COOKIES, CRUMBS, AND CRIME

A LUCY BLACKSTONE MYSTERY

BOOK 1

MAISY MARPLE

with

WENDY WINCHESTER

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COOKIES, CRUMBS, AND CRIME

In the charming town of Brentwood Falls, books and baked goods are a recipe for murder.

Lucy Blackstone loves three things: her job as town librarian, her collection of mystery novels, and the melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookies from Sweet Delight Bakery. But when beloved baker Winnie Baxter is found dead beside a shattered cookie jar, Lucy's passion for puzzles pulls her into a real-life whodunit.

Everyone loved Winnie's cookies—but someone wanted her secret recipe badly enough to kill for it. Was it her assistant Sadie, set to inherit the bakery? Her estranged sister Marnie, suddenly back in town with claims to the business? Or Earl Lattimore, whose competing café was losing customers to Winnie's delectable treats?

As Lucy investigates, she uncovers a recipe laced with blackmail, stolen formulas, and decades-old grudges. With the skeptical Sheriff Hank Pritchard reluctantly accepting her help, Lucy must sift through a town full of suspects before the killer strikes again.

Armed with her librarian's research skills and an insatiable curiosity, Lucy proves that in Brentwood Falls, the most dangerous ingredients aren't found in the kitchen—they're the secrets people will do anything to keep hidden.

Cookies, Crumbs, and Crime is the first deliciously entertaining Lucy Blackstone Mystery, perfect for fans of culinary cozies and book-loving sleuths. Pull up a chair, pour a cup of tea, and satisfy your craving for a small-town mystery where the stakes are sweet but the motives are deadly.

1

Lucy Blackstone believed two things with absolute certainty: books could solve most of life's problems, and Winnie Baxter's shortbread cookies could solve the rest.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of The Perk, Brentwood Falls' only café worth mentioning, as Lucy sipped her chamomile tea. She'd staked out her usual corner table, surrounded by the comforting scent of coffee beans and pastries. A dog-eared copy of Agatha Christie's "The Body in the Library" sat open before her, though she'd read it so many times she could recite entire passages from memory.

"Another cup, Lucy?" Mabel Jenkins, The Perk's seventy-something owner, appeared at her table with a steaming pot.

Lucy checked her watch and sighed. "Better not. I need to pick up Winnie's shortbread before I open the library."

"Those cookies should be classified as controlled substances," Mabel chuckled. "I swear half the town is addicted."

"They're my only vice," Lucy admitted, closing her book and tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Well, that and solving other people's problems whether they want me to or not."

"Occupational hazard of being a librarian, I suppose." Mabel smiled. "Always organizing chaos."

Lucy gathered her belongings—book, cardigan, sensible shoulder bag—and headed toward the door. "See you tomorrow, Mabel."

The bell above the door jingled as Lucy stepped into the crisp autumn air. Brentwood Falls wasn't much to look at on a map—just a dot in rural America—but on mornings like this, with golden leaves swirling along Main Street and the mountains rising in the distance, Lucy couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

She'd settled here five years ago after accepting the position of head librarian. At thirty-five, she'd wanted somewhere quiet after the bustle of city life. What she'd found instead was a town bubbling with secrets, where everyone knew everyone's business—or thought they did.

The walk to Sweet Delight Bakery took all of three minutes. Lucy frowned when she noticed the CLOSED sign still hanging in the window. Winnie always opened at 6 AM sharp. It was now approaching 8:30.

Lucy cupped her hands against the glass and peered inside. The display cases stood empty, the lights off.

"That's odd," she muttered, stepping back. She tried the door handle, but it was locked tight.

A siren wailed in the distance, growing louder. Lucy turned to see Sheriff Hank Pritchard's cruiser racing down Main Street, lights flashing. It screeched to a halt at the entrance to the alley beside Sweet Delight. Deputy Otis McBride's vehicle pulled up seconds later.

Lucy's librarian instincts—honed by years of noticing when something was out of place—kicked into high alert. She hurried toward the alley.

"Ma'am, I need you to stay back," Deputy Otis called out, already stringing yellow caution tape across the alley entrance.

Otis had graduated from high school just three years ago and still called Lucy "ma'am" despite her countless reminders not to.

"Otis, it's me," Lucy said. "What's happening?"

The young deputy's face paled. "Miss Blackstone, you really shouldn't⁠—"

"Lucy." Sheriff Pritchard emerged from the alley, his weathered face grim. At fifty-something, Hank had the permanent squint of someone who'd seen too much and the patience of someone who knew nothing could be rushed—especially not in Brentwood Falls. "You might want to head on to the library."

"Is something wrong with Winnie?" Lucy asked, a cold sensation spreading through her chest. "Her shop isn't open."

Hank exchanged glances with Otis. "I'm afraid there's been an accident."

"An accident? What kind of accident?" Lucy tried to peer around him, but Hank's substantial frame blocked her view.

"Lucy, please," Hank said softly. "Give us some space to work."

The tremor in his voice told Lucy everything she needed to know. "Is she...?"

Hank nodded once, his eyes sad beneath the brim of his hat. "Looks like she fell. Hit her head."

"Winnie? But that's impossible. She's the most careful person I know. She even puts those little rubber things on her step stool."

"Lucy," Hank said, using his official sheriff voice now, "I need you to step back."

A piercing wail cut through the morning air. Lucy turned to see Sadie Wilcox, Winnie's assistant, running toward them, her face streaked with tears.

"Is it true?" Sadie cried, her blonde ponytail coming undone as she rushed forward. "Someone said Winnie's—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Miss Wilcox," Hank said, his tone gentler now. "I'm afraid we have some bad news."

Sadie's legs seemed to give out, and Lucy caught her before she hit the pavement. "No, no, no," the young woman sobbed into Lucy's shoulder. "I just saw her yesterday!"

Lucy held the trembling assistant, her own shock momentarily forgotten as she tried to comfort Sadie. Over the young woman's shoulder, Lucy watched as the town's only ambulance pulled up.

"When did this happen?" Lucy asked Hank.

"Can't say for certain yet," the sheriff replied. "Baker from the diner found her when he was taking out trash around 6 AM."

"She opens at six every day," Lucy said. "She must have been setting up for the morning."

Hank nodded. "That's what we figure."

"Can I see her?" Sadie pulled away from Lucy, her mascara creating dark rivers down her cheeks.

"That's not a good idea right now," Hank said firmly. "We need to process the scene."

"Process the scene?" Lucy repeated. "I thought you said it was an accident."

A flicker of something—hesitation, perhaps—crossed Hank's face. "Standard procedure, Lucy."

Otis approached, looking uncomfortable. "Sheriff, we found something."

Hank excused himself and followed his deputy back into the alley. Lucy led Sadie to a nearby bench, well aware that curious townspeople were beginning to gather.

"I can't believe she's gone," Sadie whimpered. "What am I going to do now?"

"Take deep breaths," Lucy advised, though her own heart was racing. "What happened yesterday when you saw her?"

Sadie stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You said you just saw her yesterday. How was she? Did she seem worried about anything?"

"She was fine," Sadie said too quickly. Then she looked down at her hands. "Well, maybe not fine. We had a disagreement."

"About?"

"It doesn't matter now," Sadie sniffed. "I can't believe the last thing we did was argue."

Lucy patted Sadie's hand. "I'm sure it wasn't serious."

"You don't understand. I said terrible things." Fresh tears welled in Sadie's eyes. "I told her she was ruining everything. That if she didn't change her mind, she'd regret it."

Lucy blinked. "Regret what?"

Before Sadie could answer, Sheriff Pritchard returned, holding what looked like a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a jagged piece of ceramic—white with blue painted flowers.

"Is that—" Lucy began.

"One of Winnie's cookie jars," Sadie confirmed, her voice hollow. "The one she keeps shortbread in."

"It was found shattered near the body," Hank said, watching Sadie's reaction carefully. "Any idea why she might have been carrying it into the alley?"

Sadie shook her head. "She keeps those jars on the front counter. She'd never take them outside."

"Someone else could have," Lucy suggested.

Hank's gaze shifted to her. "Lucy, don't start."

"Start what?"

"You know what. This isn't one of your mystery novels."

"I never said it was," Lucy retorted. "But you have to admit, it's strange."

"What's strange is you turning every unfortunate incident in this town into a puzzle to be solved," Hank said, but there was no real heat in his words. They'd had this conversation too many times before.

"Miss Wilcox," Otis approached, notepad in hand. "We need to ask you a few questions. Would you mind coming down to the station?"

Sadie's eyes widened. "Am I in trouble?"

"Just routine," Hank assured her, though his tone lacked conviction.

"I'll come with you," Lucy offered.

"That won't be necessary," Hank said firmly.

"I'd like her to," Sadie said, gripping Lucy's hand. "Please?"

Hank sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that suggested he was already regretting what he was about to say. "Fine. But you sit quiet, Lucy. No interrupting."

"When have I ever interrupted an official investigation?" Lucy asked innocently.

Both Hank and Otis stared at her.

"This month," she clarified.

"Get in the car," Hank grumbled.

As they walked toward the cruiser, Lucy glanced back at the alley where paramedics were now loading a gurney with a sheet-covered form into the ambulance. Poor Winnie. All she'd ever wanted was to make people happy with her baking.

The ride to the sheriff's station was silent and tense. Lucy sat in the back with Sadie, who stared blankly out the window, occasionally wiping away tears.

The station was a modest brick building that also housed the town's small post office. Inside, Hank led them to his office while Otis fetched coffee.

"Now then," Hank said, settling behind his desk. "Sadie, can you walk me through yesterday? When did you last see Winnie?"

Sadie fidgeted with the tissue Lucy had given her. "Around closing time. Five-thirty."

"And you argued?"

Sadie's eyes darted to Lucy, then back to Hank. "It wasn't really an argument. Just a disagreement."

"About?"

"The recipe book," Sadie mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" Hank leaned forward.

"Winnie's recipe book," Sadie said louder. "She was going to sell it."

Lucy couldn't hide her surprise. "Sell her recipes? But they're family secrets. She always said she'd never share them."

"That's what we argued about," Sadie explained. "Someone offered her a lot of money, and she was considering it. I told her she couldn't—that those recipes were meant to stay at Sweet Delight."

"Who offered to buy them?" Hank asked.

"I don't know. She wouldn't say. Just that it was someone who could take the bakery 'to the next level,' whatever that means."

Hank made a note. "And this made you angry?"

"Of course it did!" Sadie's voice rose. "I've worked there for three years. She always said someday the place would be mine. If she sold those recipes, what would be left for me?"

"So you threatened her," Hank said mildly.

"I didn't threaten her! I just told her she'd regret it."

"Sounds like a threat to me," Otis muttered as he entered with a tray of coffee mugs.

"It wasn't like that," Sadie insisted, tears forming again. "I would never hurt Winnie. Never."

Lucy placed a calming hand on Sadie's arm. "I'm sure Sheriff Pritchard isn't suggesting you would."

But one look at Hank's face told Lucy he was suggesting exactly that.

"Where were you this morning between 5 and 6 AM?" Hank asked.

"At home, asleep," Sadie replied. "I don't open on Wednesdays. Winnie handles mornings by herself on Wednesdays."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"I live alone."

Hank nodded, writing something else in his notebook. "And Winnie's recipe book—where would it be kept?"

"In the safe in her office," Sadie said. "She's paranoid about those recipes."

"Was," Lucy corrected gently. "She was paranoid."

Sadie dissolved into fresh tears.

"I think that's enough for now," Hank said, closing his notebook. "Sadie, don't leave town. We may have more questions."

"Am I a suspect?" Sadie asked, her voice small.

Hank's expression softened slightly. "Right now, we're treating this as an accident. But we need to be thorough."

Lucy didn't miss the subtle emphasis on "right now." Neither, apparently, did Sadie, who paled visibly.

"Can I go home?" Sadie asked.

"Of course," Hank nodded. "Otis will drive you."

After Sadie left with Deputy McBride, Lucy remained seated across from Hank.

"Go ahead," the sheriff said with resignation. "I know you're dying to say something."

"You don't really think Sadie killed Winnie over a recipe book, do you?"

Hank leaned back in his chair. "What I think is that people have killed for a lot less. And we have a woman found dead with a broken cookie jar beside her and an assistant who publicly threatened her the day before."

"It was hardly public," Lucy argued. "And 'you'll regret it' is what everyone says during an argument."

"Maybe," Hank conceded. "But here's what bothers me—if Winnie slipped and fell, why was she in the alley at all? And why was she carrying a cookie jar outside?"

"Exactly!" Lucy leaned forward eagerly. "So you do think it's suspicious."

"I think it's worth asking questions," Hank clarified. "That's my job, Lucy. Not yours."

"But—"

"No buts. I know how you get. You see a mystery and you can't help yourself. But this isn't a book club discussion. If this turns out to be more than an accident, it's a real investigation."

Lucy crossed her arms. "I'm not an idiot, Hank. I understand the difference."

"Do you? Because the last time you 'helped,' Mrs. Fincher's prize-winning roses ended up completely destroyed."

"That was an accident! How was I supposed to know her nephew was hiding the stolen science fair trophy in the garden?"

"My point exactly," Hank said. "You get an idea in your head and charge ahead without thinking about the consequences."

Lucy couldn't argue with that assessment—it was fair. But still...

"I just want to help Sadie," she said. "She didn't do this."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Sadie adored Winnie. Even when they disagreed."

Hank studied her for a moment. "Lucy, promise me you won't interfere. Let me do my job."

Lucy hesitated.

"Promise," Hank insisted.

"Fine," Lucy relented. "I promise I won't interfere with your investigation."

Hank nodded, satisfied. "Thank you. Now don't you have a library to open?"

Lucy glanced at her watch and jumped up. "You're right! I'm late!"

As she hurried toward the door, Hank called after her, "And Lucy? That wasn't a suggestion for you to start your own investigation!"

Lucy waved without turning around. Of course she wouldn't interfere with Hank's investigation. She'd simply conduct her own, parallel inquiries. After all, if there was one thing a librarian excelled at, it was research.

And if there was one thing Lucy Blackstone excelled at, it was finding answers that others missed.

As she rushed down Main Street toward the library, her mind was already cataloging questions. Who wanted Winnie's recipes badly enough to offer "a lot of money" for them? Was the broken cookie jar significant, or just a coincidence? And most importantly—why would anyone want to harm the sweetest baker in Brentwood Falls?

Lucy didn't know the answers yet, but she intended to find out. After all, books had taught her that every mystery had a solution—you just had to know where to look for the clues.

2

Lucy flipped the sign on the Brentwood Falls Public Library door to OPEN precisely ten minutes late. In her fifteen years as a librarian, she'd never been tardy until moving to this small town, where murders and mysteries seemed to sprout like dandelions after a spring rain.

"Sorry I'm late, Dot," Lucy called to her assistant, already stationed at the circulation desk.

Dorothy "Dot" Fletcher peered over her oversized glasses, her silver bob swinging as she shook her head. "I heard about Winnie. Terrible business. Just terrible."

"News travels fast," Lucy sighed, hanging her cardigan on the coat rack.

"This is Brentwood Falls," Dot replied, as if that explained everything. And it did.

"Any calls?"

"Three. All asking if you'd solved the murder yet." Dot's tone was perfectly matter-of-fact.

"It hasn't been officially ruled a murder," Lucy corrected, though her own suspicions were already churning. "And even if it was, why would people assume I'd be investigating?"

Dot raised a single eyebrow, a skill Lucy had always envied.

"Fine," Lucy conceded. "But I promised Hank I wouldn't interfere."

"And how long will that promise last?" Dot asked, stamping a due date into "Garden Design for Beginners."

Lucy checked her watch. "About forty-seven minutes so far."

With a knowing smile, Dot returned to her work. Lucy made her way to her office, a glorified closet with just enough room for a desk, chair, and two narrow bookshelves. She booted up her ancient computer and opened a browser window.

What had Winnie been working on lately? Lucy recalled their conversation last week. Winnie had been experimenting with unusual ingredients—trying to create something "truly special" for the upcoming Harvest Festival. Lucy couldn't remember exactly what Winnie had mentioned, but it had sounded exotic.

Twenty minutes later, Lucy was deep in research mode, surrounded by printouts on obscure spices and rare cookie ingredients. Her notepad was filled with scribbles:

• Cardamom - expensive but available locally

• Saffron - VERY expensive, special order?

• Black sesame - Asian market in Millfield?

• Specialty flours - Clay's Mill?

The last note made her pause. Clay Redford owned the historic grist mill just outside town. His family had been grinding specialty flours for generations. If Winnie had been experimenting with unusual ingredients, Clay would likely know about it.

Lucy's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock. She looked up to find Sadie Wilcox standing in her doorway, eyes puffy from crying.

"Sadie," Lucy said, quickly clearing papers from the visitor chair. "Come in, sit down."

Sadie collapsed into the chair, clutching her purse like a life preserver. "They think I did it," she blurted out. "Everyone in town is looking at me like I'm some kind of monster."

"Surely not everyone⁠—"

"Mrs. Pendleton crossed the street to avoid me," Sadie cut in. "And the barista at The Perk asked if I wanted my coffee 'murderer-strength.'"

Lucy winced. "That's awful. And completely inappropriate."

"I didn't kill her, Lucy." Sadie leaned forward, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "I know how it looks. We argued. I said things I shouldn't have. But I would never hurt Winnie. Never."

"I believe you," Lucy assured her, though a tiny part of her brain—the part that had read too many Agatha Christie novels—reminded her that the most obvious suspect was rarely the culprit. "Tell me more about this recipe book. Why was it suddenly for sale?"

Sadie dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. "That's just it—it wasn't sudden. She'd been considering it for months. Said she was getting too old to keep up with the bakery's demands. That maybe it was time to cash in."

"But she loved baking," Lucy frowned. "And she wasn't that old—what, sixty-five?"

"Sixty-eight," Sadie corrected. "And it wasn't about not loving it anymore. It was about security. She wanted to make sure the bakery would continue even after she..." Sadie trailed off, fresh tears welling.

"After she was gone," Lucy finished gently.

Sadie nodded miserably. "The thing is, I always thought the bakery would be mine someday. She hinted at it for years. But lately, she'd been acting strange. Secretive. Having meetings in her office with the door closed."

"Do you know who she was meeting with?"

"Not really. There was a man in an expensive suit last week. I'd never seen him before. And Clay Redford came by a few times, but that's not unusual—he supplies all our flour."

Lucy made a mental note to add Clay to her list of people to question. "What about family? Would Winnie have left the bakery to a relative?"

Sadie shrugged. "She never talked much about family. I got the impression she was estranged from them. She once mentioned a sister, but said they hadn't spoken in years."

As if on cue, Dot appeared in the doorway. "Lucy, there's a woman asking about Winnie Baxter. Says she's her sister."

Lucy and Sadie exchanged surprised glances.

"Speak of the devil," Sadie muttered.

"Send her in," Lucy said, curiosity piqued.

Moments later, a tall woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun entered the office. Despite the physical differences—Winnie had been shorter, rounder, with a face made for smiling—there was something in the set of her jaw that instantly reminded Lucy of the deceased baker.

"You're the librarian?" the woman asked, her voice crisp and businesslike. "I'm Marnie Higgins. Winnie's sister."

"Lucy Blackstone," Lucy offered her hand. "And this is Sadie Wilcox, Winnie's assistant at the bakery."

Marnie barely glanced at Sadie. "I need information. The sheriff tells me my sister is dead, but he's being frustratingly vague about the details."

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Lucy said automatically.

"Yes, well," Marnie's mouth tightened. "It's been a long time since Winnie and I were close. But family is family, and I need to know what happened."

Sadie stood abruptly. "I should go." Her face had paled considerably since Marnie's arrival.

"Wait," Lucy said. "Don't you want to⁠—"

"No," Sadie interrupted. "I really don't." With a last, nervous look at Marnie, she hurried out.

Marnie watched her go with narrowed eyes. "Jumpy little thing, isn't she?"

"She's upset," Lucy defended. "Winnie was like a mother to her."

"Hmph," Marnie sniffed. "Winnie always did collect strays."

Lucy bristled at the characterization but kept her voice neutral. "How can I help you, Ms. Higgins?"

"You can tell me what happened to my sister. And then you can point me toward whoever is handling her will and the bakery's ownership."

"I don't know much about what happened," Lucy said cautiously. "The sheriff is treating it as an accident for now. As for the will—you'd need to speak with Winnie's lawyer."

"And who would that be?"

"I'm not certain," Lucy admitted. "But Agnes Palmer handles most of the legal work in town. Her office is just down the street."

Marnie nodded briskly. "One more thing. Winnie promised me a share of that bakery years ago, before our... disagreement. I intend to claim what's rightfully mine."

Lucy tried to keep the surprise from her face. "You and Winnie had an arrangement regarding Sweet Delight?"

"Of course we did. We opened it together, you know. Those were our grandmother's recipes we built the business on." Marnie's expression hardened. "Just because I left town doesn't mean I surrendered my rights to our family legacy."

This was news to Lucy. In all the years she'd frequented Sweet Delight, Winnie had never mentioned a co-founder. "How long ago did you leave Brentwood Falls?"

"Twenty-five years," Marnie said. "But legally, my claim still stands. I'll see to that."

With another curt nod, she turned and swept out of the office, leaving Lucy staring after her.

"Well," Lucy murmured to herself, "that complicates things."

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of returned books and research requests. By lunchtime, Lucy was ready for a break and some fresh perspective. She headed to The Perk, intent on both a sandwich and some discreet information gathering.

The café was buzzing when she arrived, conversations dropping to whispers as she entered. Lucy ignored the curious stares and took a seat at the counter.

"Turkey on rye?" Mabel asked, already reaching for the bread.

Lucy nodded. "And an extra-large tea. It's been that kind of morning."

"I'll bet," Mabel's eyes twinkled with unasked questions. "Heard you were at the station with Sadie Wilcox."

"Word travels fast," Lucy observed dryly.

"Faster than light in this town," Mabel agreed. "Poor Winnie. Who'd want to hurt such a sweet woman?"

"We don't know that anyone did," Lucy reminded her. "It could have been an accident."

Mabel leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Then why is Sheriff Pritchard questioning half the town? He stopped in earlier asking if I'd seen Winnie with anyone unusual lately."

"Had you?"

"Just the usual crowd. Oh, and that man from the city—suit like it cost more than my monthly rent. Had coffee with Winnie last Tuesday. Very intense conversation, from what I could see."

"Did you catch his name?"

"Peterson or Pederson, something like that. Said he was in acquisitions."

Lucy filed away this information as Mabel went to prepare her sandwich. The café was packed with the lunch crowd, most of them undoubtedly there to trade gossip about Winnie's demise. Lucy recognized most of the faces—a hazard of being the town librarian—but one table in the corner caught her attention.

Clay Redford sat hunched over a coffee mug, deep in conversation with a man Lucy didn't recognize. At forty-something, Clay had the weathered hands of someone who worked with grain and the shrewd eyes of a businessman. He was gesturing emphatically, his expression tense.

Lucy couldn't hear what they were saying from her position, but something about their body language suggested the conversation wasn't casual. She casually moved to a table closer to them, pretending to be engrossed in her phone.

"—told her it wasn't sustainable," Clay was saying, his voice low but intense. "The deal was already going sideways."

The other man—younger, with slicked-back hair and a polished appearance that screamed "not from around here"—shook his head. "That's not my problem, Redford. We had an agreement."

"The agreement was with Winnie," Clay hissed. "And now she's dead."

"Unfortunate timing," the man replied coolly. "But business continues."

"Does it?" Clay's laugh held no humor. "You think her sister's going to honor our arrangement? Marnie Higgins is a shark in sensible shoes."

The man's expression darkened. "Find a way to make it work, Clay. Too much is riding on this."

"Or what?" Clay challenged.

The man didn't answer, just sipped his coffee with deliberate calm. After a tense moment, he placed his cup down and stood. "I'll be in touch. Soon."

As he turned to leave, he nearly collided with Lucy, who'd been so focused on eavesdropping she hadn't noticed her tea going cold.

"Excuse me," the man said smoothly, barely glancing at her as he navigated around her table.

"No problem," Lucy mumbled, flushing at being caught so obviously lurking.

Clay looked up and caught her eye, his expression immediately shifting from anger to forced casualness. "Lucy! Didn't see you there."

"Just grabbed a quick lunch," Lucy said, indicating her half-eaten sandwich. "Busy day at the mill?"

"Always is," Clay replied, though his eyes darted to the retreating figure of his lunch companion. "Harvest season's coming up. Everyone wants their specialty blends."

"Including Winnie," Lucy said, watching his reaction carefully. "I heard she was experimenting with new ingredients."

Something flickered across Clay's face—surprise? Concern? "Winnie was always innovating. Best baker in three counties."

"Was that what your meeting with her was about last week? New flour blends?"

Clay's eyebrows rose. "You keeping tabs on Winnie's visitors, Lucy?"

"Just curious. She was excited about something new for the Harvest Festival."

"Right," Clay nodded, relaxing slightly. "She wanted a custom blend—stone-ground heritage wheat with a touch of almond flour. Said it would make the perfect shortbread base."

"Sounds delicious," Lucy agreed. "Did you supply it?"

"First test batch went out Monday," Clay confirmed. "She seemed pleased with the results." His expression clouded. "Shame she won't get to use it at the festival now."

"Unless Sadie carries on her recipes," Lucy suggested.

Clay's laugh was sharp. "If Marnie Higgins has her way, there won't be any bakery for Sadie to work at, let alone recipes to continue."

"You know Marnie?"

"From way back," Clay said, an edge to his voice. "She and Winnie had... creative differences about the bakery's direction. Marnie wanted to go commercial, mass-produce their grandmother's recipes. Winnie was all about keeping it small, artisanal."

"Hence the falling out?"

Clay nodded. "Marnie left to work for a big food conglomerate. Did well for herself, from what I hear. But she never got over Winnie keeping the family recipes."

"And now she's back," Lucy mused.

"Perfect timing, wouldn't you say?" Clay's tone was neutral, but his implication was clear.

Before Lucy could respond, her phone buzzed with a text from Dot: Emergency at the library. Pipe burst in the reference section. Need you ASAP.

Lucy groaned, gathering her things. "Duty calls. Thanks for the chat, Clay."

"Anytime," he replied, though his attention was already back on his phone, fingers typing rapidly.

As Lucy hurried out, she mentally added several items to her growing list of questions:

• Who was the man in the expensive suit?

• What "deal" were Clay and his companion discussing?

• What exactly was Marnie's claim to Sweet Delight?

• And most importantly—was Winnie's death truly an accident, or was it connected to the bakery's fate?

The burst pipe turned out to be less catastrophic than Dot's text had suggested—a minor leak that had dampened exactly three outdated encyclopedias. By closing time, Lucy's thoughts had circled back to the morning's revelations.

As she locked up the library, she spotted Sheriff Pritchard's cruiser pulling up to the curb.

"Evening, Lucy," Hank called through the open window. "Got a minute?"

"For Brentwood Falls' finest? Always." Lucy approached the car. "What's up?"

"Heard you had a visit from Marnie Higgins today." Hank's tone was casual, but his eyes were watchful.

"News really does travel at the speed of light around here," Lucy sighed. "Yes, she stopped by the library. Looking for information about Winnie's will and the bakery."

"Did she mention where she's staying?"

"No. Why?"

Hank drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Just trying to keep tabs on all the players. The medical examiner's report came back."

Lucy's heart skipped. "And?"

"Winnie didn't die from hitting her head," Hank said, his voice dropping. "She was dead before she hit the ground. Preliminary tox screen shows something unusual in her system. They're running more tests."

Lucy's mind raced. "She was poisoned?"

"I didn't say that," Hank cautioned. "But I am officially upgrading this from an accident to a suspicious death investigation."

"Which means Sadie is officially a suspect," Lucy concluded.

"She had opportunity, motive, and was publicly angry with the victim," Hank pointed out. "But she's not the only one with a stake in Winnie's death. That's why I'm asking about Marnie."

"You think Winnie's sister might have had something to do with it?"

Hank shrugged. "Convenient that she shows up right after her estranged sister dies, asking about the will."

"She said Winnie promised her a share of the bakery."

"Did she now?" Hank made a note in his small notepad. "Interesting, considering Winnie's will leaves everything to Sadie."

Lucy blinked in surprise. "Everything? The bakery, the recipes, all of it?"

"Every last cookie cutter," Hank confirmed. "Which gives our Sadie quite the motive if she thought Winnie was about to sell those prize recipes out from under her."

"Or gives Marnie a motive if she found out she was being cut out entirely," Lucy countered.

Hank's smile was grim. "Now you're thinking like a detective."

"Speaking of motives," Lucy said, "do you know anything about Clay Redford's business relationship with Winnie?"

Hank's eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I overheard him at The Perk, talking about 'a deal gone wrong' with Winnie."

"Lucy," Hank's voice took on a warning tone, "what happened to not interfering?"

"I wasn't interfering! I was eating lunch and accidentally overheard a conversation."

"Accidentally. With your supernatural librarian hearing that only activates when someone's discussing suspicious activity."

Lucy crossed her arms. "Are you going to check into Clay or not?"

Hank sighed heavily. "I'm already looking into all of Winnie's recent business dealings. Clay included." He started the engine. "But you—you stay out of it. I mean it, Lucy. If Winnie was murdered, her killer is walking around this town right now. I don't want you making yourself a target."

"I'm just asking questions," Lucy protested.

"Questions can be dangerous," Hank replied, shifting into drive. "Especially when they're the right ones."

As he pulled away, Lucy couldn't help but wonder which of her questions had hit too close to home. Someone in Brentwood Falls had secrets worth killing for—and they were hidden in plain sight, just waiting for the right person to connect the dots.

Lucy smiled to herself as she headed toward home. If there was one thing a librarian excelled at, it was connecting dots that others missed. Winnie Baxter had been more than just a talented baker—she'd been Lucy's friend. And Lucy wasn't about to let her killer escape the ultimate overdue fine: justice.

3

Lucy awakened with a jolt, her dreams filled with shattered cookie jars and mysterious flour blends. She'd fallen asleep at her kitchen table, surrounded by notes about Winnie's death. The digital clock on her microwave blinked 5:37 AM. Too early to be awake, too late to go back to bed.

"Great," she muttered, stretching her stiff neck. "Another productive night of amateur sleuthing."

She shuffled to her coffee maker and set it brewing, reviewing what she'd learned so far. Winnie had been experimenting with new recipes. She'd been considering selling her grandmother's recipe book. She'd had meetings with a mysterious man in an expensive suit. Her sister had suddenly returned, claiming partial ownership of Sweet Delight. And Clay Redford had been involved in some kind of deal that had "gone sideways."

None of it quite added up to murder, but together, the pieces formed a picture with suspicious gaps.

Lucy showered and dressed quickly, deciding to arrive at The Perk the moment it opened. If she timed it right, she might catch Mabel alone before the morning rush.

When Lucy pushed through the café door at precisely 6:00 AM, Mabel was just setting out freshly baked muffins.

"You're earlier than usual," Mabel observed, eyebrows raised. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Too many questions keeping me awake," Lucy admitted, sliding onto a stool at the counter. "What do you know about Clay Redford's business dealings with Winnie?"

Mabel glanced around the empty café before leaning in. "Starting the interrogations bright and early, I see. Clay supplied all of Winnie's flour—special blends she couldn't get anywhere else. But lately..." She trailed off, frowning.

"Lately what?" Lucy prompted.

"They seemed tense. Last week, Clay came in while Winnie was here. They stepped outside to talk. It looked... heated."

"About what?"

Mabel shrugged. "Couldn't hear. But Winnie came back in looking upset, and Clay drove off like the devil himself was chasing him."

Lucy sipped the coffee Mabel had placed before her. "Did Winnie say anything?"

"Just muttered something about 'special ingredients' and 'highway robbery.'" Mabel paused, brow furrowed. "Oh, and she mentioned a rare flour. Something Japanese, I think? Said it cost more than gold dust but would be worth every penny for the festival competition."

"Competition?" Lucy's ears perked up. "What competition?"

"The Governor's coming to the Harvest Festival this year. There's a special baking category—winner gets their goods featured at the Governor's Mansion for their holiday events. Big publicity opportunity."

Lucy's mind raced. If Winnie had been planning something special for a high-profile competition, that might explain her secretive behavior—and her interest in exotic ingredients.

"Do you know if Winnie actually received this special flour?" Lucy asked.

"Can't say for sure," Mabel replied. "But Monday morning, she came in practically dancing. Said everything was finally coming together for her 'masterpiece.'"

Monday—the day before she died. Clay had mentioned delivering a test batch that day.

Lucy finished her coffee quickly. "Thanks, Mabel. You've been more helpful than you know."

"Just be careful, Lucy," Mabel cautioned. "Flour dust isn't the only explosive thing at that mill."

Redford's Mill sat on the outskirts of town, a picturesque stone building beside a small stream that had once powered its grinding wheels. Now, modern equipment hummed inside the historic shell, but Clay maintained the vintage aesthetic that tourists loved.

Lucy parked her car and approached the main entrance, where a hand-painted sign welcomed visitors to "Redford's Historic Mill – Grinding Tradition Since 1887." Through the windows, she could see sacks of flour stacked neatly and glass jars containing various grains.

The bell above the door jingled as she entered. A young man looked up from behind the counter.

"Welcome to—oh, hey Miss Blackstone. Looking for a book on baking?"

Lucy recognized Tom Webster, a former library regular who'd started working for Clay after high school.

"Hi Tom. Actually, I'm looking for Clay. Is he around?"

"In the back office," Tom jerked his thumb toward a door behind the counter. "Want me to get him?"

"I can just⁠—"

"I'll tell him you're here," Tom insisted, already moving toward the office. "He doesn't like people wandering back there unannounced. Mill safety and all that."

Lucy waited, browsing the specialty flours displayed on wooden shelves. One small jar caught her eye—labeled "Premium Japanese White Lily Flour—Special Order Only." The price tag made her eyebrows shoot up. Twenty-eight dollars for a pound of flour? Mabel wasn't kidding about it costing more than gold dust.

"Lucy!" Clay's voice boomed as he emerged from the back. "What brings Brentwood's finest librarian to my humble mill?"

His jovial tone seemed forced, and Lucy noticed he'd closed the office door firmly behind him.

"Research," Lucy replied with a smile. "I'm helping some library patrons with historical recipes, and I remembered you mentioned Winnie's special flour blend. Thought I might look into something similar."

Clay's expression flickered. "Ah. Well, Winnie's blends were... unique. Custom-tailored to her specific needs."

"Like this Japanese flour?" Lucy gestured to the jar she'd been examining.

"That's just a display sample," Clay said quickly. "We don't keep much in stock. It's special order, like the label says."

"Did Winnie order some for her festival entry?"

Clay's friendly facade slipped slightly. "You seem awfully interested in Winnie's baking supplies, Lucy."

"Just curious," Lucy kept her tone light. "She mentioned working on something special before she died."

"Did she?" Clay stroked his beard. "Well, customer orders are confidential. Professional courtesy and all that."

Before Lucy could respond, the office phone rang.

"Excuse me," Clay said, clearly relieved for the interruption. "Feel free to browse. Tom can help with any purchases."

As soon as Clay disappeared into his office, Lucy moved closer to the counter where Tom was now restocking jars of artisanal cornmeal.

"Tom," she said conversationally, "how's business been lately?"

"Steady," he replied, focused on his task. "Harvest season's our busiest time."

"I bet Winnie's death affected things. She must have been one of your biggest customers."

Tom's hands stilled momentarily. "Yeah, it's weird. She was just here Monday, all excited about her special order."

"The Japanese flour?" Lucy prompted.

"That, and some other stuff." Tom glanced nervously toward the office door. "Clay had been sourcing it for weeks. Cost a fortune to import."

"Did she pick it up?"

"Monday afternoon," Tom confirmed. "Had to sign for it and everything. Clay made a big deal about handling it carefully."

Lucy leaned closer. "And was that the last time you saw her?"

Tom nodded. "She seemed happy. Said it was the missing piece she'd been searching for."

A crash from the office interrupted their conversation. Clay's muffled voice carried through the door, the words indistinct but the angry tone unmistakable.

Tom winced. "He's been on edge since... you know. They were close, him and Winnie. Business partners for decades."

"Just business partners?" Lucy asked innocently.

Tom's eyes widened. "Oh! No, not like that. I mean, they dated back in high school, according to my mom, but that was ancient history."

The office door swung open abruptly, and Clay emerged looking flustered.

"Everything okay?" Lucy asked.

"Fine," Clay said curtly. "Just knocked over some paperwork. Now, was there anything specific you needed, Lucy? I've got deliveries pending."

"Actually," Lucy improvised, "I was wondering if you might have any old records of traditional flour blends used in Brentwood Falls. For the library's local history collection."

Clay hesitated, clearly torn between wanting her gone and maintaining his reputation as a helpful local business owner.

"I might have some old ledgers," he finally said. "In the office. Give me a minute to check."

When he retreated again, Lucy whispered to Tom, "What happened to the rest of Winnie's special order? The flour she didn't pick up on Monday?"

Tom looked confused. "What do you mean? She took everything. Paid in full—over two thousand dollars."

Lucy blinked in surprise. Two thousand dollars for flour? Before she could ask more, Clay returned empty-handed.

"Sorry, can't seem to find those old records right now. Why don't you leave your number, and I'll call when I dig them up?"

Lucy sensed she'd get nothing more from Clay today. "Sure, that would be great."

As she wrote her number on a slip of paper, she noticed Clay's desk calendar visible through the half-open office door. Monday's date had "W.B. - Final Payment & Pickup" scrawled across it in red ink.

"Thanks for your time," Lucy said, sliding the paper across the counter. "Oh, by the way, do you happen to know Ruthie Maynard's office hours? I need to update my library card information on file with her."

The non sequitur caught Clay off guard. "Ruthie? Uh, I think she's usually in by nine."

"Perfect," Lucy smiled. "Have a great day."

As she walked to her car, Lucy couldn't shake the feeling that Clay was hiding something significant. If Winnie had spent two thousand dollars on specialty flour the day before she died, where was it now? It certainly hadn't been found at the bakery—Lucy would have heard about that from Hank or Sadie.

And why was Clay so nervous about discussing it?

Ruthie Maynard's law office occupied the second floor of a Victorian building on Main Street. The faded gold lettering on the frosted glass door read "Maynard Legal Services – Wills, Trusts, Real Estate."

Lucy climbed the creaky stairs and found the reception area empty except for a sleepy Boston terrier snoring in a dog bed.

"Hello?" she called out.

"Just a minute!" a voice responded from the inner office.

Moments later, Ruthie Maynard appeared, reading glasses perched on her nose and a stack of papers in hand. At seventy, Ruthie was Brentwood Falls' longest-practicing attorney and knew more town secrets than anyone—possibly even more than Mabel.

"Lucy Blackstone," Ruthie smiled warmly. "What brings you to my humble establishment? Library budget troubles again?"

"Not today," Lucy returned the smile. "I was hoping to talk to you about Winnie."

Ruthie's expression sobered. "Terrible business. Just terrible. I've known Winnie since grade school."

"I understand you handled her legal affairs?"

"I did," Ruthie confirmed, suddenly more guarded. "But I'm afraid attorney-client privilege extends beyond death, my dear."

Lucy nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't ask you to breach confidentiality. I'm just trying to understand what happened to her. We were friends."

Ruthie studied Lucy for a long moment, then gestured toward a chair. "I can't discuss the specifics of her will or legal arrangements. But as one friend of Winnie's to another, I might be able to answer some general questions."

"Thank you," Lucy sat down, choosing her words carefully. "I heard Winnie was considering selling her recipe book. Does that sound like something she would do?"

Ruthie removed her glasses, polishing them thoughtfully. "Winnie was very protective of her grandmother's recipes. They were her legacy. But recently, she'd been... reevaluating her priorities."

"Because of the bakery's future?"

"I can't speak to her specific motivations," Ruthie said primly, then added, "But I will say this—sometimes people make changes when they realize time isn't infinite."

"Was Winnie ill?" Lucy asked, surprised.

Ruthie shook her head. "Not that she mentioned to me. But at our age, Lucy, one becomes more conscious of arranging one's affairs properly."

"And had Winnie arranged her affairs recently?"

A small smile flickered across Ruthie's face. "You're very good, Lucy. But I still can't answer that directly." She paused. "I will say that I saw Winnie multiple times in the past month. More than usual."

"To update her will?"

"I didn't say that."

Lucy changed tactics. "What about Sweet Delight? If something happened to Winnie, who would inherit the bakery?"

"That would be specified in her will," Ruthie replied, stating the obvious.

"Her sister Marnie seems to think she has a claim."

Ruthie scoffed. "Marnie Higgins hasn't set foot in Brentwood Falls for twenty-five years. She forfeited any moral claim to Sweet Delight when she abandoned it."

"But legally?"

"Legally," Ruthie emphasized, "Winnie's wishes as expressed in her most recent will would take precedence."

Lucy caught the qualification. "Her most recent will? So there were changes?"

Ruthie's eyes narrowed. "You really are quite persistent, aren't you?"

"It's what makes me a good librarian," Lucy smiled innocently. "We're trained to follow references until we find the right source."

"Well, this source has said all she legally can," Ruthie stood, signaling the end of their conversation. "But as Winnie's friend, I hope you find the answers you're looking for."

As Lucy prepared to leave, Ruthie added, "Oh, and Lucy? If you're playing detective, remember that not all secrets in Brentwood Falls stay buried. Some have a way of rising to the surface at the most inconvenient times. Winnie knew that better than most."

Lucy's next stop was the sheriff's office. Hank needed to know about the expensive flour Winnie had purchased just before her death—especially if it was now missing.

She found him at his desk, buried in paperwork and looking irritable.

"Whatever it is, Lucy, the answer is no," he said without looking up.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask," Lucy protested, dropping into the chair across from him.

"You were going to ask if you could help with the investigation, and the answer is no."

"Actually," Lucy countered, "I was going to share some information about Winnie's activities the day before she died. But if you're not interested..."

Hank's pen stopped moving. He looked up, resigned. "What did you do?"

"Nothing illegal," Lucy assured him. "I just had a friendly chat with Clay Redford."

Hank groaned. "Lucy⁠—"

"Winnie bought over two thousand dollars worth of specialty flour from him on Monday," Lucy continued, undeterred. "A rare Japanese variety she was saving for the Harvest Festival competition. She picked it up personally, but it wasn't found at the bakery or her home. Don't you find that odd?"

Hank leaned back in his chair. "How exactly do you know what was or wasn't found at the crime scene?"

"Educated guess," Lucy said quickly. "If you'd found expensive, exotic flour, it would be a lead worth following. Since you're focused on Sadie, I'm assuming you didn't find it."

"We're not 'focused' on Sadie," Hank objected. "We're following all potential leads."

"Including the missing flour?"

Hank's silence was answer enough.

"Winnie was excited about this flour," Lucy pressed. "Tom at the mill said she called it 'the missing piece.' If someone killed her, they might have taken it."

"Or she stored it somewhere else," Hank countered. "Or never picked it up, despite what Tom claims."

"Clay's calendar had 'W.B. - Final Payment & Pickup' marked for Monday. And according to Mabel, Winnie was practically dancing that morning, saying everything was coming together for her 'masterpiece.'"

Hank rubbed his temples. "Lucy, I appreciate your... enthusiasm. But we're conducting a professional investigation here."

"Has the toxicology report come back yet?" Lucy asked. "You said there was something unusual in Winnie's system."

"That information isn't public," Hank said firmly.

"But if she was poisoned⁠—"

"I never said she was poisoned." Hank's voice rose slightly. "And you need to stop playing Nancy Drew before you get yourself into trouble."

Lucy crossed her arms. "I'm not playing anything. I'm trying to help find justice for Winnie."

"By interrogating witnesses? Interfering with an active investigation?"

"By asking questions that need to be asked!"

Hank stood, his patience clearly fraying. "The questions are being asked, Lucy. By trained professionals. Sadie Wilcox had motive, opportunity, and no alibi. She's still our best lead, regardless of missing flour or mysterious businessmen."

"What about Marnie Higgins?" Lucy challenged. "She shows up the day after her estranged sister dies, demanding her share of the bakery. That's not suspicious to you?"

"Of course it's suspicious," Hank snapped. "Everything about this case is suspicious. That's why I need you to back off and let me do my job."

"But—"

"No buts." Hank's tone softened slightly. "Lucy, I understand you want to help. But if Winnie was murdered, her killer is dangerous. I don't want you making yourself a target."

Lucy wanted to argue further, but the genuine concern in Hank's eyes gave her pause. "Fine," she relented. "But promise me you'll look into the missing flour."

"I promise," Hank said, relief evident in his voice. "Now, is there anything else you've uncovered in your unauthorized investigation that I should know about?"

Lucy hesitated, then decided to share her conversation with Ruthie. "Winnie updated her will recently. Several times, according to Ruthie Maynard."

Hank's eyebrows shot up. "How recently?"

"Within the last month. Ruthie couldn't give me details, but she hinted that Winnie was 'reevaluating her priorities.'"

Hank scribbled in his notebook. "That's actually helpful, Lucy. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Lucy stood to leave, then paused. "One more thing—Ruthie said something strange. That 'not all secrets in Brentwood Falls stay buried' and that 'Winnie knew that better than most.'"

"What do you think she meant by that?"

Lucy shrugged. "I don't know. But it sounded like Winnie had secrets of her own."

As Lucy walked out of the sheriff's office, her mind whirled with new questions. What secrets had Winnie been keeping? Why spend a small fortune on special flour right before her death? And most puzzling of all—if the flour was so important, where was it now?

The answers, Lucy suspected, would lead straight to Winnie's killer. And despite Hank's warnings, she had no intention of stopping until she found them. After all, librarians were experts at uncovering hidden information—and this was one mystery Lucy was determined to solve, one clue at a time.

4

The yellow police tape across Sweet Delight's back door fluttered in the afternoon breeze. Lucy checked her watch—3:17 PM—and peered down the alley. No sign of Sheriff Pritchard or Deputy Otis. Perfect.

She'd spent the morning at the library, distracted and irritable, until Dot had finally said, "For heaven's sake, Lucy, just go investigate something before you reorganize the biography section again."

Now, Lucy stood at the edge of the crime scene, debating the wisdom of crossing that bright yellow boundary. Breaking into an active crime scene wasn't just crossing a line—it was leaping over it with both feet.

"This is a terrible idea," she muttered to herself.

But the image of Winnie's smiling face as she'd handed Lucy a shortbread cookie last week—"Made with extra butter, just for you, dear"—pushed her forward. Winnie deserved justice, even if it came from an overly curious librarian.

Lucy ducked under the tape and approached the back door. To her surprise, it wasn't locked—just secured with the tape, which she carefully peeled back to preserve it for reattachment. The door creaked open, revealing the darkened kitchen of Sweet Delight.

The familiar scent of vanilla and sugar still hung in the air, though now tinged with something else—the staleness of abandonment. Lucy fumbled for the light switch and blinked as fluorescent bulbs flickered to life above.

The kitchen was immaculate, as Winnie had always kept it. Stainless steel workbenches gleamed. Mixing bowls were stacked neatly on shelves. The industrial oven stood silent sentinel in the corner.

But one area disrupted the perfect order—a workbench near the back door where evidence of the police investigation remained. Chalk outlines marked where items had been found, and subtle discoloration on the floor showed where cleaning products had been used.

Lucy approached cautiously. According to what she'd learned, Winnie's body had been discovered just outside, but the broken cookie jar had been found inside, near the door. She scanned the area, looking for anything the police might have missed.

A glint of white caught her eye, half-hidden beneath the workbench. Lucy crouched down and carefully retrieved a small shard of ceramic. It was white with a delicate blue floral pattern—clearly from the broken cookie jar.

Lucy frowned, turning the piece over in her hand. Something wasn't right. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, quickly searching for photos of Winnie's signature cookie jars. The Sweet Delight website featured them prominently—white ceramic with hand-painted blue flowers, each uniquely decorated by Winnie herself.

She compared the shard to the photos. The blue flowers on the website showed Winnie's distinctive style—freehand painted, slightly imperfect in the most charming way. But the flowers on this shard were too uniform, too perfect. Machine-printed, not hand-painted.

"That's odd," Lucy murmured.

She searched the floor more thoroughly, finding two more tiny fragments that had escaped the police cleanup. All had the same machine-printed pattern.

Lucy's mind raced. If this wasn't one of Winnie's authentic jars, what did that mean? Could someone have staged the scene with a counterfeit jar?

She was so absorbed in her thoughts she almost missed the sound of a car pulling up outside. Hastily pocketing the ceramic shards, Lucy turned off the lights and slipped out the back door, carefully reapplying the police tape before ducking behind a dumpster.

Just in time—Marnie Higgins appeared at the entrance to the alley, keys in hand. She approached the back door of Sweet Delight with purpose, then stopped short at the police tape. After a moment's hesitation, she did exactly what Lucy had done minutes earlier—peeled back the tape and disappeared inside.

"Interesting," Lucy whispered to herself. "Very interesting."

The Morning Brew Café sat directly across the street from Sweet Delight, its rustic charm a deliberate contrast to Winnie's more polished bakery. Where Sweet Delight was all sparkling glass and pastel colors, Morning Brew embraced exposed brick and reclaimed wood. Earl Lattimore had opened it three years ago, sparking what the locals called "The Great Baked Goods War of Brentwood Falls."

Lucy pushed open the door, a bell jingling cheerfully above her. The café was busy with the afternoon coffee crowd. Behind the counter, Earl himself was working the espresso machine, his impressive handlebar mustache quivering as he steamed milk with professional intensity.

"Be right with you!" he called without looking up.

Lucy took a seat at the counter, studying Earl as he worked. At forty-something, with tattooed arms and that meticulously waxed mustache, he looked more like a Victorian strongman than a baker. He'd moved to Brentwood Falls after fifteen years in Portland's competitive coffee scene, bringing with him sophisticated coffee methods and a flair for artisanal pastries that challenged Winnie's traditional offerings.

"Lucy Blackstone!" Earl smiled as he spotted her. "What can I get you? Your usual vanilla latte?"

"That's at The Perk," Lucy corrected him. "I don't actually have a usual here."

Earl's smile dimmed slightly. "Ah. Loyal to Mabel's establishment, I see. Or was it Sweet Delight that held your allegiance?"

"I'm an equal opportunity caffeine consumer," Lucy assured him. "But today, I'll try your lavender honey latte. I've heard good things."

Earl beamed. "Excellent choice. One of my specialties."

As he prepared her drink, Lucy decided on a direct approach. "Must be strange, looking across the street and not seeing Winnie opening up shop."

Earl's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing. "Terrible thing, what happened. Winnie was an institution in this town."

"You two were competitors, though."

"Friendly competition," Earl shrugged, tamping down espresso grounds. "She had her customers, I had mine."

"There were rumors about heated arguments," Lucy pressed.

Earl laughed, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Small towns and their gossip. We had... creative differences. Nothing more."

"Creative differences about what?"

"Baking philosophies." Earl placed the finished latte before her with a flourish, the foam artfully swirled into a lavender sprig pattern. "Winnie was old school—family recipes passed down through generations. I'm more experimental. We disagreed on what Brentwood Falls was ready for."

Lucy took a sip of her latte. It was, annoyingly, delicious. "I heard Winnie was getting experimental herself recently. Working on something new for the Harvest Festival?"

Earl's hand twitched, knocking over a stack of to-go cups. As he bent to retrieve them, Lucy noticed his fists clenching briefly before relaxing.

"Was she?" his voice was casual, but strained. "Hadn't heard that."

"A special recipe," Lucy continued, watching his reaction. "Something that could have been a game-changer for her business."

Earl straightened, his smile now obviously forced. "Well, good for her. Always important to innovate."

"Did she ever mention a special Japanese flour to you? White Lily, I think it was called?"

A muscle in Earl's jaw ticked. "Can't say that she did. Why all the questions, Lucy? Thinking of opening a bakery yourself now that there's... an opening in the market?"

"Just curious," Lucy sipped her latte again. "As the town librarian, I find information fascinating. Especially when pieces don't quite fit together."

"Like what pieces?" Earl asked, trying and failing to sound disinterested.

"Like why someone would swap one of Winnie's authentic cookie jars for a mass-produced replica," Lucy said, watching Earl's face closely. "Or why two thousand dollars' worth of specialty flour would go missing."

Earl's eyes widened fractionally before he controlled his expression. "No idea what you're talking about. But it sounds like you're playing detective again. Sheriff Pritchard mentioned your... hobby."

"Did he?" Lucy raised an eyebrow. "When was this?"

"He was in yesterday, asking about my whereabouts the night Winnie died," Earl said defensively. "Standard procedure, he said."

"And what were your whereabouts?"

Earl's mustache twitched in irritation. "Not that it's any of your business, but I was at a baking workshop in Millfield. Twenty witnesses can confirm I was there until after midnight, demonstrating French pastry techniques."

"How convenient," Lucy murmured.

"It's not 'convenient,' it's the truth," Earl snapped, his friendly façade cracking. "Look, I'm sorry Winnie's dead. Genuinely. But I didn't have anything to do with it."

"I never suggested you did," Lucy said mildly.

"You didn't have to." Earl leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I know how this town works, Lucy. I'm the outsider who competed with a beloved local. I've seen the whispers, the suspicious glances since her death. But whatever happened to Winnie, it wasn't my doing."

Before Lucy could respond, the bell above the door jingled and a group of tourists entered, demanding Earl's attention. He moved away with obvious relief, leaving Lucy to ponder their conversation.

She finished her latte slowly, observing Earl as he worked. His movements were efficient but tense, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he served the newcomers. Was he simply stressed by Winnie's death and the subsequent rumors, or was there something more behind his reaction to her questions?

As Lucy left Morning Brew, she glanced across the street at Sweet Delight. Through the large front windows, she could see movement inside—Marnie Higgins was still there, seemingly taking inventory of the shop.

"Time for another chat with Winnie's estranged sister," Lucy decided, crossing the street.

The front door of Sweet Delight was locked, but Lucy knocked firmly until Marnie appeared, looking annoyed at the interruption.

"We're closed," Marnie said through the glass.

"I can see that," Lucy replied. "I'd like to talk to you about Winnie."

Marnie hesitated, then reluctantly unlocked the door. "Five minutes. I'm busy."

The bakery felt eerily quiet without the usual bustle of customers and the scent of fresh-baked goods. Display cases stood empty, and the cheerful music Winnie always played was notably absent.

"What are you doing here?" Lucy asked, though it was fairly obvious from the notepad and calculator on the counter.

"Taking stock of my inheritance," Marnie said bluntly. "Or at least, what should be my inheritance if Winnie hadn't tried to cut me out completely."

"So you've seen the will?"

"Ruthie Maynard was kind enough to inform me of its contents," Marnie's mouth twisted bitterly. "Everything to that assistant girl. Not a crumb for her own sister."

"You hadn't spoken in twenty-five years," Lucy pointed out.

"That doesn't erase blood ties," Marnie snapped. "Besides, we reconciled recently."

This was news to Lucy. "Recently? When?"

Marnie busied herself straightening a stack of napkins. "About a month ago. I reached out, we started talking again. Trying to mend fences."

"That's interesting timing," Lucy observed. "Right around when Winnie started updating her will."

Marnie's head shot up. "What do you mean, 'started'? How many times did she change it?"

"I don't know exactly," Lucy admitted. "But Ruthie mentioned multiple visits in the past month."

Marnie's expression darkened. "That manipulative little—" She cut herself off. "Sadie must have gotten to her. Convinced her to keep changing things in her favor."

"Or maybe Winnie was just being thorough," Lucy suggested. "Especially if she was planning something big with her new recipe."

"What new recipe?" Marnie asked sharply.

Lucy watched Marnie's reaction carefully. "Something for the Harvest Festival. Using a special Japanese flour that cost thousands of dollars."

"Thousands?" Marnie looked genuinely shocked. "That doesn't sound like Winnie. She was always frugal to a fault."

"People change," Lucy shrugged. "Twenty-five years is a long time."

Marnie seemed to be processing this information. "Well, whatever she was planning, it doesn't matter now."

"Doesn't it?" Lucy asked. "If her special recipe was valuable enough to invest thousands in, wouldn't it be part of the bakery's assets? Part of what Sadie inherits?"

Something flickered in Marnie's eyes—calculation, perhaps. "Only if the recipe actually exists somewhere."

"Like in her recipe book?" Lucy suggested. "The one she kept in her safe?"

"Exactly," Marnie nodded. "Which is why I've been trying to find it. As her sister, I have a right to examine all her possessions before they're handed over to some... employee."

"The police probably have the recipe book," Lucy said. "It would be evidence."

"They don't," Marnie said quickly, then seemed to realize her mistake. "I mean, Sheriff Pritchard said they hadn't located it yet."

Lucy's curiosity intensified. "So you've been searching for it?"

"Just getting a sense of what's here," Marnie said defensively. "For the estate proceedings."

"Mind if I look around too?" Lucy asked. "I might notice something the police missed. I was here often enough to know Winnie's habits."

"Actually, I do mind," Marnie moved toward the door. "This is family business, and your five minutes are up."

Lucy didn't budge. "Before I go—can I ask where you were the night Winnie died?"

Marnie's eyes narrowed. "I was in Chicago, as airline records will confirm. I didn't arrive until the next morning."

"Convenient timing," Lucy echoed her earlier comment to Earl.

"Are you implying something?" Marnie's voice took on a dangerous edge.

"Not at all," Lucy said innocently. "Just making an observation."

"Well, observe yourself out the door," Marnie said coldly. "And Ms. Blackstone? I'd be careful about throwing accusations around. People who poke their noses where they don't belong often get them broken."

The threat hung in the air between them. Lucy smiled pleasantly. "I'll keep that in mind. Enjoy your inventory."

As Marnie practically pushed her out the door, Lucy caught a glimpse of the bakery's office behind the counter. The door was ajar, and papers were scattered across the desk inside. Definitely more than just "taking stock."

Outside on the sidewalk, Lucy considered her next move. She had ceramic shards that suggested someone had staged the crime scene with a fake cookie jar. She had Earl Lattimore's suspicious reaction to Winnie's innovation. And now, Marnie Higgins was desperately searching for something—likely the recipe book—while claiming a recent reconciliation with her sister.

Lucy pulled out her phone, dialing a familiar number.

"Dot? It's me. I need you to look up something in our archives. How far back do we have the Brentwood Falls Gazette? Great. Can you find any coverage of Winnie and Marnie Higgins' falling out twenty-five years ago? I need to know exactly what they fought over... and why Marnie really left town."

An hour later, Lucy sat at her desk in the library, staring at a yellowed newspaper clipping from July 1999. The headline read: "LOCAL BAKER ACCUSES SISTER OF RECIPE THEFT."

According to the article, Marnie Higgins had attempted to sell several of her grandmother's proprietary recipes to a national food corporation without Winnie's knowledge or consent. The scandal had erupted when Winnie discovered the betrayal and publicly confronted her sister. Marnie had left town the next day, allegedly with copies of the recipes in hand.

"Well, well," Lucy murmured. "Seems like stealing recipes runs in the family."

"Find what you were looking for?" Dot asked, peering over Lucy's shoulder.

"Maybe," Lucy said thoughtfully. "Marnie tried to steal and sell the family recipes once before. If she found out Winnie was finally willing to sell them herself..."

"Motive for murder?" Dot suggested, disturbingly enthusiastic.

"Possibly," Lucy conceded. "But Marnie claims she was in Chicago when Winnie died. And even if she wanted revenge, why wait twenty-five years?"

"Money," Dot said simply. "If those recipes are worth thousands now, and Winnie was about to cash in without including her..."

Lucy nodded slowly. "But there's still the matter of the fake cookie jar. And the missing flour. And why stage an accident instead of making it look like a natural death?"

"Too many pieces that don't fit," Dot agreed. "Just how you like your mysteries."

Lucy gathered the newspaper clipping and her notes. "I need to talk to Sadie again. If anyone would know about Winnie's recent activities, it would be her assistant."

"Better hurry," Dot checked her watch. "It's almost closing time."

Lucy packed up quickly, her mind racing with new theories. If Marnie had tried to steal the recipes once before, could she have arranged for someone local to do her dirty work this time? Someone like Earl Lattimore, who stood to benefit from Sweet Delight's closure?

Or was there another player in this game, someone whose connection to Winnie and her precious recipes she hadn't yet uncovered?

As Lucy left the library, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was getting closer to the truth—and that someone in Brentwood Falls was very unhappy about it. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but the picture they formed was more complex—and more dangerous—than she had initially imagined.

One thing was certain: Winnie's cookies weren't the only things with secrets baked into them. And Lucy was determined to uncover every last ingredient in this recipe for murder.

5

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows of Trudy Wilson's cozy living room, illuminating countless framed photos of Trudy and Winnie through the years—two gray-haired women parasailing in Mexico, posing with Mickey Mouse at Disneyland, and wearing matching "Best Friends Since 1968" t-shirts at their high school reunion.

Lucy sat on a floral-patterned sofa that had seen better days, a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table before her. Across from her, Trudy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"I still can't believe she's gone," Trudy sniffled. Her café, The Country Kitchen, had been Brentwood Falls' go-to breakfast spot for decades before she'd retired three years ago. Unlike Mabel's gossip hub at The Perk or Earl's trendy Morning Brew, Trudy's place had been where locals went when they wanted comfort food and a sympathetic ear. No one knew Winnie better.

"I'm sorry to intrude on your grief," Lucy said gently. "But I'm trying to understand what happened to Winnie."

"You mean why someone killed her," Trudy said bluntly. At Lucy's surprised expression, she added, "Oh, I'm not buying this 'accident' business for a minute. Winnie was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. And she'd never drop one of her precious cookie jars."

"You know about the cookie jar?"

"Hank told me," Trudy said. "He was here yesterday, asking questions. Like you're doing now."

Lucy leaned forward. "Did you tell him everything?"

Trudy's gaze slid away. "I told him what I thought he needed to know."

"But not everything," Lucy pressed.

"Some things... weren't mine to tell." Trudy twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "Winnie trusted me with her secrets."

"Even if those secrets might help catch her killer?"

Trudy winced. "You fight dirty for a librarian."

"Only when it matters," Lucy said. "Please, Trudy. Whatever you know could be important."

Trudy sighed heavily, seeming to age another decade in that single breath. "Winnie was being blackmailed."

Lucy's eyes widened. "Blackmailed? For what?"

"She wouldn't say exactly. Just that someone was threatening to expose something from her past—some business deal gone wrong." Trudy shook her head. "Started about two months ago. She was beside herself."

"Did she pay?"

"Yes. Twice." Trudy's mouth set in a grim line. "Fifteen thousand the first time. Twenty the second."

Lucy nearly choked. "Thirty-five thousand dollars? Where did Winnie get that kind of money?"

"She'd been saving for retirement her whole life. Lived simply, invested wisely. She had a nest egg." Trudy's voice cracked. "One she'll never get to enjoy now."

"Did she know who was blackmailing her?"

"If she did, she never told me. Just said it was someone who knew things they shouldn't."

Lucy's mind raced. Blackmail added an entirely new dimension to the case. "When was the last payment?"

"About three weeks ago. She thought it was over." Trudy hesitated. "But then, last week, she called me in a panic. Said 'they' were asking for more—fifty thousand this time."

"Fifty thousand!" Lucy exclaimed. "That's not blackmail anymore, that's extortion."

"That's what I told her!" Trudy nodded vigorously. "I said she should go to Hank, but she refused. Said it would 'ruin everything' if the truth came out now."

"What truth, though?" Lucy wondered aloud. "What could Winnie possibly have done that was worth paying so much to keep secret?"

Trudy looked uncomfortable. "There was... an incident. Years ago. Before you moved to town."

"The recipe theft with Marnie?"

"No, after that." Trudy lowered her voice as if the walls might be listening. "A customer got sick. Very sick. Claimed it was food poisoning from one of Winnie's pastries."

Lucy frowned. "But that happens sometimes, unfortunately. It's not exactly blackmail material."

"It is when the customer is the mayor's mother, and when your health inspection was three months overdue because you bribed the inspector to delay it." Trudy's eyes darted nervously around the room. "There. I said it. Winnie cut corners. Just that once. The mayor hushed it all up to avoid a scandal, but if it ever came out..."

"Sweet Delight's reputation would be ruined," Lucy finished. "But that was—when?"

"Twelve years ago. Ancient history." Trudy waved a hand dismissively. "But mud sticks, especially in small towns. If someone found out and threatened to expose it right before the Governor's visit and the Harvest Festival competition..."

"It would destroy everything Winnie had worked for," Lucy nodded. "But who would know about it after all this time? And who would be cruel enough to use it against her?"

Trudy's expression hardened. "I can think of a few people who'd love to see Sweet Delight's reputation tarnished. That Earl Lattimore for one. Always trying to steal Winnie's customers."

"What about Clay Redford? They had some kind of deal that went wrong recently."

"Clay?" Trudy looked surprised. "No, Clay and Winnie go way back. They dated in high school, you know. He would never hurt her."

"People change," Lucy said. "Especially when money's involved."

Trudy conceded the point with a reluctant nod. "I suppose. But if you want my opinion, I'd look closer at Marnie. She's always been jealous of Winnie's success."

"From Chicago?"

"You'd be surprised what people can arrange from a distance," Trudy said darkly. "Especially people with Marnie's connections in the food industry."

Lucy made a mental note to look into Marnie's current employment. "Did Winnie mention anything about her special recipe for the Harvest Festival? Something involving expensive Japanese flour?"

A spark of recognition lit Trudy's eyes. "Yes! She was so excited about it. Said it would 'change everything' for the bakery. That if she won the Governor's competition, she'd finally be able to expand."

"Expand? Sweet Delight?"

"She had big dreams, our Winnie." Trudy smiled sadly. "Wanted to open a second location in Millfield. Maybe even franchise eventually."

This was news to Lucy. "That doesn't sound like the Winnie I knew. She was all about keeping things small and personal."

"People change," Trudy echoed Lucy's earlier words. "Especially when they realize they're not getting any younger. Winnie wanted to leave a legacy."

Lucy digested this information, trying to fit it into the puzzle. A blackmailed baker. A secret recipe. A sister with a grudge. A competitor with motive. And somewhere in the middle of it all—a killer.

"One last question," Lucy said. "Where would Winnie keep financial records for Sweet Delight? I'm talking about check registers, bank statements, that sort of thing."

"In her office at the bakery," Trudy answered promptly. "Bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. She was old school—kept paper records of everything."

Lucy stood to leave. "Thank you, Trudy. You've been incredibly helpful."

"Lucy," Trudy called as she reached the door. "Be careful. Whoever silenced Winnie might not want you asking these questions."

"I'll be careful," Lucy promised. But as she left, she couldn't help feeling that she was venturing deeper into dangerous territory—and the killer might be watching her every move.

Breaking into Sweet Delight for the second time in two days was distressingly easy. Lucy waited until she was certain Marnie had left for lunch, then slipped in through the back door once again. This time, she headed straight for Winnie's small office.

The filing cabinet Trudy had mentioned stood in the corner, partially hidden behind the desk. Lucy pulled open the bottom drawer and found a neat row of labeled folders: "UTILITIES," "PAYROLL," "INVOICES," "BANK STATEMENTS."

She grabbed the last folder and started flipping through the pages. Sweet Delight had been doing well—very well, in fact. Deposits were consistent, and the balance stayed healthily in the black. Until two months ago, when a withdrawal of $15,000 appeared, followed three weeks later by another for $20,000.

The blackmail payments, just as Trudy had described.

But what caught Lucy's eye was a peculiar transaction from the previous week. A check for $25,000 had been written to "C.R. Enterprises," but then voided the same day. In its place, a withdrawal slip showed the same amount in cash.

"C.R. Enterprises," Lucy murmured. "Clay Redford?"

She continued searching, finding a checkbook in the desk drawer. The carbon copy of the voided check confirmed her suspicion—it had been made out to Clay Redford's business. But why void it and take out cash instead?

A noise from the front of the bakery made Lucy freeze. Someone was unlocking the door. She quickly replaced the files, closed the drawers, and looked frantically for a hiding place. The office had no closet, just a small bathroom attached.

Lucy ducked inside the bathroom and pulled the door nearly closed, leaving just enough space to peer through the crack as Marnie Higgins entered the office.

Marnie went straight to the filing cabinet, pulling open drawers and rifling through folders—the same ones Lucy had just examined. She muttered to herself as she searched, clearly frustrated.

"Where is it? It has to be here somewhere."

After several minutes of fruitless searching, Marnie slammed the drawer shut and turned her attention to the desk. She yanked open drawers, scattering their contents across the desktop.

Finally, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number. "It's me," she said tersely. "The recipe book isn't here, and there's no record of the payment." She paused, listening. "No, I checked everywhere. Redford must have it... Yes, I'll keep looking... No, the librarian hasn't been back as far as I can tell."

Lucy's heart pounded so loudly she was certain Marnie would hear it. After another minute of conversation, Marnie hung up and continued searching, eventually moving to the safe in the corner.

To Lucy's surprise, Marnie seemed to know the combination. The safe door swung open, revealing... nothing. Marnie cursed under her breath.

"Empty," she muttered. "Someone got here first."

With a final frustrated glance around the office, Marnie stormed out. Lucy waited until she heard the front door close before emerging from her hiding spot, her mind whirling with new questions.

Marnie was clearly looking for something specific—the recipe book, yes, but also some record of a payment. And she'd been talking to someone on the phone, someone who seemed very interested in Lucy's movements.

One thing was clear: she needed to talk to Clay Redford again. And this time, she wouldn't let him dodge her questions.

"We're closed for inventory," Tom Webster called out as Lucy entered Redford's Mill. The young man was counting sacks of flour, clipboard in hand.

"I need to see Clay," Lucy said. "It's important."

"He's not here," Tom replied, not looking up from his task. "Supply run to Millfield."

"When will he be back?"

Tom shrugged. "Few hours maybe? You can come back tom⁠—"

"Hello, Lucy," Clay's voice interrupted as he emerged from the back office. "Tom, I thought you were handling the front while I did the books?"

Tom looked confused. "But you said you were going to⁠—"

"I changed my mind," Clay cut him off with a pointed look. "Why don't you go count the specialty grains in the storeroom?"

As Tom reluctantly retreated, Clay turned to Lucy with a forced smile. "Twice in one week. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"C.R. Enterprises," Lucy said without preamble. "Winnie wrote you a check for $25,000 last week, then voided it and withdrew cash instead. Why?"

Clay's smile vanished. "You've been going through Winnie's financial records? That's not just nosy, Lucy—that might be illegal."

"So is lying to the police during a murder investigation," Lucy countered. "Which is what you did when you told me Winnie picked up that expensive flour. She canceled the order, didn't she?"

Clay's jaw worked as he visibly debated how to respond. Finally, he sighed. "Not here," he said, gesturing toward his office. "Too many ears."

Once inside the cluttered office, Clay closed the door and leaned against it. "How did you know?"

"The pieces didn't fit," Lucy explained. "If Winnie had picked up two thousand dollars' worth of specialty flour, it would have been at the bakery. But it wasn't found there. And when I saw the voided check..."

"You put it together," Clay nodded, looking resigned. "Yes, Winnie canceled the order. Called me Monday morning in a panic, said she couldn't go through with it."

"Go through with what, exactly?"

"The competition recipe," Clay said. "She'd been planning it for months—a revolutionary shortbread using that Japanese White Lily flour. She was convinced it would win the Governor's competition and put Sweet Delight on the map."

"So why cancel at the last minute? After spending so much on the flour?"

Clay hesitated. "She said... someone had warned her off. That if she went ahead with her plans, there would be consequences."

"Blackmail," Lucy murmured.

Clay looked startled. "How did you⁠—"

"Never mind that," Lucy waved away his question. "What was the $25,000 for if not the flour?"

"Consulting," Clay said, not meeting her eyes. "Winnie wanted advice on expanding Sweet Delight. Franchising, even. I have some experience in that area."

"Twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of experience?" Lucy raised an eyebrow.

"It included market analysis, location scouting, supply chain management—" Clay began defensively.

"And what about the missing recipe book?" Lucy interrupted. "The one with the formula for her special shortbread?"

Clay's eyes darted to his desk drawer before he could catch himself. Lucy followed his gaze.

"You have it," she realized. "Winnie gave you her recipe book."

"For safekeeping," Clay admitted after a long pause. "She was scared, Lucy. Said someone was threatening her. She wanted the book somewhere secure until after the festival."

"May I see it?"

Clay seemed to wage an internal battle before reluctantly opening his desk drawer and removing a leather-bound book, worn with age and use. He placed it gently on the desk between them.

"This book has been in Winnie's family for generations," he said softly. "Her grandmother started it, then her mother added to it, and finally Winnie. Three generations of baking secrets."

Lucy carefully opened the book, turning yellowed pages filled with handwritten recipes. Near the back, she found the most recent entries in Winnie's distinctive handwriting. The final page made her breath catch.

"Japanese Lily Shortbread," the heading read, followed by a list of ingredients and meticulous instructions. But it was the note at the bottom that sent a chill through Lucy:

"Dangerous deal. Must finish before it's too late."

"What deal?" Lucy asked, looking up at Clay. "What was Winnie involved in?"

Before Clay could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and answered. "Sheriff? Yes, she's here actually... No, I was about to... Yes, sir."

He hung up and gave Lucy a grim look. "That was Hank. He wants to see you. Immediately."

"About what?"

"He wouldn't say. But Lucy..." Clay hesitated. "Be careful what you tell him about the recipe book. Not everyone in this town has Winnie's best interests at heart. Even now."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Why shouldn't I tell Hank everything?"

"Because information is power," Clay said. "And until we know who was threatening Winnie, we don't know who we can trust."

"We?" Lucy repeated.

Clay's expression softened. "Winnie was my friend, Lucy. Despite what you might think about our business dealings. I want to find out who did this to her as much as you do."

Lucy wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded anyway. "I need to take the recipe book to Hank. It's evidence."

"Take a photo of the last page," Clay suggested. "Let him find the actual book himself. That way, you'll know if anything changes between now and then."

It wasn't a bad idea. Lucy snapped several detailed photos of the final recipe and the ominous note.

"One last question before I go," she said, tucking her phone away. "Who else knew about Winnie's special recipe? About the Japanese flour?"

Clay thought for a moment. "Me. Sadie, obviously. Probably Trudy Wilson. And..." he trailed off, frowning.

"And who?" Lucy pressed.

"Earl Lattimore," Clay said reluctantly. "He was at the special flour importers' convention in Portland last month. Saw Winnie placing her order. They had quite the argument about it, from what I heard."

Another piece clicked into place for Lucy. "Earl claimed he barely knew about Winnie's plans."

"Then Earl lied," Clay said simply. "And you might want to ask yourself why."

Sheriff Pritchard was waiting outside his office when Lucy arrived at the station. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders told her something significant had happened.

"You wanted to see me?" Lucy asked, trying to sound casual.

"Inside," Hank said, opening his office door. "Now."

Once they were seated, Hank placed an evidence bag on the desk between them. Inside was a ceramic shard—white with blue flowers, identical to the pieces Lucy had found in Sweet Delight's kitchen.

"Recognize this?" Hank asked.

Lucy chose her words carefully. "It looks like a piece from the cookie jar found near Winnie's body."

"It is," Hank confirmed. "Except our lab says it's not one of Winnie's authentic jars. It's a mass-produced replica. The kind you'd find in any department store."

"That's... strange," Lucy said, trying to gauge how much Hank already knew.

"Very strange," Hank agreed. "Almost as strange as finding your fingerprints all over the crime scene that was supposed to be sealed."

Lucy winced. "I can explain⁠—"

"Save it," Hank held up a hand. "I don't care about your unauthorized investigation right now. What I care about is this." He placed another evidence bag on the desk. Inside was a small vial containing white powder.

"What am I looking at?" Lucy asked.

"Traces of White Lily flour, found in Winnie's mixing bowl," Hank said. "The toxicology report came back. Winnie died from anaphylactic shock. She had a severe allergic reaction to something in this flour."

Lucy frowned. "But that doesn't make sense. Winnie was a baker—she handled flour every day."

"Not this flour," Hank said grimly. "This particular variety contains a unique protein that can trigger rare allergic reactions. It's safe for most people, but deadly for those with specific sensitivities."

"And Winnie was sensitive to it," Lucy realized.

"Exactly. The question is—did she know that when she ordered it?"

"She must have," Lucy said. "She'd been a baker her whole life. She would know her allergies."

"Unless someone deliberately kept that information from her," Hank suggested. "Someone who knew about her sensitivity and saw an opportunity."

A chill ran down Lucy's spine as the implications sank in. "So someone tampered with the flour? Made sure she'd have a reaction?"

"Or," Hank said carefully, "someone who knew her well enough to know she'd never actually taste test a recipe with that particular flour. Someone who could convince her to order it, knowing what would happen if she did."

Lucy's mind raced through the suspects. Clay, who sourced the flour. Earl, who had been at the convention where Winnie ordered it. Marnie, who had connections in the food industry. Sadie, who worked alongside Winnie every day.

Any of them could have known about Winnie's allergy. Any of them could have ensured the deadly flour made its way into her mixing bowl.

"There's something else you should know," Lucy said, deciding to trust Hank despite Clay's warning. She pulled out her phone and showed him the photos of the recipe book. "Winnie's final recipe. With a disturbing note."

Hank studied the images, his expression darkening. "Dangerous deal. Must finish before it's too late." He looked up sharply. "Where's the actual book?"

"Clay Redford has it," Lucy admitted. "Winnie gave it to him for safekeeping."

"When were you planning to share this information?" Hank asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"Right now," Lucy said. "That's why I came straight here from the mill."

Hank picked up his phone. "Otis, I need you to get a warrant for Redford's Mill. We're looking for a recipe book." He glanced at Lucy. "And Lucy? From now on, you share everything you find. Immediately. This isn't a game."

"I know it's not," Lucy said quietly. "Winnie was my friend too."

Hank's expression softened slightly. "Then help me find her killer. The right way."

As Lucy left the sheriff's office, the pieces of the puzzle were finally starting to form a clearer picture. Winnie had been blackmailed. She'd been working on a revolutionary recipe using expensive, potentially deadly flour. She'd canceled a major deal at the last minute. And someone in Brentwood Falls had made sure she wouldn't live to reveal why.

The question now was—who had the most to gain from Winnie's silence? And how far would they go to ensure Lucy didn't discover the truth?

6

Lucy had never considered herself particularly sneaky, but her recent adventures in amateur sleuthing suggested otherwise. As she peered through the window of the closed town clerk's office at 7:30 AM, she felt distinctly like a character in one of her mystery novels.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, trying another angle. "I'm a librarian, for goodness' sake."

But librarians, as Lucy often reminded people, were professional information gatherers. And right now, she needed information on Earl Lattimore's business that wasn't publicly available—at least not during normal business hours.

Through the glass, she could just make out the edge of a filing cabinet labeled "Business Licenses & Tax Records." So close, yet so far.

"Good morning, Lucy!" called a cheerful voice behind her.

Lucy jumped, nearly dropping her coffee. She turned to find Bettina Crowe, the town clerk, approaching with a ring of keys.

"Bettina! You startled me." Lucy tried to look nonchalant, as if peering through government office windows before sunrise was perfectly normal behavior.

"Early bird catches the worm, eh?" Bettina winked. At seventy-three, she'd been Brentwood Falls' town clerk for four decades and knew every official secret the town had ever kept. "Need something from my office?"

Lucy hesitated only briefly before deciding honesty was her best option. "Actually, yes. I was hoping to look at some business records. For the library's... local business directory update."

Bettina's eyes twinkled knowingly. "Would these happen to be records for a certain café across from a recently closed bakery?"

"Possibly," Lucy admitted.

"Hmm." Bettina unlocked the door. "Well, as town clerk, I can't allow just anyone to browse confidential tax records." She held the door open with a smile. "But I've always had a soft spot for librarians. Especially ones trying to find justice for dear friends."

Lucy slipped inside gratefully. "Thank you, Bettina. I promise I'm not looking to cause trouble."

"Oh, I know, dear. That's why I'm helping you." Bettina led the way to the filing cabinet. "Besides, Winnie brought me scones every Friday for twenty years. The least I can do is make sure whoever hurt her doesn't get away with it."

Within minutes, Lucy was seated at a small table with three years' worth of Morning Brew Café's quarterly tax filings spread before her. The numbers told an interesting story.

"His sales have been declining steadily," Lucy observed, tracing the downward trend across the reports. "Started strong three years ago, but dropped significantly in the last eighteen months."

Bettina peered over her shoulder. "Not surprising. The novelty wore off. Earl's fancy coffee drinks and artisanal pastries were exciting at first, but Brentwood Falls is a traditional place. People eventually drifted back to Sweet Delight."

"And The Perk," Lucy added, thinking of Mabel's steady business.

"Mabel never worried about competition," Bettina said. "She knows her lane—good coffee, basic pastries, and the best gossip in town. Earl tried to be something Brentwood Falls isn't ready for."

Lucy studied the most recent filing. "His last quarter shows the steepest drop yet. He's barely breaking even."

"A desperate businessman is a dangerous one," Bettina remarked casually, returning to her desk. "You have fifteen minutes before I officially open, dear. Make them count."

Lucy photographed the relevant documents with her phone, then moved to the business license section. There, she found another interesting detail—Earl had recently filed paperwork to expand Morning Brew, with plans for a larger kitchen and display area. The expansion would take over the empty storefront next door—directly increasing his visibility from Main Street, where Sweet Delight had enjoyed prime positioning.

"Planning to grow while his business is shrinking," Lucy murmured. "That's optimistic."

"Or opportunistic," Bettina called from her desk. "That paperwork was filed the day after Winnie died."

Lucy's eyebrows shot up. "The very next day?"

"First thing in the morning," Bettina confirmed. "Said he needed to 'strike while the iron was hot.' His words, not mine."

Lucy filed away this information, thanked Bettina profusely, and hurried out just as the clock struck eight. Her next stop: finding someone who knew Earl better than his tax returns did.

"Jessie Winters?" Lucy called, approaching a young woman arranging flowers outside Brentwood Blooms. "I'm Lucy Blackstone, from the library."

Jessie looked up, brushing a lock of purple-streaked hair from her eyes. "I know who you are, Ms. Blackstone. This is a small town."

"Please, call me Lucy." She smiled warmly. "I was hoping to ask you a few questions. I heard you used to work at Morning Brew."

Jessie's expression cooled noticeably. "For eight months. Until Earl decided I 'wasn't projecting the right aesthetic for his brand image.'" She made air quotes with visible bitterness.

"Sounds like there's a story there," Lucy probed gently.

"The story is that Earl Lattimore is a pretentious micro-manager who thinks he's still in Portland." Jessie aggressively stripped leaves from a rose stem. "Brentwood Falls wasn't fancy enough for him, but changing careers at forty makes people desperate."

"Changing careers?"

"He wasn't always in coffee. He was some kind of corporate food scientist before. Developed recipes for big companies." Jessie arranged the roses in a display bucket. "Always talking about his 'formulations' and 'flavor profiles' like he was curing cancer instead of making muffins."

Lucy's curiosity piqued. "A food scientist? That's an unusual background for a café owner."

"Tell me about it. He'd spend hours in the kitchen experimenting, getting mad if anyone interrupted his 'process.'" Jessie rolled her eyes. "Maybe that's why his pastries taste like they were made in a lab."

"What was his relationship with Winnie like? I know they were competitors, but⁠—"

"Competitors?" Jessie scoffed. "More like she was his obsession. He had a whole bulletin board in his office with Sweet Delight's menu items, prices, customer traffic patterns. Total stalker vibes."

Lucy blinked in surprise. "That seems... excessive."

"It was creepy," Jessie confirmed. "But it got worse when he heard about Winnie's special recipe for the festival."

"How so?"

"He completely lost it." Jessie lowered her voice. "Like, throwing-mixing-bowls-across-the-kitchen lost it. Said she was going to 'ruin everything' with her 'cheap imitation of real innovation.'"

"When was this?"

"About two weeks ago. Right after the Japanese flour delivery arrived at the mill. Earl found out somehow and went ballistic." Jessie's expression darkened. "I quit the next day. Couldn't take the toxic environment anymore."

Lucy processed this information, trying to fit it into the puzzle. "Do you know where Earl was the night Winnie died?"

Jessie hesitated. "He claimed he was at a baking workshop in Millfield. Teaching French pastry techniques or something. But..."

"But what?"

"But I saw his car at the mill that night. Around nine." Jessie bit her lip. "I was driving back from a date in Millfield. The workshop was supposed to be at the community center there, but his car was definitely at Redford's Mill."

Lucy's pulse quickened. "You're sure it was his car?"

"Hundred percent. How many people in Brentwood Falls drive a bright blue Mini Cooper with 'BREWMSTR' vanity plates?"

"Have you told Sheriff Pritchard this?"

"No," Jessie admitted. "I didn't know it mattered until I heard Winnie had died. And then..." She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Then what?"

"Then Earl came to see me. The day after Winnie died. Offered me my job back with a raise." Jessie's gaze dropped to the flowers she was arranging. "Said he'd be expanding soon and needed experienced staff. Mentioned that 'loyal employees know when to stay quiet about their boss's movements.'"

"That sounds like a threat," Lucy said cautiously.

"Felt like one too," Jessie agreed. "So I kept my mouth shut. But..." She looked up, resolve hardening in her eyes. "Winnie was always kind to me. Slipped me free cookies whenever I came to Sweet Delight. Said I reminded her of herself when she was young." Her voice cracked slightly. "If Earl had something to do with what happened to her..."

"You did the right thing telling me," Lucy assured her. "Would you be willing to share this with Sheriff Pritchard?"

Jessie nodded slowly. "I guess it's time. But could you come with me? Earl knows people in this town. Important people."

"Of course," Lucy promised. "We'll go together this afternoon. And Jessie? Thank you for your courage."

As Lucy left the flower shop, her phone buzzed with a text from Dot: Emergency at the library. Marnie Higgins making a scene. Come quick!

Lucy arrived at the library out of breath from running. Inside, she found Marnie Higgins engaged in a heated argument with Ruthie Maynard, while Dot watched from behind the circulation desk with undisguised fascination.

"—completely unreasonable!" Marnie was saying, her voice carrying through the normally quiet space. "The bakery is sitting empty while you 'review' paperwork that should have been settled days ago!"

"The law doesn't operate on your preferred timeline, Marnie," Ruthie replied calmly, though Lucy noted the tight grip she maintained on her leather briefcase. "Winnie's will must go through proper probate procedures."

"There in the nick of time," Dot whispered as Lucy slipped behind the desk. "Thought we might need a fire extinguisher soon."

"What's happening?" Lucy asked quietly.

"Marnie's trying to take over Sweet Delight, but Ruthie's blocking her." Dot's eyes gleamed with the joy of prime gossip. "It's better than my soaps."

Lucy stepped forward. "Ladies, while I appreciate a spirited debate as much as anyone, this is a library. Perhaps you could continue this discussion somewhere else?"

Marnie whirled on Lucy. "You! I should have known you'd be lurking nearby. Always showing up when Ruthie does."

"I work here," Lucy pointed out mildly. "What's this about taking over Sweet Delight?"

"That's confidential legal business," Ruthie started, but Marnie cut her off.

"There's nothing confidential about it. I'm Winnie's sister and rightful heir. This... delay... is nothing but a stalling tactic." Marnie jabbed a finger toward Ruthie. "She knows Winnie's will won't hold up in court. Not after I prove undue influence."

"Undue influence?" Lucy repeated.

"Sadie Wilcox manipulated my sister," Marnie declared. "Convinced a vulnerable old woman to leave her everything. It's textbook elder abuse."

"That's absurd," Ruthie scoffed. "Winnie was of perfectly sound mind, and Sadie did nothing improper. The will is valid and will be executed according to Winnie's wishes—once the sheriff concludes his investigation."

"And how long will that take?" Marnie demanded. "The festival is in three weeks. Sweet Delight needs to be operational by then or we'll lose the booth reservation."

"We?" Lucy raised an eyebrow.

Marnie's expression tightened. "Figure of speech. The bakery. The business. Winnie would have wanted it represented at the festival."

"Winnie would have wanted her killer brought to justice before anyone profits from her death," Ruthie said sharply. "And until Sheriff Pritchard determines what happened, Sweet Delight remains closed."

"This is outrageous!" Marnie grabbed her purse from a nearby table. "I'm calling my lawyer in Chicago. You'll be hearing from him by the end of the day."

"I look forward to educating another big city attorney on small town probate law," Ruthie said with a pleasant smile that didn't reach her eyes.

With a final glare at both women, Marnie stormed out of the library.

"Well," Ruthie exhaled, smoothing her jacket. "That was invigorating."

"You handled her beautifully," Lucy said. "Is it true? About the will being held up pending the investigation?"

"Partly," Ruthie admitted. "There are standard delays in probate regardless. But yes, given the suspicious circumstances of Winnie's death, everything related to her estate is on hold."

"Including access to Sweet Delight?"

"Especially that," Ruthie confirmed. "Hank requested it specifically. The bakery is still a crime scene, technically." She gave Lucy a knowing look. "Though I understand that hasn't stopped everyone from poking around inside."

Lucy had the grace to look embarrassed. "I was just trying to help."

"By breaking and entering?"

"The door was unlocked," Lucy protested weakly.

"Mmmhmm." Ruthie didn't look convinced. "Lucy, I understand your dedication to finding the truth. But there are legitimate channels for these things."

"Like what? Waiting for Hank to solve the case while evidence disappears and trails go cold?"

Ruthie considered Lucy for a moment. "Perhaps we could help each other. I have certain... concerns... about Winnie's last days that might intersect with your unofficial investigation."

Lucy's interest peaked. "What kind of concerns?"

Ruthie glanced around the library. A few patrons had drifted in and were browsing nearby shelves. "Not here. Meet me at my office at five, after I've finished with clients for the day."

"I'll be there," Lucy promised.

After Ruthie left, Dot leaned eagerly across the circulation desk. "Well? Spill it! What did she say?"

"Nothing yet," Lucy replied. "But she knows something about Winnie's last days. Something she doesn't want to share publicly."

"Ooh, secret lawyer knowledge," Dot wiggled her eyebrows. "Very mysterious."

"Speaking of mysteries," Lucy turned to her computer, "I need to look something up. Can you handle the desk for a bit?"

"Sure, but what are you researching now? More bakery rivalries? Secret recipes? Murderous sisters?"

"Former food scientists who become café owners," Lucy said, already typing. "Specifically, ones who might have connections to specialty Japanese flour."

Twenty minutes of searching revealed several interesting facts about Earl Lattimore. Before opening Morning Brew, he had indeed worked for FlavaTech Industries, a major food development corporation that specialized in creating proprietary recipes for restaurant chains and food manufacturers. His specialty had been bakery items—specifically cookies and pastries.

More interestingly, FlavaTech had a partnership with Kohana Foods, one of the few importers of Japanese White Lily flour in the United States.

"Well, well," Lucy murmured, bookmarking the page. "Looks like Earl had access to the same rare flour Winnie was using. And the knowledge to understand exactly what it could do."

Including, potentially, its dangerous properties for those with certain allergies.

She printed the relevant web pages, then checked the time. Nearly noon—still hours before her meeting with Ruthie. Plenty of time to pay Earl Lattimore another visit, this time armed with new information.

"I'm stepping out for lunch," she told Dot. "If Sheriff Pritchard calls, tell him I'll stop by the station afterward. There's something he needs to know about Earl's alibi."

"Ooh, breaking the case wide open!" Dot grinned. "Should I expect you back, or will you be too busy solving murders?"

"Very funny. I'll be back in an hour," Lucy promised. "Just going to ask a few innocent questions."

"Innocent, sure," Dot called after her. "Just like that 'innocent' time you accused the mayor's wife of stealing rare books, only to find out she'd donated them anonymously."

"That was a simple misunderstanding," Lucy protested as she headed out the door.

"She didn't speak to you for six months!"

"Details, details," Lucy waved dismissively.

As she walked toward Morning Brew, Lucy mentally prepared her approach. Earl Lattimore had the knowledge, the motive, and apparently, the opportunity to harm Winnie. His business was failing while hers thrived. He had expertise with the exact flour that had killed her. And according to Jessie, he'd lied about his whereabouts the night Winnie died.

The only question now was—how to get him to reveal the truth without tipping him off that he was a prime suspect?

Lucy squared her shoulders and pushed open the café door. Time to find out if Earl Lattimore's recipe for success included murder.

7

Earl Lattimore's coffee shop had been a dead end—literally. When Lucy arrived for her confrontation, she'd found the café dark, with a hastily scrawled "Closed for Personal Emergency" sign taped to the door. Calls to Sheriff Pritchard confirmed her suspicion: Earl had left town suddenly that morning, claiming a family emergency in Portland.

"Convenient timing," Lucy muttered as she stood once again in Sweet Delight's office, this time with Hank's reluctant permission. After sharing Jessie Winters' information about Earl's false alibi, the sheriff had agreed to let Lucy help search Winnie's office for additional evidence.

"Just don't touch anything without gloves," Hank had instructed, handing her a pair of latex gloves that crinkled as she pulled them on. "And if you find something, call me immediately. Don't play Nancy Drew."

"When have I ever—" Lucy had begun, but Hank's raised eyebrow silenced her protest.

Now, as afternoon sunlight slanted through the small office window, Lucy meticulously examined every inch of Winnie's workspace. The filing cabinets had already been thoroughly searched, first by Marnie, then by Lucy herself, and finally by the sheriff's department. The safe in the corner stood open and empty, its contents catalogued and removed as evidence.

"What am I missing?" Lucy wondered aloud, surveying the room.

Her gaze landed on the antique desk—a heavy oak piece that Winnie had proudly told her once belonged to her grandfather. Lucy had already checked the drawers, but something about the desk's proportions suddenly struck her as odd.

The top drawer seemed shallower than it should be, given the desk's height.

Lucy pulled it open again, removing the neatly organized pens and sticky notes. She ran her gloved fingers along the inside, measuring the depth with her hand. Then she closed the drawer and examined the desk's facade.

"There should be at least three more inches," she murmured.

Kneeling down, Lucy studied the underside of the drawer space. A small, almost imperceptible notch was carved into the wood. She pressed it gently, and with a soft click, a hidden panel at the back of the drawer space slid open.

"Bingo," Lucy whispered, carefully reaching into the revealed compartment.

Inside was a manila envelope, worn at the edges from handling. Lucy pulled it out and gently opened the flap. The contents made her breath catch: five typed letters, each demanding money from Winnie, and a stack of photographs.

The most recent letter was dated just one week before Winnie's death:

Final warning. $50,000 by Friday or your secret goes public. The Governor would be very interested to learn about your "special ingredient." Pay up, or your secret's out. Cash only. Same drop location.

Lucy examined the photographs. Most showed Winnie in ordinary situations—entering the bakery, shopping at the grocery store, talking with Clay at the mill. Surveillance photos, meant to intimidate by showing the blackmailer was watching. But one photo stood out: Winnie at what appeared to be a laboratory, wearing a white coat and handling scientific equipment. The date stamp in the corner read "May 2002."

"What were you involved in, Winnie?" Lucy murmured, carefully setting the materials aside to show Hank.

As she did, a small key fell from the envelope. Nondescript and tarnished, it looked like it might fit a lockbox or small padlock. Lucy pocketed it, making a mental note to ask Hank about any locked containers found during the investigation.

She dialed the sheriff's number. "Hank? I found something. Hidden compartment in Winnie's desk. Blackmail letters and surveillance photos."

"Don't touch anything else," Hank ordered. "I'll be right there."

While waiting, Lucy continued examining Winnie's office, careful not to disturb anything further. A cork bulletin board hung on the wall, covered with notes, recipes, and a calendar. Lucy leaned closer, studying the entries. The day before Winnie died had "C.R. – Final Decision" written in red ink—matching the notation Lucy had seen on Clay's calendar.

The day of her death simply had "Festival Prep – Test Final Version" written in Winnie's neat script.

Lucy's gaze drifted to a stack of notebooks on a side shelf. These appeared to be Winnie's daily logs—different from her recipe book, these would contain business notes, ideas, and to-do lists. The most recent was missing—likely in evidence or taken by Marnie—but the previous volumes remained.

Lucy flipped through the notebook from the month before, scanning Winnie's entries. Mostly mundane bakery operations, but occasional cryptic notes stood out:

Called M. again. No answer. Left message re: family matters.

C.R. says price too high. Negotiating.

E.L. suspicious. Watching too closely. Be careful.

E.L.—Earl Lattimore? And C.R. was almost certainly Clay Redford. But who was M? Marnie?

A shopping list on one page caught Lucy's eye:

Vanilla extract (Nielsen-Massey)

Almond flour (specialty)

Cardamom (fresh ground)

Mace (both kinds!)

Japanese lily flour (C.R. order)

"Both kinds?" Lucy frowned, puzzling over the notation. Mace was a spice derived from nutmeg, commonly used in baking. But the "both kinds" comment suggested something else. Mace was also a self-defense spray. Was Winnie planning to protect herself from her blackmailer?

The sound of heavy footsteps announced Hank's arrival. He appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath.

"Show me," he said without preamble.

Lucy indicated the hidden compartment and the materials she'd found. Hank pulled on his own gloves and carefully examined each item, his expression growing increasingly troubled.

"This changes things," he admitted, bagging the evidence. "Blackmail establishes that someone was threatening Winnie before her death."

"Someone who knew about her 'special ingredient,'" Lucy pointed out. "That matches what Trudy told me about Winnie being blackmailed over something from her past."

Hank nodded thoughtfully. "The bribery scandal with the health inspector was twelve years ago. This photo—" he held up the laboratory image, "—is from 2002. That's over twenty years ago. What was Winnie involved in back then?"

"I don't know," Lucy admitted. "But the blackmailer knew. And they were watching her closely—hence the surveillance photos."

"The question is, did the blackmailer kill her, or did someone else entirely?" Hank mused.

"What about Sadie?" Lucy asked. "Do you still consider her a prime suspect?"

Hank hesitated. "The evidence against her is still strong. She argued with Winnie the day before. She had access to the bakery and knowledge of Winnie's allergies. And she directly benefits from Winnie's death through the will."

"But these blackmail letters⁠—"

"Complicate things," Hank finished for her. "They don't eliminate Sadie as a suspect, but they do widen the field." He paused. "What about the key you pocketed?"

Lucy blinked in surprise. "You saw that?"

"I'm the sheriff, Lucy. I'm trained to notice when people take evidence."

Sheepishly, Lucy handed over the small key. "It fell from the envelope. I thought it might be important."

"It might be," Hank agreed, bagging it. "We'll check it against any locks associated with the case." He glanced around the office. "Anything else I should know about?"

Lucy showed him the notebook with the shopping list. "Winnie mentioned 'mace (both kinds!)' here. I think she might have been planning to defend herself."

"Makes sense if she was being blackmailed," Hank agreed. "Though it didn't help her in the end."

"What about Earl Lattimore?" Lucy pressed. "Jessie Winters saw his car at the mill the night Winnie died, contradicting his alibi about being in Millfield. And now he's suddenly left town."

"We're looking into it," Hank assured her. "I've contacted Portland PD to verify his whereabouts." He paused. "But Lucy, we need to be careful here. Multiple suspects doesn't mean Sadie is innocent."

"I know that," Lucy said. "But it doesn't mean she's guilty either."

"Fair enough." Hank packed up the evidence. "I need to get these to the station. Thanks for your help, Lucy." He hesitated at the door. "But from now on, let's work together. No more solo investigations."

"Agreed," Lucy nodded, though they both knew it was a promise she was unlikely to keep.

After Hank left, Lucy took one final look around the office. Something still felt off—a piece missing from the puzzle. On impulse, she checked her watch. Almost five o'clock—time for her meeting with Ruthie Maynard.

Ruthie's office was empty except for the elderly lawyer herself when Lucy arrived, slightly out of breath from hurrying across town.

"Right on time," Ruthie noted approvingly, directing Lucy to a chair. "And looking rather flushed. Busy afternoon?"

"You could say that," Lucy replied. "I found blackmail letters in Winnie's desk. Someone was demanding money to keep quiet about a 'special ingredient' and threatened to tell the Governor."

Ruthie's eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, that saves me some explanation."

"You knew about the blackmail?" Lucy asked, surprised.

"Not specifically," Ruthie admitted. "But I knew Winnie was in some kind of trouble. She came to me last month to update her will and mentioned she was 'tying up loose ends' in case something happened to her."

"That sounds ominous."

"Indeed. When I pressed her, she mentioned a situation from her past coming back to haunt her." Ruthie reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a sealed envelope. "She asked me to hold this in safekeeping, to be opened only if something happened to her."

"And something did," Lucy said quietly.

Ruthie nodded gravely. "After Sheriff Pritchard confirmed Winnie's death wasn't accidental, I opened it, as instructed." She slid the envelope across the desk. "I think you should see it too."

Lucy carefully opened the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper—a brief letter in Winnie's handwriting:

Dear Ruthie,

If you're reading this, something has happened to me, possibly related to the situation I mentioned. The truth is, before opening Sweet Delight, I worked as a research assistant at FlavaTech Industries from 1999-2003. While there, I helped develop a proprietary cookie formula that became the foundation of my bakery's success.

The problem: I didn't develop it alone, and I wasn't supposed to take it when I left. My research partner recently discovered I've been using a variation of our work and is threatening to expose me for corporate theft unless I pay an exorbitant sum.

If anything happens to me, please ensure Sadie gets the bakery as planned. She knows nothing about this, and I want her protected from my mistakes.

With gratitude for your discretion, Winnie

Lucy looked up from the letter, her mind racing. "FlavaTech—that's where Earl Lattimore worked before opening Morning Brew!"

"Yes," Ruthie confirmed. "I looked into it after reading Winnie's letter. Earl and Winnie were both employed there at the same time, though in different departments according to the records I found."

"Different departments officially, maybe," Lucy mused. "But what if they collaborated? What if they developed this cookie formula together, and Winnie took it when she left?"

"And twenty years later, Earl discovered she'd been using their joint research all along," Ruthie continued the thought. "That would certainly provide motive for blackmail."

"Or murder," Lucy added grimly. "Especially if Winnie refused to pay the final demand."

"There's one more thing you should know," Ruthie said. "I've been looking into Marnie Higgins' financial situation, given her aggressive pursuit of Sweet Delight."

"And?"

"And she's deeply in debt. Multiple failed restaurant ventures in Chicago, a pending bankruptcy filing, and several creditors in pursuit." Ruthie shook her head. "The woman is financially desperate."

"So when she heard about Winnie's death⁠—"

"She saw an opportunity to save herself by claiming Sweet Delight," Ruthie finished. "Unfortunately for her, Winnie's will is quite clear. Everything goes to Sadie."

Lucy considered this new information. "Could Marnie have been blackmailing Winnie from Chicago? Threatening to expose her secret unless Winnie paid up or included her in the will?"

"It's possible," Ruthie acknowledged. "The sisters had reconnected recently, according to Marnie. Perhaps during that reconnection, Marnie discovered something she could use as leverage."

Lucy's phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Dot: Marnie Higgins back at library. Asking about FlavaTech Industries. Said it's urgent. Should I help her?

Lucy showed the message to Ruthie. "Seems like Marnie is following the same trail we are."

"But how did she know to look into FlavaTech?" Ruthie wondered.

"That's what I intend to find out," Lucy said, rising. "Thank you for sharing this, Ruthie. It helps fill in some important gaps."

"Be careful, Lucy," Ruthie cautioned. "If Earl or Marnie is behind Winnie's death, they won't appreciate your meddling."

"I'm not meddling," Lucy protested. "I'm investigating."

Ruthie's smile was thin. "The distinction may be lost on a murderer."

When Lucy arrived back at the library, she found Marnie at a computer terminal with Dot hovering nearby, clearly hoping to overhear something juicy.

"Dot, I'll take over," Lucy said firmly. "Why don't you finish shelving the new arrivals?"

With visible reluctance, Dot retreated, though not without a backward glance that promised later interrogation.

"Finding what you need?" Lucy asked Marnie casually.

Marnie jumped slightly, then composed herself. "Just doing some research," she said vaguely, minimizing the browser window.

"About FlavaTech Industries," Lucy stated rather than asked. "Where Winnie worked twenty years ago. And where Earl Lattimore worked too. Quite a coincidence."

Marnie's expression flickered between surprise and calculation. "How did you know about FlavaTech?"

"The same way I know about Winnie being blackmailed," Lucy said, taking a calculated risk. "And about your financial troubles in Chicago."

Marnie paled visibly. "You've been investigating me?"

"I've been investigating Winnie's death," Lucy corrected. "And you keep appearing at the edges of the story. So does Earl. So does Clay. So does Sadie. The question is, which of you had the most to gain from Winnie's death?"

"I didn't kill my sister," Marnie hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Yes, I need money. Yes, I want Sweet Delight. But I was in Chicago when Winnie died."

"And yet you knew to research FlavaTech," Lucy pointed out. "How?"

Marnie hesitated, then sighed heavily. "Winnie told me. When we reconnected last month, she confessed everything. How she'd taken the formula. How her business was built on stolen research. She was terrified someone had found out."

"Someone like Earl?" Lucy pressed.

"She never said who," Marnie insisted. "Just that her past had caught up with her and she needed to make amends before it was too late."

"Make amends how?"

Marnie looked away. "She was planning to change her will. Include me as co-owner of Sweet Delight. Said it was 'the least she could do after everything.'"

"But the will Ruthie has leaves everything to Sadie," Lucy pointed out.

"Because she never got the chance to change it!" Marnie's voice rose in frustration. "Whoever was threatening her got to her first!"

"Or maybe," Lucy suggested quietly, "you found out the will hadn't been changed yet and took matters into your own hands. Maybe you hired someone local to eliminate Winnie before she could change her mind again."

"That's absurd," Marnie scoffed, but her hands trembled slightly as she gathered her purse. "I loved my sister, despite our differences. I wouldn't harm her."

"Then help me find who did," Lucy challenged. "Tell me everything you know about Winnie's work at FlavaTech. About the formula she took."

Marnie seemed to wage an internal battle before finally relenting. "Fine. But not here." She glanced meaningfully around the library. "Meet me at the bakery in an hour. I'll tell you what I know."

After Marnie left, Lucy immediately called Hank.

"Marnie claims Winnie was planning to change her will to include her," she reported. "And she knew about FlavaTech and the stolen formula."

"Interesting timing for that confession," Hank remarked. "Right after we find blackmail evidence."

"She wants to meet at the bakery in an hour to tell me more. Says she has information about the formula Winnie took from FlavaTech."

"It could be a trap," Hank warned. "Marnie might be trying to silence you if she's involved."

"Or she might genuinely want to help clear her name," Lucy countered. "Either way, it's worth hearing what she has to say."

Hank was quiet for a moment. "I'll have Otis park nearby, out of sight. If you're not out in thirty minutes, he's coming in."

"Agreed," Lucy said, relieved. "And Hank? Have you found any connection between Earl and Clay? Any reason they might be working together?"

"Nothing concrete," Hank admitted. "But Clay's mill delivered specialty flour to Morning Brew regularly. They had a business relationship at minimum."

"A business relationship that might have included helping Earl get revenge on Winnie for stealing their formula," Lucy suggested.

"It's just speculation at this point," Hank cautioned. "But we're looking into it. Earl's sudden departure certainly raises suspicions."

After ending the call, Lucy gathered her notes and prepared for her meeting with Marnie. The pieces were beginning to fit together, forming a picture of betrayal, blackmail, and deadly revenge spanning decades. But key questions remained: Who had actually administered the fatal Japanese flour to Winnie? Was it Earl, exacting revenge for his stolen formula? Marnie, desperate for financial salvation? Clay, with his access to the deadly ingredient? Or someone else entirely?

Lucy was determined to find out, even if it meant walking into potential danger. After all, librarians weren't just guardians of books—they were guardians of truth. And the truth about Winnie's death was finally within reach.

8

Lucy paced the length of her small kitchen, phone pressed to her ear.

"She never showed up, Hank. I waited for almost an hour."

"We know," Sheriff Pritchard replied. "Otis lost sight of Marnie after she left her hotel. We're still looking for her."

"This can't be a coincidence," Lucy insisted. "She agrees to tell me everything about FlavaTech and the formula, then disappears?"

"We don't know that she's disappeared," Hank cautioned. "She could have gotten cold feet."

"Or she could be running because she's guilty," Lucy countered.

"Or running because she's afraid," Hank suggested. "Either way, we've put out an alert. If she tries to leave the county, we'll know."

After ending the call, Lucy stared at the notes spread across her kitchen table. Blackmail letters. A stolen formula. Rivalries and debts. The puzzle pieces were there, but the picture remained frustratingly incomplete.

One thing seemed increasingly clear: Winnie's special recipe—the one using the expensive Japanese flour—was at the center of everything. And Lucy still didn't know exactly what made it so special.

She needed allies. People who knew Winnie well enough to help fill in the gaps.

With determined resolve, Lucy picked up her phone again and made two calls.

"This is highly irregular," Trudy Wilson declared as she settled into Lucy's living room sofa an hour later. "Meeting secretly to discuss murder suspects. Like something from an Agatha Christie novel."

"I prefer to think of it as a strategy session," Lucy replied, setting out coffee mugs.

Beside Trudy sat Sadie Wilcox, pale and nervous. "I shouldn't be here," she fretted. "Sheriff Pritchard still thinks I killed Winnie."

"Which is exactly why you should be here," Lucy insisted. "The three of us knew Winnie better than anyone. Together, we might figure out what really happened to her."

"And clear your name in the process," Trudy added, patting Sadie's hand.

Lucy sat across from them. "Here's what we know: Winnie was working on a special recipe using Japanese White Lily flour. She spent thousands on it, considering it valuable enough to keep under lock and key. She was being blackmailed over a formula she allegedly stole from FlavaTech years ago—where Earl Lattimore also worked. And she died from an allergic reaction to that same flour."

"But Winnie knew she was allergic to it," Sadie objected. "She'd never have tasted anything made with it."

"Exactly," Lucy nodded. "Which means someone else introduced it into something she did eat."

"Or drink," Trudy suggested. "Her morning tea, perhaps. She always started the day with chamomile."

"The question is," Lucy continued, "what was so special about this recipe that someone would kill to prevent her from revealing it?"

Sadie and Trudy exchanged glances.

"You know something," Lucy realized, watching their expressions. "What is it?"

Sadie hesitated. "I'm not sure it's relevant..."

"Everything is relevant at this point," Lucy urged. "Please, Sadie."

With a deep breath, Sadie explained. "The Japanese flour wasn't just for flavor or texture. It contained a natural compound that Winnie believed was revolutionary for baking."

"What kind of compound?" Lucy asked.

"Something that could significantly extend shelf life without preservatives," Sadie said. "Winnie discovered it by accident when experimenting with different imports. When baked properly, items made with this flour stayed fresh for weeks, not days, without any chemical additives."

Lucy's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "That would be huge for commercial baking. Worth millions to the right company."

"Exactly," Trudy nodded. "Winnie was planning to announce her discovery at the Harvest Festival competition. If she won, she'd have the Governor's attention and connections to market her finding properly."

"And potentially put companies like FlavaTech—who rely on chemical preservatives—at a competitive disadvantage," Lucy added, thinking aloud.

"Unless they got their hands on the formula first," Sadie said quietly.

The pieces suddenly clicked into place for Lucy. "That's why Earl was so interested in Winnie's special recipe. Not just professional jealousy—financial survival. His background in food science would have helped him recognize the potential impact immediately."

"And he had connections to the Japanese flour through his previous employer," Trudy pointed out.

"But how did he know about Winnie's allergies?" Lucy wondered. "That's specific medical information."

"The health inspection incident," Sadie suggested. "When the mayor's mother got sick? Part of the settlement included Winnie registering her allergies with the health department to prevent cross-contamination in the bakery."

"And those records would be accessible to someone with the right connections," Lucy mused. "Or someone on the health board."

"Like the mayor," Trudy said meaningfully. "Who happens to be one of Earl's best customers and biggest supporters."

Lucy sat back, processing this information. "So Earl had motive, means, and opportunity. But we still don't have proof."

"What we need," Trudy declared, "is to catch him in the act of revealing himself."

"Or force him to," Lucy said slowly, an idea taking shape. "What if we could make Earl think Winnie's recipe was about to be revealed publicly? That someone else knew her secret and was planning to announce it?"

"How would we do that?" Sadie asked.

A smile spread across Lucy's face. "With cookies, of course. And a very public event."

Two days later, Lucy stood behind a table in the Brentwood Falls Public Library's community room, arranging plates of freshly baked cookies. Colorful signs announced the "Sweet Charity Bake Sale: Honoring Winnie Baxter's Legacy."

Dot bustled around, hanging streamers and setting out donation jars. "This was brilliant, Lucy. The whole town is talking about it."

"Let's hope the right people are talking," Lucy murmured, adjusting the centerpiece display: a platter of golden shortbread cookies labeled "Winnie's Special Reserve – Traditional Japanese Method."

The recipe had been a collaborative effort between Lucy, Sadie, and Trudy, based on Winnie's notes and Sadie's knowledge of her techniques. They'd used regular flour, of course—not the dangerous Japanese variety—but added cardamom and nutmeg to create a distinctive flavor that might pass for something special.

The trap was set. Now they just needed their suspects to arrive.

"Sheriff Pritchard called," Dot whispered, leaning close. "Said he'll be 'dropping by' around noon. With Deputy Otis."

"Perfect," Lucy nodded. "And Clay?"

"RSVP'd yes on the library's Facebook event. Said he's 'looking forward to honoring Winnie's memory.'"

"And Earl?"

Dot's expression turned gleeful. "Saw him peeking through the window ten minutes ago. Pretending to read the community bulletin board."

"Excellent." Lucy straightened her "In Memory of Winnie" apron. "Let the show begin."

By noon, the community room was packed. Half the town had turned out, partly from genuine affection for Winnie, partly from irrepressible curiosity about the murdered baker's famous recipes being served. Lucy had carefully arranged for several local reporters to attend, ensuring maximum publicity.

Clay Redford arrived early, making a show of purchasing cookies and making a generous donation. He kept to himself, watching the proceedings with apparent interest but saying little.

Sheriff Pritchard and Deputy Otis arrived precisely at noon, positioned strategically near the exits. Lucy caught Hank's eye and gave a subtle nod toward the window, where Earl Lattimore could be seen hesitating outside.

"He's nervous," Lucy murmured to Sadie, who stood beside her serving cookies. "Good."

Finally, the café owner entered, his usual hipster confidence noticeably dimmed. He nodded stiffly to acquaintances but made no move toward the cookie table.

"Time for phase two," Lucy whispered.

She stepped out from behind the table and approached Earl with a plate of the special shortbread. "Earl! So glad you could make it. Have you tried Winnie's Special Reserve yet? Sadie helped recreate it from Winnie's notes."

Earl's face paled slightly. "I, uh, just ate actually. But thanks."

"Oh, but you have to try one," Lucy insisted brightly. "After all, it's based on that special Japanese method Winnie was so excited about. The one she was planning to reveal at the Harvest Festival."

Earl's eyes darted around the room, landing briefly on Clay, who was watching the exchange with undisguised interest.

"Really, I can't," Earl said more firmly. "Gluten sensitivity, you know."

"That's funny," Lucy responded, maintaining her cheerful tone while raising her voice slightly to attract attention from nearby attendees. "I don't recall you mentioning that when you served me that danish last week. And Winnie never mentioned you having allergies during your time together at FlavaTech."

The room quieted noticeably at the mention of FlavaTech. Earl's face went from pale to flushed in seconds.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly.

"No? That's odd, because I have it on good authority that you and Winnie worked together there. On a very special formula." Lucy held the cookie plate higher. "A formula remarkably similar to what's in these cookies."

Earl's composure cracked. "Those aren't Winnie's special cookies. You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Lucy raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure unless you know exactly what was in them? Unless you knew about the natural preservative compound in the Japanese flour—the one that could revolutionize commercial baking?"

A hush fell over the room as spectators realized they were witnessing something more significant than a charity bake sale.

Earl's gaze hardened. "You think you're clever, don't you? Playing detective. But you have no idea what you're dealing with."

"I think I do," Lucy countered, still smiling pleasantly. "I'm dealing with someone who couldn't stand the idea of Winnie succeeding with a formula he considered partly his. Someone who tried blackmailing her first, then took more drastic measures when she refused to pay."

"You can't prove anything," Earl hissed, his voice low enough that only those nearby could hear.

"Can't I?" Lucy tilted her head. "The blackmail letters we found were quite convincing. And then there's your mysterious trip to the mill the night Winnie died—when you were supposedly teaching in Millfield."

Earl's eyes widened in shock. "How did you⁠—"

"Earl Lattimore," Sheriff Pritchard's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward. "I'd like you to come down to the station to answer some questions."

For a moment, Earl seemed frozen in place. Then, with sudden violence, he knocked the cookie plate from Lucy's hands, sending shortbread scattering across the floor.

"This is harassment!" he shouted, backing toward the door. "I had nothing to do with Winnie's death!"

"No one accused you of murder, Earl," Lucy pointed out quietly. "Just of being at the mill when you claimed to be elsewhere."

The realization that he'd overreacted visibly washed over Earl. With a final panicked glance around the room, he turned and bolted for the exit, shoving past a startled patron.

"Otis!" Hank called, and the deputy moved swiftly to intercept. A brief scuffle ensued before Earl was subdued, Deputy Otis securing handcuffs with practiced efficiency.

"Earl Lattimore, you're under arrest for the suspected murder of Winnie Baxter," Hank announced formally. "You have the right to remain silent..."

As Hank continued reciting Miranda rights, the room erupted in excited chatter. Lucy felt a mixture of triumph and unease—they'd trapped Earl into revealing his guilty knowledge, but his reaction seemed almost too perfect. Too complete a confirmation of their suspicions.

"You did it," Sadie whispered, appearing at Lucy's side. "You caught Winnie's killer."

"Maybe," Lucy said cautiously. "But something still feels off."

Across the room, she noticed Clay Redford slipping quietly toward the exit, his expression unreadable. Their eyes met briefly, and Lucy was struck by the calculation she saw there—not shock or relief, but something more complex.

As Earl was led away protesting his innocence, Lucy bent to help clean up the scattered cookies, her mind racing. They'd sprung their trap successfully, but was Earl the only one who'd been caught? Or had they inadvertently revealed their hand to someone else involved in Winnie's death?

"I still can't believe it worked," Trudy marveled later that afternoon as she, Lucy, and Sadie regrouped at Lucy's house. "You practically got a confession out of him in public."

"Not quite a confession," Lucy cautioned, pacing her living room. "More like an incriminating reaction. Hank still needs actual evidence to charge him formally."

"But Earl's definitely involved," Sadie insisted. "His behavior proves it."

"It proves he knew about the special properties of the Japanese flour," Lucy agreed. "And that he was lying about his whereabouts the night Winnie died. But something still doesn't add up."

"Like what?" Trudy asked.

"Like how he actually administered the flour to Winnie," Lucy explained. "Earl doesn't have a key to Sweet Delight. He couldn't just walk in and tamper with her ingredients."

"Unless someone let him in," Sadie suggested.

Lucy paused her pacing. "Exactly. Which means he might have had an accomplice." She turned to Sadie. "Who else had keys to the bakery?"

"Just me, Winnie, and..." Sadie trailed off, eyes widening. "Clay. He had a spare key for emergencies or deliveries when we weren't there."

"Clay," Lucy repeated thoughtfully. "Who supplied the Japanese flour. Who had a business relationship with Earl. Who was the last person to see Winnie alive, according to the delivery records."

"You think they worked together?" Trudy asked, looking troubled. "But why would Clay help Earl kill Winnie? They were friends for decades."

"Money," Sadie suggested. "Clay's mill has been struggling since that new commercial grain processor opened in Millfield."

Lucy's phone rang, interrupting their speculation. It was Hank.

"Earl's talking," the sheriff said without preamble when Lucy answered. "Says he was blackmailing Winnie over the stolen formula, but insists he didn't kill her."

"Do you believe him?" Lucy asked.

"Parts of it," Hank replied. "He admits being at the mill the night Winnie died—says he was meeting with Clay to discuss the formula. Claims Clay was acting as an intermediary between him and Winnie, trying to negotiate a settlement where Earl would get credit and a percentage of future profits."

"That matches what we know," Lucy acknowledged. "But it doesn't explain how Winnie ingested the deadly flour."

"No, it doesn't," Hank agreed. "And here's where things get interesting. Earl claims Marnie contacted him three weeks ago, saying she knew about his history with Winnie at FlavaTech. Says she encouraged him to push for compensation."

Lucy's mind raced. "Marnie? But why would she⁠—"

"Money," Hank interrupted. "According to Earl, Marnie suggested they could split whatever they got from Winnie. A partnership of convenience."

"But that would mean..." Lucy trailed off as the implications became clear.

"That Marnie might have had deeper involvement than we thought," Hank finished. "And that she's been playing all sides from the beginning."

The three women exchanged troubled glances as Lucy relayed this information.

"Where is Marnie now?" Lucy asked.

"Still missing," Hank replied grimly. "But we've got alerts out at all transportation hubs. She won't get far."

After ending the call, Lucy sat heavily on her couch. "It seems our trap caught one suspect but scared off another."

"So what now?" Sadie asked.

Before Lucy could answer, her phone chimed with a text message from an unknown number:

I know what really happened to Winnie. Meet me at Sweet Delight. Midnight. Come alone or I tell no one. – C.R.

Lucy stared at the message, her heart racing. Clay Redford wanted to meet—alone, at midnight, at the scene of the crime.

"What is it?" Trudy asked, noting Lucy's expression.

Lucy hesitated, then made a decision. She showed them the text.

"You can't go!" Sadie exclaimed. "It's obviously a trap."

"Of course it is," Lucy agreed. "But it might be our only chance to get the full truth."

"At least tell Sheriff Pritchard," Trudy insisted.

Lucy nodded slowly. "I will. But not until I've worked out a plan." She looked between her two allies. "Because if Clay is willing to talk, we need to be ready to listen. And if he's planning something more sinister..."

"Then we need to be ready for that too," Sadie finished determinedly.

As the three women began plotting their response to Clay's invitation, Lucy couldn't shake the feeling that they were approaching the final chapter in Winnie's story. The trap they'd set for Earl had worked—perhaps too well. Now they were being drawn into another potentially deadly encounter.

But this time, Lucy would be ready. Because the one thing librarians excelled at beyond all others was preparation. And she intended to be very, very prepared for her midnight meeting with Clay Redford.

9

Lucy sat in her car across the street from the sheriff's station, rain pattering softly on the roof. The clock on her dashboard read 8:47 PM—over three hours until her scheduled midnight meeting with Clay Redford. Plenty of time to follow through on her more immediate hunch.

"This is either brilliant or incredibly stupid," she muttered to herself, adjusting her rearview mirror for a better view of the station's front entrance.

The text from Clay still troubled her. Why midnight? Why at Sweet Delight? The dramatic flair seemed out of character for the practical mill owner. Something about it felt off—forced, even.

She'd shown Hank the message, of course. Despite her initial hesitation, Lucy knew better than to walk into a potential trap without backup. The sheriff had immediately begun planning a surveillance operation for the midnight meeting.

But Lucy's librarian instincts—honed by years of detecting patterns in research and literature—pointed to a more immediate concern. Earl Lattimore had been released on bail just thirty minutes ago, according to Dot's text. The evidence against him was largely circumstantial, despite his dramatic flight attempt at the bake sale.

"If I'd just been caught and released," Lucy reasoned aloud, "my first priority would be damage control."

Which is why she now found herself conducting her very first stakeout, a thermos of coffee her only companion as she watched the sheriff's station through a veil of rain.

At 9:12 PM, her patience was rewarded. Earl Lattimore emerged from the building, hunched against the weather, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He hurried to his bright blue Mini Cooper—still remarkably conspicuous despite the evening gloom—and drove off with uncharacteristic restraint.

Lucy waited until he turned the corner before starting her engine and following at a careful distance. Main Street was quiet at this hour, most businesses closed for the night, making it harder to tail someone inconspicuously. Fortunately, Earl seemed too preoccupied to check his rearview mirror.

To Lucy's surprise, he bypassed Morning Brew entirely, continuing through town and over the old bridge that crossed Brentwood River. The road wound uphill toward Redford's Mill, but Earl took a sudden turn onto a narrow dirt track that led down to the riverbank.

Lucy killed her headlights and pulled over, heart pounding. She couldn't follow on the narrow path without being spotted. Instead, she grabbed her raincoat and flashlight from the backseat and set out on foot, keeping to the treeline for cover.

The rain had intensified, soaking through her coat as she picked her way carefully down the muddy slope. The beam of her flashlight reflected off the water below, where the river widened into a small basin before continuing its journey through town.

Earl had parked near the water's edge. As Lucy watched from behind a cluster of pine trees, he popped the trunk of his Mini and began unloading what appeared to be several large bags. Even in the dim light, Lucy recognized the distinctive packaging of specialty flour from Redford's Mill.

"Destroying evidence," she whispered, pulling out her phone to call Hank. No signal. Of course.

Earl worked methodically, slashing each bag open with a pocketknife before emptying its contents into the swiftly moving water. The rain would help dissolve the flour quickly, leaving little trace by morning.

Lucy needed to act. She could either retreat back up the hill to find cell service, or confront Earl directly. Neither option seemed particularly appealing.

The decision was made for her when she stepped backward and a twig snapped loudly underfoot.

Earl's head jerked up. "Who's there?" he called, squinting into the darkness.

Lucy froze, hoping the rain and trees would hide her.

"I know someone's there," Earl said, his voice higher than usual. "Sheriff? Is that you?"

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of rain hitting leaves.

"Might as well show yourself," Earl continued, sounding resigned. "I'm caught anyway."

Lucy took a deep breath and stepped forward, aiming her flashlight at Earl to prevent him from seeing her clearly. "What are you doing, Earl?"

He squinted against the light. "Lucy Blackstone. I should have known. You're like a bad penny, always turning up."

"Says the man dumping evidence in the river," Lucy replied, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Those are bags of the Japanese White Lily flour, aren't they?"

Earl sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. "What does it matter now? My reputation is ruined anyway. The whole town thinks I'm a murderer."

"Aren't you?" Lucy challenged, taking another cautious step forward.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," Earl said, more to himself than to Lucy. "It was just business. Strictly business."

"Killing Winnie was business?" Lucy couldn't keep the anger from her voice.

Earl's head snapped up. "I didn't kill her! I mean, I didn't intend—" He cut himself off, clearly realizing he'd said too much.

The sound of tires on gravel interrupted whatever he might have said next. Headlights swept across the trees as a vehicle approached down the dirt track.

"You called the sheriff," Earl accused, panic rising in his voice.

"I didn't," Lucy insisted, then added pointedly, "but I was planning to once I had cell service again."

Earl lunged for the last bag of flour, apparently intent on disposing of it before witnesses arrived. In his haste, he lost his footing on the muddy bank and slipped, nearly falling into the river.

The approaching vehicle came to a stop, and Sheriff Pritchard emerged, flashlight in hand. "Well, well," he called out. "What have we here?"

"Perfect timing," Lucy breathed in relief. "How did you find us?"

"Tracking device on Earl's car," Hank replied, approaching with measured steps. "Standard procedure for suspects released on bail in potential homicide cases."

Earl, seeing his situation deteriorate further, attempted to fling the last bag into the river. Hank was faster, tackling the café owner to the ground before he could destroy the final piece of evidence.

"Earl Lattimore," Hank said, securing handcuffs around Earl's wrists, "you're under arrest for tampering with evidence. Again. And possibly for the murder of Winnie Baxter, depending on what's in these bags you're so keen to dispose of."

"It's the Japanese flour," Lucy informed him. "The same kind that killed Winnie."

Hank's eyebrows rose. "Is that so?" He turned Earl over to look him in the face. "Care to explain why you're dumping specialty flour in the river at night, Earl?"

Earl's expression crumpled. For a moment, he looked much older than his forty-odd years, the rain plastering his carefully styled hair to his forehead.

"I want a lawyer," he mumbled.

"Oh, you'll get one," Hank assured him, helping him to his feet. "But right now, we're going to take a little trip to the station. And this time, I don't think you'll be making bail so easily."

Deputy Otis had arrived in a second patrol car and began collecting the slashed flour bags as evidence. Lucy, soaked and shivering, accepted Hank's offer to ride back to the station with him.

"You know, normal librarians don't spend their evenings stalking murder suspects in the rain," Hank commented as they drove, Earl sulking in the backseat.

"I've never cared much for normal," Lucy replied, wringing water from her hair.

The sheriff's station was warm and brightly lit, a welcome contrast to the dark riverbank. Lucy sat wrapped in a scratchy emergency blanket, clutching a cup of vending machine hot chocolate while Hank prepared to interview Earl in the adjacent room.

"You're sure you don't want to go home and change first?" Hank asked, concern evident in his voice.

Lucy shook her head. "Not a chance. I've come this far—I want to see it through."

Hank sighed but didn't argue further. "You can watch from the observation room. But not a word, understood? This is still an official investigation."

"Scout's honor," Lucy promised, raising three fingers in salute.

"Were you even a Scout?"

"Details, details," Lucy waved dismissively.

The observation room was little more than a closet with a one-way mirror, but it offered a clear view of the interview room where Earl now sat, looking miserable in his rain-soaked clothes.

Hank entered, accompanied by Deputy Otis who carried a thick folder and a recorder. The formal interview began with standard questions—name, address, occupation—before Hank moved to the matter at hand.

"Let's talk about what you were doing at the river tonight, Earl," Hank said, his tone conversational. "Disposing of Japanese White Lily flour—the same specialty ingredient that caused Winnie Baxter's fatal allergic reaction. Care to explain?"

Earl stared at his hands. "I want my lawyer."

"He's been called," Hank assured him. "But he's driving in from Millfield. Should be here in about an hour. Plenty of time for us to chat informally."

"I don't have to tell you anything," Earl insisted.

"True," Hank nodded. "But let me tell you what I already know. You worked at FlavaTech Industries at the same time as Winnie. You specialized in developing preservative techniques for baked goods. Winnie left with a proprietary formula—one you helped develop. Years later, you discovered she'd been using a version of it at Sweet Delight."

Earl's jaw clenched but he remained silent.

"Then," Hank continued, "Winnie discovered a natural preservative compound in Japanese White Lily flour—something that could revolutionize commercial baking without chemical additives. Something that would make your expertise... obsolete."

A muscle twitched in Earl's cheek.

"You began blackmailing her," Hank pressed on. "Demanding payment for the formula she'd taken years ago. But Winnie refused to pay your final demand of $50,000. She was going to announce her discovery at the Harvest Festival instead."

"She stole my work!" Earl burst out suddenly. "Twenty years of my research, and she was going to take credit for this too!"

Hank kept his expression neutral. "So you decided to stop her. Permanently."

"No!" Earl protested. "I just wanted to scare her. To make her see reason."

"By putting the flour she was fatally allergic to into her food?" Hank's voice hardened. "That's not scaring someone, Earl. That's murder."

Earl seemed to deflate before their eyes. "It wasn't supposed to kill her," he said quietly. "Just make her sick. I knew about her allergy from the health department records—Mayor Thompson showed me when I was opening Morning Brew, warning me about food safety in the community."

"So you admit tampering with Winnie's ingredients?" Hank clarified.

Earl nodded miserably. "I had a key."

"A key to Sweet Delight?" Hank looked surprised. "How?"

"I made a copy," Earl explained. "From Clay's spare. He keeps it in his office desk—has for years. I just borrowed it one day when he stepped out, made an impression, returned it before he noticed."

In the observation room, Lucy felt a chill that had nothing to do with her wet clothes. The pieces were fitting together now—Earl's story matching the evidence they'd uncovered.

"Tell me what happened the night Winnie died," Hank prompted.

Earl took a shuddering breath. "I went to the bakery after hours. I knew she did prep work for the next morning—mixing dough, preparing fillings. I found her personal batch of chamomile tea bags and dusted them with the Japanese flour." His voice cracked. "Just enough to cause a reaction. To scare her. So she'd understand how serious I was."

"And the cookie jar?" Hank asked. "The one found broken near her body?"

"That was afterward," Earl admitted. "When I found her... when I realized what had happened... I panicked. I staged it to look like an accident. Broke one of those cheap souvenir jars that look like her signature ones and scattered the pieces. I thought if it seemed like she'd fallen..." He trailed off, unable to finish.

"You left her there," Hank said, his voice hard. "You could have called for help."

"She was already gone!" Earl protested. "I checked. No pulse. Nothing." Tears streamed down his face now. "It was just supposed to be a warning. The flour should only have caused hives, maybe some swelling. I didn't know her allergy was so severe!"

Lucy watched through the glass as Earl crumpled, all his hipster pretensions stripped away, revealing the desperate, failed man beneath.

"I just wanted what was mine," he sobbed. "The recognition. The credit. She took everything—my research, my formula, and then she was going to revolutionize the industry with this new discovery. I would have been ruined."

"Instead, you ruined yourself," Hank observed quietly. "And took a good woman's life in the process."

Earl had no response to this, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Earl Lattimore," Hank said formally, "I'm charging you with the murder of Winnie Baxter, tampering with evidence, and breaking and entering. Anything else you'd like to say before your lawyer arrives?"

Earl looked up, his face a mask of misery and defeat. "Just... tell Sadie I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt Winnie. Not like that."

As Deputy Otis led Earl to a holding cell, Lucy stepped out of the observation room, processing everything she'd heard.

"He really did it," she said when Hank joined her. "Over a recipe."

"Over pride," Hank corrected. "The recipe was just the catalyst."

Lucy nodded slowly. "What about Clay? And Marnie? And the midnight meeting?"

"Still working on locating Marnie," Hank said. "As for Clay, we'll pay him a visit right now. If Earl's story checks out, Clay may have been uninvolved in the murder itself, but he certainly has questions to answer."

"And the meeting at Sweet Delight?" Lucy pressed.

"Not happening," Hank said firmly. "Not with you, anyway. My deputies will be there at midnight in case Clay shows, but you're going home to dry clothes and a locked door."

Lucy opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by Otis hurrying toward them, phone in hand.

"Sheriff!" he called. "Just got word from the state police. They've apprehended Marnie Higgins at a bus station in Millfield. She was trying to buy a ticket to Canada."

"Canada?" Lucy repeated. "That seems extreme for someone who just wanted her sister's bakery."

"Maybe there's more to her story than we thought," Hank mused. "Have them bring her in, Otis. I want to talk to her personally."

As Otis hurried away to make arrangements, Hank turned back to Lucy. "This case just got more complicated again. Go home, Lucy. Get dry. Let me handle the police work now."

"But—"

"No buts," Hank interrupted. "Earl's confessed. Sadie's cleared. The immediate case is solved."

"But what about Marnie? And Clay? And the text?" Lucy protested.

"All leads we'll follow," Hank assured her. "But not tonight, and not with civilian involvement."

Lucy knew that tone. Hank had shifted fully into sheriff mode, and further argument would be pointless.

"Fine," she conceded reluctantly. "But I expect updates."

"First thing tomorrow," Hank promised. "Now go home before you catch pneumonia."

As Lucy left the station, she felt a curious mixture of satisfaction and unease. Earl's confession had resolved the central question of who killed Winnie and how. But the edges of the story remained blurry—Marnie's attempted flight, Clay's mysterious text, the layers of deceit surrounding the bakery and its recipes.

In her experience as a librarian, the most interesting stories were often those with epilogues—revelations that came after the apparent resolution. And something told her that Winnie Baxter's story wasn't quite finished yet.

But for now, dry clothes and hot tea beckoned. The remaining mysteries would keep until morning.

Or so she thought.

10

The autumn sun cast a golden glow over Brentwood Falls as Lucy stood among the crowd gathered outside Sweet Delight. A bright blue ribbon stretched across the bakery's entrance, and Sadie Wilcox, dressed in a crisp new apron embroidered with the bakery's logo, held oversized scissors poised to cut it.

"Three weeks ago, we lost a treasured member of our community," Mayor Thompson intoned from a small podium. "Today, we celebrate not only her memory but the continuation of her legacy through her chosen successor."

Lucy glanced around at the assembled townspeople. Almost everyone had turned out for the grand reopening of Sweet Delight. Even Mabel from The Perk and several other competing business owners stood in respectful attendance.

Notably absent was Earl Lattimore, currently awaiting trial in the county jail after his full confession. Morning Brew Café had already been listed for sale, its brief tenure as Brentwood Falls' hipster coffee joint now tainted by its owner's crimes.

"Without further ado," the mayor continued, "I invite Ms. Sadie Wilcox to officially reopen Sweet Delight Bakery!"

Applause erupted as Sadie cut the ribbon. Flashbulbs popped as the local newspaper captured the moment for posterity.

"First cookies are on the house!" Sadie announced, pushing open the freshly painted doors.

The crowd surged forward, but Lucy held back, waiting for the initial rush to subside. Sheriff Pritchard appeared at her side, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in civilian clothes.

"Quite the turnout," he observed.

"People love continuity," Lucy replied. "And free cookies."

Hank chuckled. "Speaking of continuity, Ruthie finalized all the paperwork yesterday. Sweet Delight is officially Sadie's now—lock, stock, and recipe book."

"Including the famous secret formula?"

"Every last ingredient," Hank confirmed. "Though I understand Sadie's retiring that specific Japanese shortbread recipe. Too many bad associations."

Lucy nodded in understanding. The weeks following Earl's confession had been a whirlwind of revelations and legal proceedings. Clay Redford had been cleared of direct involvement in Winnie's death, though he faced questions about his role as intermediary in Earl's blackmail scheme. Ultimately, prosecutors had declined to charge him, judging his cooperation with the investigation sufficient atonement for his minor role.

"Any word from Marnie?" Lucy asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Left town yesterday," Hank replied. "After the final hearing confirmed she had no claim to any part of Winnie's estate, she didn't have much reason to stick around."

The hearing had been brief but tense. Marnie had argued passionately that Winnie had promised to include her in the will, but without documentation to support her claim, and with evidence that she'd been involved in Earl's blackmail scheme, her case had crumbled quickly.

"I almost feel sorry for her," Lucy mused. "Almost, but not quite."

"She made her choices," Hank said simply. "Starting twenty-five years ago when she first tried to steal those recipes."

The crowd inside the bakery had thinned enough for them to enter. The interior smelled gloriously of vanilla, cinnamon, and butter—Winnie's signature scents now carried forward by Sadie's skilled hands.

Sadie spotted them from behind the counter and waved enthusiastically. "Lucy! Sheriff! Come try the commemorative cookies. I made them especially for today."

The special treats were shortbread hearts, each decorated with a tiny blue sugar flower—a tribute to Winnie's famous cookie jars.

"These are wonderful," Lucy praised after taking a bite. "Winnie would be proud."

"She taught me everything I know," Sadie said, her eyes glistening briefly before she composed herself. "Except for my own little twist—I added cardamom. New traditions built on old foundations, you know?"

"The best kind of legacy," Lucy agreed.

As Sadie moved away to serve other customers, Trudy Wilson approached, resplendent in a floral dress that matched her exuberant personality.

"Our girl did it," she declared, watching Sadie with obvious pride. "Winnie knew what she was doing when she chose her heir."

"She certainly did," Lucy agreed. "Though I'm curious—did Winnie ever mention to you why she didn't reconcile with Marnie earlier? They were sisters, after all."

Trudy's expression darkened slightly. "Some betrayals run too deep for simple forgiveness, dear. Marnie didn't just try to steal recipes—she deliberately sabotaged Winnie's first bakery in Millfield back in the day. An 'accident' with the gas line that could have killed someone if Winnie hadn't smelled the leak in time."

Lucy's eyebrows shot up. "That wasn't in any of the news articles about their falling out."

"Winnie never pressed charges," Trudy explained. "Family loyalty, misplaced as it was. But she never forgot, either. When Marnie suddenly wanted to reconcile after all these years..." Trudy shook her head. "Winnie was suspicious from the start."

"With good reason, it seems," Hank commented. "Marnie was working with Earl almost from the beginning, hoping to pressure Winnie into either paying up or signing over part of the bakery."

"And when that didn't work, she didn't stop Earl from taking more drastic measures," Lucy added quietly.

"We can't prove she knew he planned to use the flour against Winnie," Hank reminded her. "Which is why she's walking free, albeit with a restraining order preventing her from contacting Sadie or entering Sweet Delight."

The conversation paused as Mayor Thompson clinked a spoon against his coffee cup, calling for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "as you enjoy these delicious treats, I'd like to remind everyone about the upcoming Harvest Festival Baking Competition. In honor of Winnie Baxter's memory, we've renamed the grand prize this year. The winner will receive the Winnie Baxter Memorial Trophy and a feature at the Governor's Mansion holiday events."

A smattering of applause followed this announcement.

"Furthermore," the mayor continued, "I'm pleased to announce that our very own Lucy Blackstone has agreed to serve as one of the judges!"

Lucy nearly choked on her cookie as all eyes turned toward her. This was the first she'd heard of such an arrangement.

"I... what?" she sputtered.

The mayor beamed at her. "Who better to judge than the woman who solved the mystery of Winnie's death? Your discerning palate and attention to detail make you the perfect addition to our panel!"

More applause followed, along with several hearty "hear, hears" from the crowd.

"Congratulations, Judge Blackstone," Hank murmured, amusement evident in his voice. "Your reputation precedes you."

"This is your fault somehow," Lucy accused him under her breath, smiling stiffly at the onlookers.

"Consider it community service," Hank replied innocently. "Unless you'd prefer I tell everyone how you broke into a crime scene. Twice."

"Judging it is," Lucy conceded.

As the crowd dispersed to examine Sweet Delight's newly arranged display cases, Hank guided Lucy toward a quiet corner.

"In all seriousness," he said, his tone more earnest now, "what you did—solving Winnie's murder—it was impressive. Foolhardy and occasionally illegal, but impressive nonetheless."

"Is that actual praise from Sheriff Pritchard?" Lucy placed a hand over her heart in mock shock. "I may need smelling salts."

"Don't push it," Hank warned, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm trying to pay you a genuine compliment here."

"Sorry," Lucy grinned. "Please, continue telling me how brilliant I am."

Hank rolled his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is that you have good instincts. You see connections others miss. In another life, you might have made a decent detective."

"High praise indeed," Lucy said, genuinely touched. "Thank you, Hank."

"But," he added firmly, "and this is a big but—you need to be careful. Not every criminal is as ultimately harmless as Earl Lattimore. Next time—" He stopped himself.

"Next time?" Lucy raised an eyebrow.

"I was going to say 'next time you meddle in a police investigation,'" Hank admitted. "But I realized that's essentially giving you permission for a next time."

"Which you would never do," Lucy nodded solemnly.

"Never," Hank agreed, equally solemn, though they both knew it was a charade. "Just... promise me you'll be more careful. Partner with law enforcement rather than running parallel investigations."

"I promise to try," Lucy offered, which was as much as she could honestly commit to.

Hank sighed, recognizing this was the best he'd get. "I suppose that will have to do."

Their conversation was interrupted by Dot's arrival, the library assistant practically vibrating with excitement.

"Lucy! You'll never guess what just happened!" she exclaimed.

"You've reorganized the mystery section by murder weapon rather than author?" Lucy suggested.

"What? No," Dot frowned momentarily before recovering her enthusiasm. "The state library association called. They've nominated Brentwood Falls for 'Small Town Library of the Year' because of our community engagement! They specifically mentioned our charity bake sale as an innovative approach to community building."

"That's wonderful!" Lucy said. "Though they might be less impressed if they knew we were using it to trap a murderer."

"Details, details," Dot waved dismissively. "The point is, we're finalists! There's a ceremony in Portland next month. Formal attire required."

As Dot chattered on about potential dresses and acceptance speeches, Lucy caught Hank's eye. He gave her a subtle nod and smile before slipping away to speak with Mayor Thompson.

The bakery hummed with conversation and laughter, life continuing in the way small towns do—absorbing tragedies, celebrating renewals, and always, always generating fresh gossip.

Three days later, Lucy sat at her desk in the library, a stack of mystery novels beside her and a shortbread cookie—one of Sadie's commemorative hearts—on a napkin nearby. She was updating the community events calendar to include the newly expanded Harvest Festival Baking Competition when Sadie herself appeared in the doorway.

"Got a minute?" Sadie asked, clutching a small package wrapped in blue bakery paper.

"For the new queen of Sweet Delight? Always," Lucy smiled, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.

Sadie sat, placing the package between them. "I wanted to thank you properly. For believing in me when I was the prime suspect. For finding Winnie's real killer."

"No thanks necessary," Lucy assured her. "Though I won't turn down baked goods as a token of appreciation."

"It's not just cookies," Sadie said, sliding the package toward Lucy. "Open it."

Lucy unwrapped the paper to find a miniature ceramic cookie jar—white with hand-painted blue flowers, a perfect replica of Winnie's signature design, though small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

"I found an artisan in Millfield who's going to make them for the bakery," Sadie explained. "Limited edition commemorative pieces. But I wanted you to have the first one."

"It's beautiful," Lucy said, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

"There's something inside," Sadie prompted.

Lucy carefully removed the tiny lid to find a folded slip of paper. Opening it revealed a recipe written in Winnie's distinctive handwriting: "Sleuth's Shortbread – For Sharp Minds and Curious Hearts."

"I found it in her recipe book," Sadie explained. "The very last entry, dated the morning she died. It has a note at the bottom: 'For Lucy, who always asks the right questions.'"

Lucy felt a lump form in her throat. "She wrote this for me? The day she died?"

Sadie nodded. "I think she knew you'd be the one to figure things out if anything happened to her. She always said you had 'the gift'—the ability to see what others missed."

"Now I really might need those smelling salts," Lucy murmured, blinking back unexpected tears.

After Sadie left, Lucy examined the recipe more closely. It was similar to Winnie's standard shortbread but with subtle differences—a hint of lavender, a touch of lemon zest, and a sprinkle of special sugar that was supposed to reveal hidden patterns when baked.

"Cookies that reveal secrets," Lucy mused. "How very Winnie."

Her gaze drifted to the stack of mystery novels awaiting processing. From Agatha Christie to Louise Penny, these authors had taught her to look beyond surfaces, to question inconsistencies, to trust patterns and anomalies. In many ways, her lifelong love of mysteries had prepared her for solving a real one.

The library around her was quiet save for the occasional rustle of pages turning and Dot's soft humming as she shelved returns. This peaceful domain of books and knowledge had been Lucy's sanctuary for years, but now she saw it differently—not just as a repository of stories, but as a training ground for real-world puzzles.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Hank: Body found at abandoned mill in Millfield. Suspicious circumstances. Thought you'd want to know. NOT an invitation to investigate.

Lucy smiled to herself, already reaching for her coat.

"Dot," she called, "I need to step out for a bit. Library emergency."

"Another murder?" Dot asked hopefully, peering around a bookshelf.

"Just some overdue books to track down," Lucy fibbed, slipping the miniature cookie jar into her purse alongside her phone and car keys.

As she headed toward the door, she broke off a piece of Sadie's shortbread cookie and popped it into her mouth, savoring the buttery sweetness. Life in Brentwood Falls had certainly become more interesting since Winnie's death—tragic as it was, it had awakened something in Lucy, a talent and taste for mysteries that extended beyond the pages of books.

Sheriff Pritchard would undoubtedly disapprove of her interest in this new case, but as Lucy had recently discovered, some curiosities couldn't be contained by caution alone. Besides, she was merely going to observe. Gather information. Perhaps offer a helpful insight or two.

"Just like Winnie's recipes," Lucy murmured to herself as she stepped into the autumn sunshine, "the best mysteries are worth savoring slowly, one clue at a time."

With the taste of shortbread still on her tongue and the weight of Winnie's tiny cookie jar in her purse, Lucy Blackstone headed toward her car, already piecing together what questions she would ask when she arrived in Millfield. After all, every good mystery deserved a proper investigation—and every small town librarian deserved an occasional adventure.

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