Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0NXJ8H03FQEY8AV31XRJ4Z

The bell over the door chimed just as the last tray of cinnamon knots came out of the oven, filling Buttercup Bakery with sugar, spice, and the warm hush of early morning. “You’re late.” “Only by three minutes. And I brought back your pie plate.” “That pie plate left here with a cherry lattice and returned with a crack.” “It had an eventful evening.” “So I heard. Half the town was at the Grange Hall when Mayor Peabody keeled over.” “Don’t say it like that. He didn’t keel. He slumped.” “Into my rhubarb crumble.” A pause settled between the cooling racks. Outside, a bicycle rattled past the window, its basket stuffed with daffodils. “The sheriff says it was his heart.” “The sheriff also says my almond croissants are ‘too fancy,’ so forgive me if I seek a second opinion.” “You found something.” “In the mayor’s napkin.” “That’s why you look like you slept in the flour bin.” “A scrap of paper. Your handwriting.” “My handwriting?” “‘Meet me by the old kiln before the vote.’” “I wrote that note, yes. But not to him.” The oven timer ticked louder than it should have. “Then who?” “His wife.” “Clara Peabody?” “She wanted to buy the bakery.” “She told me she hated pastry.” “She lied.”