The scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh bread filled the warm bakery as flour dust danced in the morning sunlight streaming through gingham curtains. "Did you hear about what happened at the Hendersons' place last night?" "Hard to miss with all those police cars. Though I suppose you know more than most, being Margaret's sister and all." "She's beside herself, poor thing. Someone broke into their garden shed and made off with Harold's prize orchid collection. Twenty years he's been cultivating those beauties." "Right before the county flower show too. That's just cruel." "Gets worse. They left behind a note saying 'Pretty flowers for pretty lies.' What do you suppose that means?" "Sounds personal. Harold's been judging the garden club competitions for years. Maybe someone's holding a grudge?" "Or maybe it's about that business with the Peterson property line dispute. Harold was supposed to survey that corner lot last month." "Here, try this blueberry scone. Still warm. Sometimes the best thinking happens over good food." "You're right. Though I can't shake the feeling this orchid thief isn't done yet. Mark my words, there's more trouble brewing in this town."