Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK3A4Z58375SVRFJ3QA7ZQY

"The cinnamon rolls look a bit darker than usual today," the customer noted, tapping a manicured nail against the glass display case. "Just a new oven setting. Gives them a nice caramelized crunch," the baker replied, not looking up from the flour-dusted counter. "Same as always, Mrs. Gable? One coffee, black, and a scone?" "Actually, I think I'll try one of those rolls. And maybe you can tell me why the police car has been parked outside your back door since six this morning?" The baker's hand paused mid-reach for a tongs. "Delivery mix-up. They needed directions to the old mill." "At six in the morning on a Sunday? That mill hasn't operated in twenty years. And since when do deliveries require two officers and a yellow tape perimeter?" "It's a quiet town, Mrs. Gable. Sometimes quiet gets loud for no reason." "Quiet towns don't have body bags, dear. My husband saw them wheeling something out covered in a sheet. Looked about the size of young Tommy Miller." "Tommy's fine. He was just here an hour ago buying donuts." "Was he? Because the sheet seemed to have very distinct red stains on the corner. The kind that don't wash out of aprons, either." The baker finally met her gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're imagining things. Here's your roll. That'll be four dollars." "Keep the change. You'll need it for a good lawyer."