Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV5KDYZJBP12SGXY2K4TDS

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret swept in, cheeks pink from the October wind. Flour dusted the counter like early snow, and the scent of cinnamon curled through the air. "You heard about Harold, then?" "Heard? I found the poor man. Right there beside his prize pumpkin, stiff as yesterday's baguette." "Iris Pennyworth, you have a morbid streak a mile wide." "I have observation skills, thank you. And Harold didn't keel over from a bad heart, whatever Sheriff Dooley says." "Now what on earth makes you say that?" "The thermos. Harold never drank coffee after noon—said it kept him up. But there it was, half-empty, at three in the afternoon." "Maybe he made an exception. The judging was the next morning." "And maybe pigs grew wings overnight. I smelled that thermos, Margaret. Bitter almonds." "Good heavens. You don't mean—" "I mean someone wanted that blue ribbon very badly. Pass me one of those cranberry scones, would you? Detecting makes me peckish." "Iris, we cannot go poking about in a murder." "We most certainly can. Now, who entered the pumpkin contest this year besides Harold?" "...I'll put the kettle on."