The chime above the door jingled as the bell-bottomed barista swept in, her flowery apron billowing behind her. "Ah, Mrs. Finch! So good to see you this fine morning. What can I get for you today?" "Well, Beatrice, I was hoping you might have some of those delectable lemon bars. They always put a spring in my step." "Of course, of course! Right this way. I just pulled a fresh batch from the oven." "Wonderful! You know, I was reading in the paper about that dreadful business down at the Wilsons' place. Isn't it simply awful?" "Isnerly awful! To think someone would break in and steal all of Mabel's precious teacups. She's been collecting them for years, you know." "Yes, yes. And right under their noses, too! I simply can't imagine how they'll ever recover." "Well, you know what they say - where there's a will, there's a way. I'm sure the Sheriff will get to the bottom of it." "Let's hope so. In the meantime, I'll take a half-dozen of those lemon bars, if you don't mind. They're just the thing to lift the spirits." "Coming right up, Mrs. Finch. Fresh as can be!"