The bell above the door chimed, bringing with it a gust of crisp autumn air and the scent of damp leaves. “You’re early. The maple glaze isn’t even set on the donuts yet.” “Forget the donuts. Have you seen the size of the footprint in my petunias?” “A deer? We’ve had issues with them since the harvest festival.” “It was a boot print, Clara. A massive, muddy work boot. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t Arthur. He wears loafers, and frankly, his arches couldn’t support that kind of tread.” “Maybe a delivery driver? The supply truck came by yesterday.” “At three in the morning? I heard the engine idling. It sounded like a growl, low and steady. I peeked through the blinds, and there he was, standing right under the streetlamp.” “Who?” “I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a hoodie. But he was carrying something heavy over his shoulder. A sack? A rolled-up rug?” “You need more coffee, Edith. You’re starting to sound like one of my mystery novels.” “I’m telling you, the ground was disturbed this morning. Someone buried something in my garden, and I intend to find out what it is before the rain washes the evidence away.” “Fine. Take a cruller. But if you start digging up your hydrangeas, don’t come crying to me when the neighbors call the sheriff.”