Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ7268772TCRQDY0CNW6SW4Y

The bell above the door chimed, but neither woman looked up from the checkered tablecloth. Flour dusted the rim of a chipped mug as one hand reached for a scone. "You didn't tell me about the extra key." The other woman paused, knife hovering over a jar of marmalade. "Who said anything about a key?" "The receipt, Martha. You bought a lockbox and a spool of thick twine. Last week." "I like to be prepared. People leave things behind when they're rushing." "People don't leave heirlooms in the oven, Martha. Mrs. Gable's tart was found behind the flour bin this morning. Wrapped in her mother's lace." "Accidents happen in a place this busy. Ovens are hot. Hands slip." "Accidents don't smell like lavender oil and expensive perfume. And they certainly don't happen right after the town council vote." "If I wanted her recipe, I'd have asked. We're neighbors." "Neighbors don't swap their sourdough starter for a box of matches." "Then who did?" "Someone who knew the back delivery door was jammed until Tuesday. Someone with a small enough frame to fit through the gap." A slow breath escaped, steaming the window. "And someone who knew how much I hate when the cream puffs get stale." The knife clattered onto the plate. "Just finish your tea, Elara. Before I decide the jam needs a special blend of secrets."