She'd found naught strange in her own planting beds and was considering the abbey beds beyond when she heard the unmistakable sound of a kettle.

No, not just a kettle, her kettle. Her kettle in the waking world, but left at the shop. For certain her heated spigot for making tea for customers was convenient but her own kettle was homey and trustworthy even shouldst they lose power (as they had once in a storm). She craned her neck, eyeing the door back toward the shop then groaned, standing and her knees popping a moment given how long she had been crouched, weeding. If the kettle was sounding she needs must check it after all...