Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV4310HYCXYD565JN7MK0K

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret stepped inside, shaking rain from her umbrella. The smell of cinnamon and yeast wrapped around her like a warm shawl. "You're late. The cardamom buns are already gone." "I'm not here for buns today, Edith. I'm here because Harold Finch was found in his garden shed this morning." A long pause. The sound of a rolling pin pressing into dough. "Dead?" "Quite." "Well. Can't say I'm shocked. That man owed half the town money, and the other half a good apology." "Including you?" "He owed me three dozen empty pie tins and a decent explanation for why my back door was unlocked last Tuesday." "Your back door?" "Mm. Nothing taken, mind you. But my ledger had been moved. And there was flour on the windowsill that wasn't mine." "Edith. Why didn't you tell anyone?" "Because I was going to handle it myself. With words, Margaret. Don't give me that look." "I'm not giving you any look." "You're giving me the look you gave me in 1974 when the church raffle money went missing." "And I was right then, wasn't I?" "...Have a cardamom bun. I lied. I saved you one."