The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air as the bell above the door chimed. The bakery bustled with its usual morning crowd, townsfolk gathering to fetch their daily treats. "Well, well, well. Looks like our little town has itself a real mystery now, doesn't it?" "Oh, hush. It's probably just another one of those silly rumors getting blown out of proportion." "Rumors? I heard it straight from the sheriff himself. Seems they found poor old Mr. Whitley face down in his prize rose garden, deader than a doornail." "Goodness! But who would want to harm a sweet old man like Mr. Whitley?" "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? I reckon we've got ourselves a murderer walking among us." "Don't say such things! It could've been an accident. Maybe he had a heart attack or something." "In his own garden? With a big ol' shovel clutched in his rigor mortis fingers? I don't think so." The two gossipers leaned in closer, their voices lowered to a conspiratorial whisper as they debated the fate of their beloved town and the sinister secrets it might hold.