Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP09Y74J9F3KABEHF8J5E3

The bell above the heavy wooden door chimed, barely cutting through the thick scent of cinnamon, yeast, and freshly brewed hazelnut coffee. Sunlight streamed through the flour-dusted windows, illuminating the glass display case filled with cherry danishes and perfectly frosted eclairs. "Did you hear about the mayor's prize-winning petunias?" "Trampled. Every last one of them. I saw the ruin this morning when I was shaping the sourdough loaves." "Such a shame. And right before the Spring Festival, too. Think it was hooligans?" "Hooligans don't wear size twelve wingtips." "Wingtips? You found footprints?" "Deep ones, right in the mud beneath the parlor window. Someone was peeking in, not just smashing flowers." "Hand me another blueberry scone, would you? The stress is making my sweet tooth act up." "Here. Still warm from the oven. Don't go spreading this around, by the way." "My lips are sealed with lemon glaze. But honestly, who wears wingtips in Willow Creek besides the bank manager?" "Exactly. And he’s been acting awfully nervous since the town accounts were audited." "A floral homicide to cover up embezzlement? You really think so?" "I think wherever there's smoke, there's a burnt pastry. And something in this town is definitely burning." "Well, pour me some more coffee. We have a lot of snooping to do before the lunch rush."