Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9EFSMQZPMPMKV80WCBG1R

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret shook rain from her umbrella, the smell of cinnamon and fresh bread wrapping around her like a blanket. "You're late. I already gave your usual table to the Hendersons." "The Hendersons can have the table. I need answers, not scones." "You'll get both, or neither. Sit down." Margaret sighed and slid into the chair by the window, watching Dot wipe flour from her hands onto her apron before pouring two cups of coffee. "Fine. Tell me about the necklace." "What necklace?" "Don't play coy with me, Dot. The one Sheriff Adams found in the flowerbed behind Constance's house. You know everyone who's pawned jewelry in this town for the last twenty years." "That's because I run a bakery, not a spy ring." "You also run the gossip mill, and we both know it." Dot set down the coffee pot with a clatter, glancing toward the kitchen door before leaning in close. "Fine. It was Ruthie's. She sold it to Marcus at the pawn shop three weeks before Constance died. Said she needed the money for her sister's medical bills." "And you're certain?" "I frosted her wedding cake. I know that necklace better than my own reflection."