Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY94BKZDMJJGWQ7ABP7K1PT

The scent of fresh apple turnovers wafted through the Warm Loaf Bakery, mingling with the chatter of early patrons in Willow Creek. Sunlight slanted through lace-curtained windows onto wooden counters dusted with flour. "Another scone? You're going to turn into one if you keep this up." "Jealousy doesn't suit you. Heard about poor Mrs. Hargrove's brooch? Vanished right from her neck at the church social." "Everyone's whispering. She swore it was there when she danced with Reverend Timms, but poof—gone by the pie auction." "Reverend Timms? That doddering fool couldn't steal a crumb without dropping it. No, mark my words, it's that new girl at the florist's. Shifty eyes, always hovering." "Shifty? Or just young and eager? I saw her chatting up old Hargrove last week. He was flashing that family heirloom like a peacock." "Exactly! Motive. But how? The clasp was antique—tricky to fiddle without notice." A tray clattered nearby, scattering crumbs. They leaned closer, voices dropping. "Check the raffle tickets. Someone tampered. I say we bake her a truth serum pie." Laughter bubbled up, warm as the oven's glow, as footsteps approached the counter.