The display case hummed softly, the glass fogging slightly at the edges where the warmth of the oven met the cool autumn air drifting from the street. A tray of blueberry scones sat cooling on the counter, their sugary tops crumbling just enough to catch the morning light. "You’re staring at the bear claws again." "I’m deciding if my diet can handle the guilt." "Your diet has been 'deciding' for the last twenty minutes. Just buy the pastry." "It’s not just calories. It’s a moral dilemma. Did you hear about the incident at the gazebo last night?" "I heard the siren. Woke me right up. I thought maybe the milk delivery was late again." "Someone painted the mayor’s prize-winning poodle bright pink." "Pink?" "Fluorescent pink. Like, highlighter pink." "Well, that explains why Mrs. Higgins was in here earlier demanding all my beet juice." "You sold it to her?" "I’d sell my grandmother’s secret recipe if the price was right. Why? Do you think she’s the culprit?" "I think she’s on the list. Right below the tennis coach and the librarian with the grudge." "Put down the bear claw. You’re going to need both hands to solve this one."