Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9CPDBR3QC9CKZDMY0DEGV

The scent of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the air as Margaret wiped down the display case for the third time. "You're stalling." "I am not stalling. I'm cleaning." "You cleaned that glass ten minutes ago. Just tell me what Ruth said." Margaret set down her rag and glanced toward the front window, where morning light spilled across empty tables. "She said Harold Pemberton's will named someone nobody expected." "Well? Don't leave me hanging like a soufflé." "His gardener. Twenty years of loyal service, and Harold left him the entire estate." "What about the nephew? The one who's always driving that ridiculous sports car?" "Nothing. Not a penny." "That doesn't sound like Harold at all. He worshipped that boy." "That's exactly what I thought. Something's not right about this whole business." A bell chimed as the door opened, and both women fell silent, exchanging a glance loaded with unspoken suspicion. "Good morning! Just a coffee and one of those cinnamon rolls, please." Margaret smiled, already reaching for a pastry bag. "Coming right up, dear." The moment the customer settled at a corner table, the two women leaned closer together, voices dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "We need to talk to that gardener."