Chesterburgh’s newest mystery is not the ghost light nobody saw last Halloween or the mayor’s suspiciously quick plan to replace the town fountain. No, this one’s closer to a domestic disturbance with a side of municipal eyebrow-raising: the curious case of the disappearing park benches at Larkin Gardens.

It started last Tuesday, when Marjorie Ellis — the garden club’s unofficial watchdog — showed up for her morning coffee by the ornamental pond only to find that three of the five benches had vanished overnight. “I tell you, Snaps,” she said, voice tight with disbelief and a hint of something sharper, “one minute they're here, next, poof! Gone like the town’s last good croissant.”

Benches aren’t exactly a hot commodity, but in a town like Chesterburgh, where every public space is the living room of plenty, their disappearance was as unexpected as rain in July. The Larkin Gardens, a modest but cherished green spot nestled between Main Street’s faded storefronts and the crumbling brick wings of the old library, has been a quiet sanctuary for decades. Grandparents nuzzle toddlers there, old-timers play checkers on the picnic tables, and hungover college students nurse regrets on those benches after the weekend.

But the benches, those wooden relics of carved armrests and chipped paint, have become the subject of neighborhood whispers and at least two confused phone calls to the town hall. According to the parks department, the benches were “temporarily relocated” due to some “necessary grounds maintenance.” The press release, characteristically brief and smelling faintly of varnish, added that “the benches will be restored to their rightful places following completion.”

“Rightful places” has set tongues wagging since the benches haven’t seen their home turf all week. Nor has the maintenance crew. Local resident and sometime conspiracy theorist, Danny Keller, asserts it’s all a cover-up for something more practical, probably boring, like rezoning. “They take the benches as a pretext,” he said, leaning on his rusty bike outside the closed-off gardens, “so no one notices the surveyors slinking around with their clipboards. Next thing you know, it’s condos or a parking lot.”

I strolled down to Larkin Gardens on Saturday to scope out the scene. Where benches once held their usual claim, there were only two sad patches of dirt surrounded by yellow caution tape. The usual suspects — a few dog walkers, a pair of teens trading music recommendations — stopped by to peek through the chain-link fence. No grounds crew in sight, except a lone security camera perched on a lamppost, blinking like a silent sentinel.

The town manager’s office was predictably tight-lipped when I reached out. “This is standard procedure,” the assistant manager murmured, avoiding specifics like a cat dodging raindrops. “Maintenance takes time. Public safety is our concern.” No mention of when exactly the benches would return, or what exactly was being maintained beyond the visible weeds and a couple of stubborn dandelions.

Yet, not all hope is lost. Local historian and longtime garden keeper, Grace Thompson, provided some context that might explain the delay. “The benches were purchased back in ’84 during a community beautification project,” she explained, sitting on a folding chair near the garden’s edge. “They’re old, and the wood is soaked through in places. The town might have found more damage than they let on.”

That would account for a longer timeline, but why the slow drip of information? Here’s where the official narrative meets the everyday pallor of skepticism. When I pressed Grace on whether she’d heard of plans to replace or upgrade the benches, she hesitated. “I’ve heard murmurs,” she said, a shadow passing over her usually steady gaze. “Some folks want iron benches, more modern, less maintenance. But that’s not the town I remember.”

Iron benches are sleek, yes, but they lack