Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP7X9N6MN2MV3BQ3BJ3SB2

The bell above the painted glass door chimed, entirely ignored over the screech of the steaming espresso machine and the heavy, sweet scent of simmering rhubarb. Sugar dust hung thick in the warm morning air. "Pass the cinnamon, please." "Here. Are you absolutely certain you shouldn't close up shop for the day? The whole town is buzzing." "And let Mildred win the Founders Day bake-off by default? Not a chance. My lattice crust is flawless this year." "A man died, you know." "I’m well aware. But the mayor was famously lactose intolerant, and my buttercream has two pounds of sweet cream butter in it. He definitely didn't eat my cupcakes." "Then why are the police currently bagging up the contents of your dumpster out back?" "They're what? Oh, for heaven's sake. If those heavy-footed deputies crush my prize petunias, I'm billing the precinct." "Focus. Stop kneading that dough for one second. Did you throw anything unusual away yesterday?" "Unusual? No. Just a burned batch of maple scones, some eggshells, and an empty bottle of almond extract. Why?" "Because the coroner’s report just leaked. Cyanide smells exactly like bitter almonds." "You think someone poisoned him? Using my baking supplies?" "I think you need to put down the whisk, flip the open sign to closed, and lock that front door tight."