of lemon tarts again." "They sell out by ten. You’re late." "I was busy watching the police tape go up around the library." "Two sugars?" "Make it three. I’m shaken." "The library? I thought Mrs. Gable was just returning her books late." "She returned them, alright. Right on top of the librarian’s head." "Agatha?" "Dead as a doornail. And the worst part?" "The pages?" "Ruined. First editions." "That is a tragedy." "Agatha was a nice woman!" "I meant the books. Agatha still owed me for three croissants." "You’re heartless. This is a murder investigation." "It’s a Tuesday. And on Tuesdays, I worry about inventory. Did they catch the old bird?" "She’s sitting in the gazebo knitting. They can't get the yarn off the handcuffs." "Pass the cream, then. And don't drip it on the obituary section."