Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0NPCQFPF4Y68VVDJ3BNZ6S

The bell over the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the fog pressed gray hands against the windows. Warm cinnamon and butter filled the little shop, wrapping around the empty tables and the display case of lemon tarts. “You’re early.” “Couldn’t sleep. Not after finding Mrs. Bell’s brooch in my flour bin.” “That sounds like the beginning of a confession, not an explanation.” “I didn’t take it. I was kneading dough when she was arguing with Mayor Pike outside the post office.” “Everyone was arguing with Mayor Pike yesterday. It was Founders’ Day.” “Not with their hands on his sleeve and tears in their eyes.” A tray slid into the oven; the metal racks chimed softly. “You noticed all that from here?” “I notice people. It’s good for business.” “And for solving murders?” The silence settled, sweet and heavy as glaze. “Dr. Finch said the mayor was poisoned.” “He bought a cherry Danish at eight-fifteen.” “From you?” “From the basket by the door. Self-serve.” “So anyone could’ve slipped something in.” “Anyone with a key. The basket is filled before I unlock.” The fog blurred a figure crossing the square. “Then why is Mrs. Bell’s brooch in your flour?” “Because whoever killed him wants me dusted, sifted, and baked before noon.”