Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ77RDVMR7CSVYYJWDEP0GWX

Flour dusted the air like fresh snow, catching the morning light that streamed through lace curtains. The bell jingled, cutting through the rhythmic thrum of the industrial mixer. The display case fogged slightly as the oven door groaned open, releasing a wave of cinnamon warmth. "You're late. The scones have been cooling for twenty minutes." "Traffic on Main. Sheriff's car was blocking the turnoff near the old mill again." "Still looking for Mrs. Gable's prize poodle?" "Or what's left of it. I heard they found a red ribbon tangled in the brambles. Smelled like bitter almonds." A metal tray clattered onto the counter. "Bitter almonds? That's cyanide, you fool. Don't say that where the tourists can hear." "Just repeating what Deputy Miller whispered to the florist. Besides, Mrs. Gable hasn't touched her tea since the festival." "Wrap the cranberry orange. And keep your voice down. If the Sheriff wanted the town knowing about poison, he wouldn't be buying my éclairs every morning with shaking hands." "He's already jittery. Asked for salt in his coffee twice. Speaking of which, he dropped this napkin when he bolted. Look at the lipstick stain. Cherry red." "Mrs. Gable wears pink. Always has." "Exactly. Hand that over. If the Mayor sees cherry red, he'll faint faster than he did at the bake-off."