Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HF8DQKZAMJX16FAT65XSD

The bell above the bakery door gave its polite little jingle, and a gust of November air slipped in, carrying the smell of wet leaves before it was overtaken by cinnamon, butter, and rising bread. Behind the glass case, sugared scones sat in neat rows beside lemon tarts glossy as sunshine. “You’re early.” “You say that like it’s a crime.” “In Marigold Cove, being early only means you want first pick of the sticky buns.” “Then arrest me, because I also want the last cranberry muffin.” A tray clinked softly onto the counter. The espresso machine hissed like a disapproving aunt. “You heard about the judge?” “Everyone heard about the judge. Hard to keep a secret when a man falls face-first into the church pumpkin display.” “Collapsed, they said.” “They also said he was clutching a napkin from this bakery.” A pause settled between the warm smells and the faint tapping of rain against the front window. “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it? You only give out those blue napkins with special orders.” “And now you’re investigating pastries?” “Someone has to. Sheriff Bell still thinks motive is a brand of fishing lure.” The cash register drawer snapped shut. “You think I had something to do with it.” “I think you’re hiding something.” Another pause, thinner this time. “I am.” “Well?” “The judge ordered a cake yesterday. Chocolate ganache. Written on top: I know what you did.” Outside, the rain came down harder. Inside, neither reached for the muffin.