Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1J59K6WVACK8A7BMCF8BK6

The bell above the door jingled as a gust of autumn wind swept through Maple Street Bakery, carrying the scent of cinnamon and something burnt. "I'll have the usual, Margaret. Two apple fritters and black coffee." "Lorraine! I was hoping you'd stop by." The display case gleamed with pumpkin scones and frosted cinnamon rolls, but the corner where the lemon tarts usually sat was conspicuously empty. "Have you heard about poor Harold Pemberton?" "Heard what? I just got back from my sister's." "They found his cat in the flour storage yesterday. Alive, thankfully, but covered in cocoa powder and meowing something awful. Harold swears someone let it in on purpose." "Well, that's absurd. Who would do such a thing?" "That's what I told Sheriff Dalton, but he gave me that look he gives. You know the one." "I do. What about the missing tarts? You were making lemon this morning, I saw the lemons in the back." A pause. A long one. "Now, Lorraine, I have no idea what you're talking about." "Margaret." "Perhaps we should discuss this over a fresh pot of tea. The fritters are on the house."