Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1J5R72NMMJQZQTKRFMMYNZ

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. Holloway." "Keep your voice down. Half the town's already whispering, and I won't have it in my shop." "But surely you heard? They found his reading glasses in the alley behind the post office. Cracked clean down the middle." "I heard plenty. Doesn't mean any of it's true." "Two scones, please. The cranberry ones. And don't pretend you weren't curious when Sheriff Dale came knocking yesterday." "He was only asking about the cake order. The one Mr. Holloway never picked up." "A custom cake, wasn't it? For a celebration he never lived to see. Doesn't that strike you as the least bit strange?" "What strikes me as strange is how everyone's suddenly a detective. That'll be four dollars." "You're avoiding the question." "I'm running a bakery, not a courtroom. Now, do you want these warmed or not?" "Warmed. And one more thing—who ordered that cake, if not Mr. Holloway himself?" The pause stretched long, the only sound the hiss of the oven. "...I never said it was for him." "Then who?" "Eat your scone, dear."