Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G5QH310XFJ1WAVG393GNZ

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret shook rain from her umbrella. "You're late. The cinnamon rolls are already gone." "I didn't come for cinnamon rolls. I came because Edith Porter just told me something very peculiar about Tuesday night." "Edith Porter tells everyone something peculiar. Last week it was that her cat had learned to read." "This is different. She saw lights on at the old Hargrove place. At two in the morning." A long pause. The soft scrape of a spatula against a mixing bowl. "Lots of houses have lights on at two in the morning." "The Hargrove place has been empty for eleven years." "Maybe she was mistaken. Her eyes aren't what they used to be." "She also saw your delivery van parked out front." The spatula stopped. "Margaret, sit down. Have some coffee." "I'd rather have an explanation." "You'll have both, or neither. Your choice." A chair slid back across the worn wooden floor. The kettle began, very softly, to whistle. "Fine. But if you're about to tell me you've been baking for ghosts, I swear to God, Harriet—" "Not ghosts. Worse. Family."