Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9SAS282V8GNJ9GNPHTGKM

The bell over the bakery door gave a tired jingle, and warm air smelling of cinnamon and yeast wrapped around them like a scarf. Behind the glass case, croissants shone with butter, and the lemon tarts sat in neat, innocent rows. “You’re late. Again.” “Time got away from me. Someone had to pry Mrs. Dobbins off the notice board. She was pinning up a petition about ‘suspicious squirrels.’” “Mm-hm. And you just happened to stop by the police tape on Alder Street?” “All right, I did. I didn’t cross it.” “You didn’t have to. Half the town saw you peering under it like a cat.” “I was curious. Everyone is. Besides, it’s not every day the mayor’s campaign manager is found face-down in a puddle of ganache.” “Don’t say ganache so loudly. People will stop buying chocolate for a week.” “I thought the bakery was closed last night.” “It was. Which is why the back door being ajar this morning made my stomach flip.” “So someone had a key.” “Or someone knew the trick with the loose hinge.” “That hinge has been loose since the Harvest Fair.” “And only three people ever complained about it.” “One of them is dead.” “Two left.” “Don’t look at me like that. I was home.” “Alone?” “Unless you count my sourdough starter.”