The bell above the door chimed as morning light spilled across the flour-dusted counter. The scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee hung thick in the air. "You heard about Margaret's garden gnome, I suppose?" "The one that went missing last Tuesday? Found it myself, actually. Sitting pretty in the gazebo at Millbrook Park." "That's the third lawn ornament this month. First the Hendersons' flamingo, then that ceramic frog from the library entrance." "Somebody in Willowbrook has peculiar taste in souvenirs." The coffee machine hissed and gurgled. A tray of golden scones emerged from the back, steam rising like little ghosts. "I've been keeping notes. Every theft happens on a Tuesday, always between sunset and midnight." "Playing detective again?" "Someone has to. Sheriff Barnes thinks it's just teenagers pulling pranks." "And you don't?" "Teenagers don't arrange stolen gnomes in a perfect circle facing east. Teenagers don't leave a single marigold at each crime scene." A long pause filled the space between them. Outside, Mrs. Patterson walked her ancient beagle past the window. "So what do you think it means?" "I think it means I need another blueberry muffin and a clear Tuesday evening."