The scent of cinnamon rolls filled the cramped bakery as flour dust danced in the morning sunlight streaming through gingham curtains. "You heard about Martha's prize roses, didn't you?" "The ones that went missing right before the garden show? Terrible shame." "Funny thing though—I saw someone creeping around her backyard yesterday evening. Right around sunset." "Oh my. Did you recognize who it was?" "Well, I wouldn't want to point fingers, but they were carrying a rather large shovel." "A shovel? That's odd. The roses were cut, not dug up." "Exactly what I thought. Makes you wonder what else they might have been up to back there." "Martha's been acting strange lately too. Keeps peering out her kitchen window like she's watching for something." "Or someone." "These blueberry muffins are divine, by the way." "Thank you, dear. Fresh berries from the Morrison farm. Speaking of the Morrisons, they mentioned seeing a car parked on Maple Street at all hours. No headlights." "How curious. That's just two blocks from Martha's house." "Indeed. Would you like another cup of coffee? I have a feeling this mystery is just getting started."