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Fairhaven wasn't the kind of town that made headlines. It wasn't the kind of place where crime flourished, where people locked their doors out of fear, or where mystery brewed behind every white picket fence. No, Fairhaven was ordinary. Comfortably so. The biggest scandals in town typically revolved around Mrs. Henderson over-trimming her hedges into her neighbor's yard or Mr. Patel running out of peanut butter during the annual bake-off. On a good day, the Fairhaven Gazette ran stories about the mayor's new puppy or the opening of a quaint coffee shop named something overly ambitious like "Java Nirvana." Life was predictable, routine, and completely devoid of anything resembling a thrill. Until the first refrigerator was hit. It started on a balmy Tuesday morning in June, when the temperature had just begun flirting with unbearable. Mrs. Whitaker, a retired librarian and local gardening enthusiast, was the first to notice something amiss. Her neatly arranged vegetable crisper, the pride of her culinary endeavors, was empty. Entirely empty. Her organic baby carrots, heirloom tomatoes, and even the half-used jar of expensive Dijon mustard had vanished. "It's not possible!" she exclaimed to no one in particular, staring into the yawning void of her meticulously cleaned fridge. She even checked the freezer, as though the thief might have left the peas out of guilt. But no. The entire appliance had been gutted like a trout.
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Hinweis: Dieser Artikel kann nur an eine deutsche Lieferadresse ausgeliefert werden.