Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ915344Y3CGG3VNDJ3CGJ7

The morning rush had faded, leaving the bakery smelling of cinnamon and warm butter. A small bell chimed as the door swung open. "You heard about Gerald Finch, I suppose." "Who hasn't? Found face-down in the duck pond, they're saying." A paper bag crinkled as it slid across the glass counter. "Your usual sourdough." "Thank you, dear. And yes, though I'd hardly call that pond water deep enough to drown a man his size." A coin purse snapped open. "That's what I keep telling people." "You think someone helped him along?" "I think Gerald Finch had exactly three enemies in this town, and all three of them were at the harvest festival that evening." The older woman lowered her voice. "I saw them myself." The baker leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "You mention any of this to Sheriff Dobbins?" "Mention it? I told him outright. He smiled at me the way young people smile at old ones when they've stopped truly listening." "That's a shame." "It is." She tucked the bread under her arm and straightened her coat. "Which is why I intend to handle it myself." The bell chimed again as she left.