Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY946P72D2PYMMRRMZ6JMGK

The bell above the door *dinged* as a blast of cold November air followed her in. A warm, yeasty scent enveloped her immediately. “Morning, Agnes. Rough out there, huh?” “You have *no* idea. Old Man Hemlock is convinced his prize-winning pumpkins were deliberately… rearranged. Says it’s a personal attack.” A chuckle, soft as rising dough. “Hemlock and his pumpkins. A yearly drama. What can I get for you? The apple crumb is fresh.” “Tempting, very tempting. But I need fortification. Strong coffee, black. And… do you have any of those raspberry scones left? The ones with the almond glaze?" “Just a few. Lucky you. Though honestly, everyone’s been asking. Mrs. Gable nearly offered me her antique thimble collection for one yesterday.” “Mrs. Gable and her thimbles…this town. Honestly. Though, rearranged pumpkins *are* unsettling.” “Unsettling is putting it mildly. Hemlock was practically frothing. Said they were positioned… suggestively.” A snort. “Suggestively? Pumpkins?” “Apparently. He thinks it’s connected to the garden club dispute over the blue ribbon at the fall fair.”