The morning sun streamed through the lace curtains, casting delicate shadows across the glass display case filled with fresh scones and cinnamon rolls. The bell above the door jingled as it swung shut. "You heard about Margaret's garden gnome, I assume?" "The one that went missing last Tuesday? Found it myself, actually. Sitting pretty on the library steps with a note pinned to its hat." "A note? You're joking." "Wish I was. Said something about secrets buried under rosebushes. Mildred nearly fainted when she read it." The coffee machine hissed and gurgled. A plate slid across the worn wooden counter, bearing a still-warm blueberry muffin. "Margaret does have the nicest roses in town. Won the garden competition three years running." "That's exactly what I told Sheriff Davies. He just laughed and said gnome-napping wasn't a priority." "Typical. Meanwhile, someone in this town has a peculiar sense of humor." "Or they know something we don't." The door jingled again as another customer entered, bringing with them the crisp autumn air and the scent of falling leaves. Conversation paused, replaced by pleasant smiles and the comfortable rituals of small-town morning routines.