The bell tinkled as the door to Sweet Nothings Bakery swung open, releasing the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread into the crisp autumn air. "Did you hear what happened to old Mr. Peterson last night?" "No, but judging by that look on your face, I'm guessing it wasn't that his lumbago finally cleared up." A cherry danish slid across the glass countertop, leaving a faint trail of powdered sugar. "They found him face-down in his prize-winning rose garden. Garden shears right next to him." "Good heavens! Was it his heart?" "Sheriff thinks not. The shears had been wiped clean. Too clean." Steam rose from two mugs of coffee as they were placed on a small table by the window. Outside, maple leaves scattered across Main Street in the wind. "You don't say. Who would want to harm Peterson? Cantankerous as he was, he was harmless." "Well, someone didn't think so. And here's the strange part—his blue ribbon from the garden show was missing." "The one he won over Mrs. Abernathy's protests?" "The very same." A pause as the coffee was sipped thoughtfully, the old ceiling fan creaking overhead. "I suppose I should pay Mrs. Abernathy a visit. Her lemon squares might be award-winning, but I'm beginning to wonder what else those hands have been up to."