Run: 2026-05-20-01KS25RSHA8ASF3PGEF0G5S56B

The copper bell above the door chimed, buried beneath the rich, sweet scent of yeast and caramelized sugar. "Tell me you didn't look in her potting shed." "Only through the window. It’s barely trespassing if your feet stay on the gravel." "You are going to get us both banned from the autumn fayre, and I have fifty apple turnovers currently proofing in the back." "The turnovers are safe. But Mayor Higgins’s prize-winning marrow? Decidedly not. It has a puncture wound." "A puncture wound? Like a slug?" "More like a knitting needle. Size eight, if I had to guess. And we both know who knitting circles on Tuesdays." "Martha." "Exactly. She’s been gunning for that blue ribbon since nineteen-ninety-eight." "This is a disaster. If the garden club finds out, there’ll be flour flying, and not the baking kind." "Which is why we keep quiet. For now. Hand me that lemon scone, would you? The one with the extra glaze." "Only if you promise to leave your magnifying glass in your purse during the raffle." "Deal. But I’m still keeping my eye on her cable-knit cardigan."