“One cinnamon swirl, still warm from the oven. And a coffee, black as your mood this morning.” “Thank you, Eleanor. It’s just… this whole business with Mr. Abernathy. I can’t seem to shake it.” “Nasty business. Sheriff says it was an accident, a loose railing on his porch, but I don’t believe it for a second. He was in here not two hours before. Bought a sourdough loaf, looked fit as a fiddle.” “Did he seem agitated? Was he alone?” “He was his usual grumpy self, but no more than usual. He was alone then, but I saw him later, having a right old row with old man Hemlock by the town square. Shouting about property lines, of all things.” “Property lines… You don’t say. Well, this scone is a lifesaver.” “Hemlock’s been trying to buy that strip of land from Abernathy for years. Said it was for a garden, but everyone knew he wanted to expand his garage.” “A garage. Of course. It’s always something so mundane, isn’t it?”