“Another maple pecan scone, Martha? You’ll spoil your dinner.” “Nonsense, dear. Just one more. These are simply irresistible. What a day, mind you. All that fuss about poor Mr. Henderson’s prize-winning gladiolas.” “Oh, I heard. A dreadful shame. Someone completely flattened them, didn’t they? Such a green thumb, that man. He’d just finished telling me all about his new organic fertilizer.” “Indeed. And his prize show is only next week! It’s practically sabotage, that’s what it is. He’s beside himself, poor man. Practically in tears when he came in for his morning Danish.” “Well, you can hardly blame him. All that hard work. I wonder who would do such a thing? There aren’t many people in Willow Creek who have a bad word to say about anyone, let alone Mr. Henderson.” “Precisely my point. It just doesn’t make sense. And don’t tell me it was deer again, I saw the tracks. Definitely a boot print, size nine at least. And the oddest thing, dear. The print had a little criss-cross pattern, almost like a waffle iron.” “A waffle iron? How peculiar. Perhaps Mr. Henderson has an enemy we don’t know about?” “Or perhaps his competition got a little too eager for the blue ribbon.” “Oh, Martha, you’re always so suspicious! But… who else grows gladiolas in town?” “Well, there’s old Mrs. Higgins, of course. And young Thomas Brown up on Elm Street. And let’s not forget… that new fellow, what’s his name, the one who just moved into the old Miller place. He certainly has an impressive garden already.” “Hmm. Interesting. Now that you mention it, he did buy a rather large bag of potting soil yesterday. And he drives a rather distinctive dusty green pickup truck.” “Dusty green, you say? And a size nine boot, by any chance?”