Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8PVQZWYNBSCETAZJ54P68

The bell above the Golden Loaf Bakery door tinkled softly, letting in a gust of autumn chill. Flour-dusted counters gleamed under warm lights, fresh scones steaming beside jars of jam. Behind the counter, a tray of apple turnovers cooled. "Mabel, scones today? And tell me you’ve heard—old Hargrove’s gone, stiff as a board at the harvest fair." "Blueberry, Elsie? Aye, heard. Dropped like a sack of flour mid-bite. Heart attack, they say." "Heart attack, my foot. Purple as a plum, eyes bulging. I saw Mrs. Peabody slip something into his cider cup. That zoning row last month—her orchard was doomed." "Peabody? Sweet as her own tarts. Though her husband did vanish years back, right after a spat." "Exactly! And Hargrove’s will—rumor’s it leaves the mill to her. Pass the cream, love." "Here. But poison? In my bake sale entries? Check the judging sheets—his notes on my rye were vicious." "Sticky fingers in the dough, eh? We’ll sleuth it out over tea tomorrow. No one poisons Willow Creek’s mayor on my watch." The oven timer dinged, breaking the hush, as shadows lengthened across the gingham curtains.