Run: 2026-05-19-01KS0V26YE8076HDZMAYDTPQE4

Flour sifted through the air like a gentle winter snow, settling on the scratched mahogany display case of The Daily Crumb. The scent of cinnamon and warm yeast hung heavy, a comforting shield against the autumn chill outside. "Did you hear about the mayor’s prize-winning dahlia?" "Ruined. Trampled to pieces, so I heard. But that’s not what the parish is whispering about." "Oh?" "He went back to the greenhouse at midnight. Only, he wasn’t carrying garden shears." A pair of silver tongs clicked against a tray of freshly glazed raspberry tarts. "Don't tell me. The antique lace handkerchief?" "Exactly. Found right beside the crushed pink petals. And it was monogrammed." "With a 'V'?" "No. A 'B'." An intake of breath rattled the glass cake domes. A hand reached out, dusting flour from a blue gingham apron. "But Mrs. Gable was at the bridge tournament until one in the morning." "Exactly. So who else has access to her vanity?" "The niece." "The niece." A copper kettle began to whistle on the back stove, cutting the sudden, heavy silence in two.