Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQH8K2Q6RBFG88CQSZP5MH

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 old Mr. Finch over the last jar of blackberry preserves at the farmers' market. Said he threatened to ‘ruin her reputation’ if she didn’t back off." "Mr. Finch? That sweet old man who always brings me extra frosting on my cupcakes? I can’t imagine him doing something so spiteful." "People do strange things when they’re desperate. Especially when it comes to the Harvest Festival. You know how competitive things get around here." A timer dinged in the back, and the scent of warm bread filled the air. "Speaking of the festival, are you entering the pie contest this year? I heard the prize is a year’s supply of flour from Miller’s Mill." "Oh, I don’t know. After what happened to Mrs. Holloway, I’m not sure I want to risk it. Besides, my crust never turns out quite right." "Nonsense! You’ve got the lightest, flakiest crust in town. Here, take this." A small jar of golden-hued fat was pressed into waiting hands. "Secret ingredient. My grandmother’s recipe." "Oh, you shouldn’t have! But… thank you. Maybe I *will* enter after all."