Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAV62BR2915Y8XWE45QCZZ

The scent of cinnamon and sugar hung thick in the air, a comforting blanket against the drizzly afternoon. A plate of half-eaten scones sat between us, crumbs dusting the checkered tablecloth. “Honestly, did you see the state of Mrs. Hawthorne’s hydrangeas? Simply dreadful. Wilted right down.” “Poor thing. She was so proud of them. Though, I always thought they were a bit…gaudy.” “Gaudy? Agnes Hawthorne’s hydrangeas are a local institution! What would the Garden Club say?” A chuckle rumbled. “They'd probably suggest more fertilizer.” A pause. “Still, it’s peculiar timing, isn’t it? Right after the announcement about the Heritage Festival.” “Peculiar is one word. Suspicious is another. Besides the hydrangeas, have you noticed how quiet the village has been? Arthur hasn’t been out walking his terrier all week.” “He probably has a bad back. Arthur's seventy-something, after all.” “Arthur never misses a walk. And there's something off about that new antique dealer, too. Too eager to ask about old family histories, if you ask me.”