The bell above the door chimed, announcing a new customer. The warmth of the oven and the scent of cinnamon rolls hung heavy in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. “Another day, another dozen blueberry muffins,” a voice chuckled, the clatter of a tray against the counter echoing in the quiet shop. “They’re practically flying off the shelves, you know.” “Speaking of flying, did you see the latest news about that hawk circling over the park? Some folks are saying it’s a bad omen, but I say it’s just looking for a tasty bit of pigeon.” “Pigeon, huh? Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing a hawk snatch up Mr. Henderson’s prize-winning petunias. Those things always seem to be blooming right in the middle of the sidewalk.” “Now, now, let’s not encourage any criminal activity, even by birds. Besides, wouldn’t you miss the gossip? Mr. Henderson always has the most dramatic stories about his garden.” “Oh, that’s true. Imagine if we had to listen to Mrs. Peabody’s cat tales instead.” “I shudder to think about it. Say, speaking of Mrs. Peabody, have you seen her lately? She usually pops in at least once a day for her ginger snap.” “Not since yesterday, why?” “Just wondering. It’s awfully quiet without her.”