The bell above the door of "The Buttered Crumb" gave a cheerful chime, announcing a newcomer. The scent of cinnamon and rising dough hung heavy and comforting in the air. "Morning, Agnes. Fancy you out and about before noon." "Hardly. Just popped in for a scone before Mrs. Higgins’ infernal bridge club descends. I swear, their gossip travels faster than the yeast." "Tell me about it. Did you hear about the peculiar incident down by the old mill last night?" "Peculiar? Given the rumors about who’s been lurking around there these days, I can only imagine. Anything… untoward?" "That’s the thing. Untoward doesn't quite cover it. A broken window, a faint smell of lavender, and absolutely no sign of a perpetrator." "Lavender? Now that *is* odd. Not exactly a common burglar scent, is it?" "My thoughts exactly. More like a misplaced potpourri. Still, the constable seemed rather flustered. Kept muttering about impossibly clean footprints." "Impossibly clean? It's almost as if someone meticulously scrubbed the crime scene on their way out." "Or someone who doesn't leave footprints in the first place."