The Secret Life of Seacrest

In the sun-warmed coastal village of Seacrest, where wild roses climbed weathered fences and morning fog lingered long enough to be noticed, there lived three would-be detectives who prided themselves on never letting a mystery go unsolved-no matter how trivial or eccentric. Of course, most 'mysteries' in Seacrest amounted to little more than the case of the missing garden gnome or a minor spat over who last turned the library's puzzle pieces upside-down.
But this summer's conundrum was different. It started subtly, as all the best mysteries do. Mrs. Murphy, a spry woman of eighty who brewed the meanest chamomile tea this side of the county, reported her favorite teapot missing. Not just any teapot, but the blue one, with a hairline crack and a painted wren on the handle.