The sweet aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls filled the quiet bakery as early morning sunlight streamed through the storefront windows, casting long shadows across the checkered floor. "Did you hear about old Mrs. Henderson's garden gnomes?" "All twenty-three of them? Hard to miss the story when she's been telling everyone who walks through that door." "But have you heard the latest? Someone replaced them all with tiny gravestones last night. Each one has a gnome name engraved on it." "You're kidding! Who would go through all that trouble?" "That's not even the strangest part. Each gravestone has a different cause of death. 'Bertram the Brave - Death by Garden Hose' and 'Winston the Wise - Murdered by Mulch.'" "I shouldn't laugh, but... poor Mrs. Henderson must be beside herself." "She's actually quite impressed with the craftsmanship. Says she's keeping them up until Halloween. But she wants her gnomes back by Christmas." "Speaking of which, are those chocolate chip cookies ready? I can smell them from here." "Five more minutes. Unlike gnome gravestones, perfection can't be rushed."