Run: 2026-03-15-01KKS2QC0JKV4VG5DT5D23GGMB

The bell above the door jingled, and the warm scent of cinnamon and yeast wrapped around the room like a blanket. Flour dusted the counter in soft drifts, and a half-rolled pie crust sat abandoned next to a bowl of apple filling. "You heard about Mabel's greenhouse, I assume." "Hard to miss. Half the fire department was there before dawn." "Convenient, wasn't it? All those rare orchids she promised would win the regional competition next month." "You think someone burned them on purpose?" "I think Mabel made more than a few enemies at the garden club. You remember what happened at the spring show." "That was twenty years ago. People move on." "Some people don't. Besides, I saw Dwight Peterson leaving her street last night around midnight. He was walking fast and he looked over his shoulder twice." "Dwight? He can barely keep his own petunias alive." "Which is exactly why he'd want Mabel's orchids gone. His pride can't handle losing again—not to her." A timer buzzed. The pie crust was rescued and tucked into a tin pan with practiced hands, though the apple filling sat forgotten, its cinnamon warmth fading. "We should bring her a loaf of sourdough."