Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA3GQ7H1BW85Y1X53RTBE6

Morning and still warm from the oven. Smells like cinnamon and secrets in here. If secrets smell like that, I've been living a lie. Where did you hide the lemon bars? They were on the back shelf until I found a folded card tucked under the flour can. Not my handwriting. Not Aunt Mabel's either. You hid a clue in the flour can? That is peak television. Read it. "Don't bake it." Short and angry-looking, like someone with flour on their fingers and something to hide. Who would tell you not to bake? The mayor? Mrs. Talbot? Or the man who swears he's gluten-free but eats my scones anyway? Someone came in last night. The door was latched but not locked, bell on the mat. And there's a smear of lipstick on the corner of the recipe card. Coral, which rules out half the town and implicates Mrs. Finch's bridge group. You think it's a prank? I think it's a message. And the bun shaped like a heart in the display has a tiny silver charm under it. A charm? Like a locket? Like Mrs. Langley's locket. She lost that at the harvest fair. She hasn't spoken to her nephew since. Then we ask questions. Quiet ones. Over coffee. And maybe taste the lemon bars, for research.