Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV97CQBNTTB6X69P2DA2K3

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret swept inside, shaking rain from her umbrella. The smell of cinnamon and warm yeast wrapped around her like a wool blanket. "You're late. The scones are nearly gone." "I'm late because Harold Pennyworth is dead." A pause. Somewhere in the back, a timer dinged and went ignored. "Dead how?" "Dead in his garden, face down in the begonias. Constable Briggs is there now, pretending he knows what he's doing." "Poor Harold. He ordered a lemon tart just yesterday. Said it was for company." "Company? Harold hasn't had company since Nixon was president." "Well, he was quite insistent. Two forks, he said. I remember because he never asks for two of anything." "Two forks." "Two forks. And he paid in cash, which was odd, because he always ran a tab." "Margaret." "Hmm?" "Who picks up a lemon tart and pays cash the day before they fall dead in the begonias?" "Someone expecting to not be around to settle the tab." The timer dinged again. Neither woman moved toward the kitchen. Outside, the rain came harder, drumming against the window like impatient fingers asking to be let in.