The smell of warm cinnamon and melting butter hung heavy in Buttercup Bakeshop, a comforting blanket against the late October chill outside. Mrs. Higgins, perpetually dusted with a fine layer of flour, wiped down the already pristine glass of the display case. “Did you hear about poor Mr. Henderson out on Elm Street?” A faint clatter of ceramic teacups from the back room preceded the owner, Hazel, emerging with a fresh pot of herbal tea. Her apron, decorated with tiny embroidered teacups, was a familiar sight. “The one with the prize-winning peonies? What’s happened now? Did his dog finally win Best in Show?” “Worse than that, dear. Much, much worse. His entire shed, the one where he kept all his gardening tools and those fancy bulbs… it’s gone.” Hazel paused, the steaming teapot hanging mid-air. “Gone? Like, stolen? How does one steal an entire shed?” “That’s just it! Folks are saying it wasn’t stolen at all. Just… vanished. Not a single nail or plank left behind. And the police, well, they just scratched their heads and said it was probably a prank. A prank, Hazel! With an entire shed!” Mrs. Higgins’s voice rose with each incredulous word. “A prank involving an entire shed full of antique gardening tools and prize-winning peony bulbs? That sounds a little elaborate, even for the teenagers from Applewood Academy. Did he have any enemies? Someone who might resent his… horticultural prowess?” Hazel finally poured the tea, her brow furrowed in thought. “Only Mrs. Gable, and she only ever criticizes his weeding technique, not a full-blown shed disappearance.”