Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSKB1S4AFSWF79MXYFDZ711

The bell above the door jingled as the morning light spilled across the flour-dusted counter. "You're here early. Couldn't sleep either?" "Not a wink. Not after what happened to poor Mr. Hargrove." "Terrible business, that. They say he collapsed right in the middle of the church social." "I heard it was the punch. Doris made the punch, you know." "Now don't go starting rumors. Doris wouldn't hurt a fly." "I'm not saying she would. I'm just saying it's awfully strange. He was perfectly healthy on Tuesday. I sold him a dozen cinnamon rolls myself." "Maybe it was his heart. The man was seventy-three." "Seventy-one. And his heart was fine—Dr. Bellamy told me so at the harvest festival." "You and your gossip. Hand me that tray, would you? These won't frost themselves." "All I'm saying is, someone ought to look into it. The sheriff's too busy chasing speeders out on Route 9." "And I suppose you've appointed yourself detective?" "Why not? I knew everyone at that social. I know who he argued with, too." "Oh? And who would that be?" A long pause settled between them, broken only by the soft scrape of the spatula. "His business partner. The one who inherits everything now."