Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ9508XMNK0ZX0PPZ05VQNB

The bell above the door chimed as the last customer left, leaving the warm, flour-dusted bakery in comfortable quiet. The smell of cinnamon rolls still hung in the air like a sweet promise. "You heard about Gerald Finch, I suppose." "Found him in his greenhouse this morning, they say. Surrounded by all those prize-winning tomatoes." A tray slid onto the cooling rack with a soft clatter. "Margaret at the post office says it wasn't natural causes." "Margaret at the post office says a great many things." "She's right more often than not, though." The sound of a butter knife scraping across fresh bread filled the brief silence. "His nephew was in here yesterday. Bought six of those lemon tarts Gerald always hated." "That's an odd detail to remember." "I remember everything that happens in this bakery. You'd be surprised what people reveal when they're standing in front of a pastry case." "And what did the nephew reveal?" A pause, deliberate and weighted, followed by the soft thud of dough being set on the counter. "That he already knew he'd be the one inheriting that greenhouse. Gerald hadn't told a soul yet."