Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1HZCFQTXERNVJVJSQH5HRF

The bell above the door jingled softly as the door swung open, carrying with it the cold morning air and the faint scent of pine from the trees lining Maple Street. Inside, flour dusted the air like early snow, catching the light from the front window where the "Open" sign flickered in cheerful red. Display cases gleamed with rows of buttery croissants, cinnamon rolls, and a particularly suspicious-looking apple pie. "Two dozen glazed, like I said." "Two dozen glazed. I remember. I was there when you ordered them." "Was just making sure. Big day tomorrow." "Every day's a big day for you, Marge. That's what makes you Marge." A long pause, broken only by the creak of the old oven and the soft hum of the refrigerator. "Any idea who could have done it?" "Now why would I know that?" "Everyone knows everything in this town, Harold. You more than most." "Marge, I've been baking sourdough since before you were born. I don't have time for gossip." "Then why are your hands shaking?" Another silence, heavier this time. The stand mixer whirred to a stop, and the only sound was the tick of the antique clock above the display case. "Because I might have seen something, Marge. And I might not have said anything sooner."