Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPCV6N7WPXKZ084VSSDYRE

The bell above the door jingled as a gust of autumn wind swept in, carrying the scent of cinnamon and damp leaves. "Did you hear about poor Mrs. Holloway? Found her prize-winning pumpkin pie recipe torn to shreds right there on her kitchen counter." "Oh, that’s dreadful! Who on earth would do such a thing?" "Well, rumor has it she’d been arguing with the mayor over the Harvest Festival judges. Said he was rigging the competition in favor of the new patisserie in town." "Mayor Whitmore? Surely not! He’s been running this town since before we were born." "Exactly. And now that French bakery’s got him wrapped around their croissant-loving finger. I saw him sneaking out of there at dawn with a box of something suspiciously golden." "Hmm. Still, tearing up a recipe? That’s personal. Almost like someone wanted to hurt her, not just the competition." "Or maybe they wanted to *win* at all costs. You know how Mrs. Holloway gets when she’s riled up—last year, she accused old Mr. Thompson of stealing her secret spice blend." "True. But this feels different. More… deliberate." The espresso machine hissed, drowning out the next words for a moment. A tray of almond biscotti clattered onto the counter. "Either way, I’d keep an eye on that new baker. Those macarons of hers are too perfect. Makes you wonder what she’s hiding."