Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8X7C1481NBNSEZ2TZ0NZDF

The morning light filtered through the checkered curtains of Sweet Crumb Bakery, casting warm squares across the flour-dusted counter. The scent of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the air, mingling with fresh coffee and something unspoken. "You heard about Harold, I suppose." "Found him in the garden, they say. Face down in his prize-winning roses." A tray of scones slid across the display case, each one golden and perfectly round. "The sheriff's calling it an accident. Tripped over his own garden hose." "Harold Pemberton hadn't tripped over anything in seventy-two years of living. That man could navigate his property blindfolded." The coffee machine hissed and sputtered. A mug was filled and pushed forward, steam curling upward like a question mark. "I saw Margaret at the pharmacy yesterday. Buying antihistamines, she said. Funny thing is, Margaret doesn't have allergies." "That's a strange thing to notice." "It's a strange thing to lie about." Silence settled between them like flour dust. Outside, a church bell rang nine times. A knife cut through a warm loaf of sourdough, the crust crackling. "I saved you the last blueberry muffin." "You always do. Now tell me what else you saw."