Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8ZXFW12ANM7YJR514WG3Q

The scent of cinnamon and freshly cracked butter hung thick in the air, sunlight glinting off glass cake stands filled with lemon tarts, cherry turnovers, and a perfect strawberry crumb cake. Flour dusted the worn wooden counter like early snow. "That pie crust looks like a battlefield." "I told you, lattice tops are my nemesis. Martha’s poodle ate half my practice batch yesterday. Started barking at the rolling pin." "Rufus still afraid of dough?" "He thinks it's a snake. Or possibly the ghost of last week’s failed sourdough. Either way, chaos followed." A clatter came from the kitchen, followed by a sigh. "Did Agnes drop another tray?" "No. She just discovered someone used her ‘emergency lemon zest’ for the thumbprint cookies." "Again? Didn’t she label that container in blood-red ink?" “She did. And left a note written in capital letters. Then in Morse code. Then in what I assume was ancient Sumerian.” “She’s going to declare war on the pastry department.” “Only after she finishes her scone. She’s on her third cup of Earl Grey. You’d think we poisoned it.” “Would explain why Mrs. Callahan left without her usual four oatmeal raisin cookies.” “She didn’t even glance at the display. Never happens. Not during sale week.” “Do you think it’s true then? About the ledger going missing from the church bake sale?” “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She was muttering about margins and profit splits all morning. Right before she vanished.” “Maybe she just needed air. Or to interrogate someone else about their frosting technique.” “There’s tension in this town thicker than Agnes’s custard.”