Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ05QZEV08HZ1W6PK2579HVD

# The Cinnamon Conspiracy The bell above the door chimed as Margaret Bixby arranged her famous lemon tarts in the display case. Flour dusted her apron like fresh snow, and the scent of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the warm air. "Morning, Margaret. I noticed the Henderson place had its lights on again last night. Strange, since old Harold's been dead three weeks now." "Probably just the estate executor sorting through things. Though I will say, those cinnamon rolls that showed up on my doorstep Tuesday morning? They tasted *exactly* like Harold's recipe. Only three people in this town know it." "Harold, you, and..." "His nephew. Who, by the way, wasn't at the funeral. And *who* called me last week asking if Harold ever mentioned a safety deposit box." "The one at First National?" "How did you know about that?" "I'm the bank manager, Margaret. And someone's been trying to access it with a power of attorney dated *two days after* Harold's death." Margaret set down the tarts slowly. "Well then. I believe we have a mystery rising like my sourdough starter." "And I believe we should call Sheriff Davis before it falls." Margaret reached for the phone beneath the register, but paused. "After I frost these. Priorities, dear."