Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9JX2DQQZERD6ZJ1FK6450

Last Tuesday, a man lingered by the display case—leather jacket, scuffed boots, not the usual regular. Stared at blueberry muffins like weighing their worth. Hargrove's just curious, Maude. Harmless. Runs the hardware store on Maple. Curious, eh? Stiff collars not from the laundry—smelled like chemicals, the kind in the Miller place's old garage. Maude brushed a finger over the counter where a crumb of something dark rested. Clara's eyes narrowed. You think... Shh. Don't want the town whispering. But watch him, will you? Saw him scribbling on a napkin just now. Never seen that before. The bell jingled. Maude grabbed a paper bag, her knuckles tapping the handle. Keep an eye out, lass. Don't let history repeat. Clara's hand hovered over the sugar jar. History. The fire at the mill—someone had been scribbling on the back of receipt books before that. She glanced toward the storage closet. The flour bin was always full. Not this time. (Word count: ~190)