Between a rush of bored customers at The Bean Dream, Sylvia, my boss, wandered from the supply room, struggling with a large bag of coffee beans. She didn't look happy.

"Murder, murder, murder," she muttered.

I bit back a laugh, taking the bag from her and easily tossing it underneath the counter with the rest. She was usually the epitome of poised. "Bad day?"

"First the thing with the doors last night" - she waved absently to the shop's shattered glass door now taped ...