Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09Y8G3JARJ550N86355FG4

Cinnamon rolls cooled on wire racks, sending a warm haze through the little bakery. Outside the front window, sleet tapped the glass like impatient fingers. “Tell me you didn’t taste the evidence again,” Margo said, wiping sugar dust off the counter with a towel that had seen better croissants. “It’s not evidence,” Nora replied, sliding a tray of lemon bars into place. “It’s quality control. Besides, whoever cut the ribbon on the charity bake-off last night didn’t do it for the frosting. They did it for the money in the tip jar.” Margo leaned closer, lowering her voice the way she always did around secrets and scones. “The jar was still sealed when I left. Sealed.” “So it was opened sometime after you,” Nora said, eyes flicking to the display case. The pastry knife sat exactly where it belonged, bright handle and all. “Or someone put it back the way it was and hoped we’d all blame the cold. People love blaming weather.” Margo’s gaze narrowed. “Who brought the ribbon in, then?” “A woman with gloves,” Nora said. “Left them on the counter by the cookie cutters.” “Did you…?” “Not yet. I’m saving them,” Nora said, and her smile turned careful. “For when we need to ask better questions.”