Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ026N0ADB4TBF6AGAHDZSP5

The bell above the door chimed as Margaret swept flour from the counter. The morning rush had ended, leaving behind the warm scent of cinnamon and a few unsold croissants. "Terrible news about the Hendersons' cat." "Mrs. Pemberton's prize Siamese? What about it?" "Found it this morning. Curled up right on Mayor Whitfield's doorstep. Stone cold." Margaret's hands stilled over a lump of bread dough. "That's the third strange thing this week." "Third? What else happened?" "Someone moved all the garden gnomes on Maple Street to face the old cemetery. And Old Pete swears his prize-winning tomatoes were rearranged to spell a word." "What word?" "Guilty." A pause settled between them, filled only by the ticking of the wall clock and the distant hum of the mixer. "You don't think this is about the town council vote, do you?" "Hard to say. But whoever's doing it knows everyone's secrets. That cat wasn't a coincidence—it was a message." "Should we tell Sheriff Brooks?" Margaret considered this, pinching the dough into perfect rounds. "Not yet. First, we find out who's been buying black candles and chalk from the hardware store. Dotty mentioned someone did, just last Tuesday." The bell chimed again, and both women fell silent.