Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WYN76HXP4N047WWWTWCBH

The bell above the door chimed softly as morning light spilled across the flour-dusted counter. The scent of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the warm air, mingling with fresh coffee and something unspoken. "You heard about Margaret, I suppose." "Heard she didn't show up to open the library yesterday. First time in thirty-one years." "That's not the half of it. Sheriff found her back door wide open, kettle still on the stove. Whistling away to an empty house." A long pause filled the space between them, broken only by the gentle scraping of a butter knife across toast. "Her garden was torn up, too. Every last rosebush pulled out by the roots." "Margaret loved those roses more than most people love their children." "Exactly." The espresso machine hissed and sputtered. A tray of scones emerged from the back, golden and fragrant, set down with careful hands. "I don't like what you're implying." "I'm not implying anything. I'm stating facts. She's gone, her roses are destroyed, and that nephew of hers was spotted at the gas station Tuesday night with dirt under his fingernails." "Could be nothing." "Could be. But in this town, nothing has a funny way of turning into something."