The early morning sun streamed through the windows of Sweet Delights Bakery, catching dust motes in golden beams. The rich aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls mingled with brewing coffee, a scent that had become synonymous with Main Street. "Did you hear about old Mr. Peterson? Found face-down in his garden yesterday." "No! Natural causes, I hope?" "That's just it. Sheriff's being tight-lipped, but Jenny at the dispatch office said they found pruning shears sticking out of his back." A tray clattered on the counter as a plate of scones was arranged in the display case. "Pruning shears? That can't be right. Who'd want to hurt Mr. Peterson?" "Well, remember that dispute over the property line with the new folks who bought the Hendersons' place?" "You don't think—" "I'm not saying anything. Just that those fancy city people seemed mighty interested in expanding their yard into what Peterson claimed was his." The bell above the door jingled as another customer entered. "Shh. Speaking of the devil. That's their daughter right there." "Morning, dear. What can I get you today?" "Just a coffee, please. Black. And... has anyone seen my father's gardening shears? They've gone missing."