Run: 2026-05-20-01KS25W1KW7Q1A50NMZ21ZR3CM

The brass bell above the bakery door chimed, lost instantly beneath the rich, buttery hum of yeast and caramelized sugar. Behind the counter, a row of perfect raspberry tarts gleamed like jewels under the warm display lights. "I’m telling you, Arthur’s prize-winning sourdough didn’t rise on its own. Someone spiked the starter." "Oh, hush now. You make it sound like the Great Yeast Syndicate has hit our quiet little valley." "Then how do you explain the smell of peppermint coming from his mixing bowl? Arthur hasn't made a candy cane since December." "Perhaps he simply wanted to freshen his breath while kneading. It’s hard work at seventy." "With industrial-grade peppermint oil? Martha found the vial in the bin behind the community hall. It’s the exact brand Clara uses for her famous holiday fudge." "Clara? She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a loaf of artisanal rye." "She would if it meant winning the blue ribbon and the five-hundred-dollar purse. Her roof is leaking, you know." "Well, if flour is going to be spilled, we’d best do it quietly. Here, take this scone and stop looking at the flour sacks like they're crime scenes."