Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ05Z5BHB0AFE2HGHBRCHF74

The bell above the door chimed as the ovens exhaled their morning breath of cinnamon. "I still can't believe she used almond flour in the county fair pie." "Desperation makes bakers do strange things." "Strange? That was outright sabotage. Mrs. Peabody has won blue ribbons for thirty years using my grandmother's recipe." "And yet the judges found pine needles in her crust. Pine needles, Margaret." "Exactly. Someone planted them." "Or she baked with the window open again. That spruce by the kitchen—" "Don't. I swept that floor myself at dawn. This was deliberate." "You're suggesting one of us?" "I'm suggesting the real culprit is frosting those lemon cakes right now, smiling while her scones rise without a single crack." "My scones rise because I chill the butter. Not because I meddle with ovens." "Then explain why you were seen near the contest tent at midnight." "Returning a folding chair. Unlike some people, I clean up after myself." "The fair is in three days, and I intend to win. Fairly." "So do I. But if you keep pointing fingers, the only thing you'll taste is jailhouse porridge." "Is that a threat?" "No, dear. Just a recipe for disaster."