Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB46DT2PQYHB72NGPP37XG

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through Sweet Loaf Bakery, where sunlight danced across checkered floors and glass cases brimming with scones and tarts. Two women huddled at a corner table, teacups steaming between them. "Did you see the way Mrs. Finch bolted out of the town hall meeting yesterday? Pale as a ghost." "Indeed. And right after old Mr. Wilkins clutched his chest during tea. Heart attack, they say, but I smelled almonds on his breath." "Almonds? Like in those cherry bakewell tarts she sells? Cyanide, you mean?" "Shh! Precisely. Wilkins was poking into her late husband's accounts—rumors of embezzled festival funds. She baked for the event, remember?" "Her hands shook when she handed me my usual this morning. Spilled flour everywhere. And that new assistant of hers, always lurking..." "Mark my words, it's no coincidence the recipe book vanished last week. Poisoned pages, perhaps?" A bell tinkled as the door opened. Both women straightened, sipping their tea with forced smiles. "More cream?" one whispered. "Not unless it's untainted."