Run: 2026-05-01-01KQHR7CNFKQ6FVN0Q119BNVX2

The bell above the bakery door had long since fallen silent. Warmth rose from the ovens in lazy waves, carrying vanilla and toasted almond into every corner. Two women stood alone beside the marble counter, elbows resting near a half-empty tray of cinnamon rolls. "I still taste the bitterness behind the sugar." "Exactly what I thought when I bit into the winning entry. One wrong note under all that lemon glaze." "Old man Whitaker swore it was just his dentures, but his face went the color of day-old icing." "Three people have mentioned a metallic aftertaste now. Not enough for the sheriff to stir from his usual donut, yet enough to keep me up rewriting my own recipes." "Someone swapped an ingredient. Subtle. Personal." "The blue ribbon vanished from the display case before dawn, too. Almost as if the prize itself were poisoned." "Or poisoned the prizewinner. We both saw Eleanor slip behind the tent right before judging." A wooden spoon tapped once against a mixing bowl. Outside, church bells rang the quarter hour, but inside the only sound was the soft rustle of wax paper as one woman slid two pecan sticky buns into a bag. "Take these. We'll need something sweet while we decide whose kitchen we search first."