Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9ERF59X1HEY5YJ66FM8CH

The bell above the door jingled as Margaret shook the rain from her umbrella, the smell of cinnamon rolls wrapping around her like a warm blanket. "You're late. I already ate your scone." "I was talking to Deputy Harmon. You'll want to hear this." "I'm listening. Also there's flour on your coat." "Forget the coat. Old Mr. Whitfield's safe was cracked open last night. Nothing taken but his mother's brooch." "The one shaped like a bee?" "That's the one. And guess who was seen leaving his property around midnight?" "If you say Gerald Pruitt, I'll scream." "Gerald Pruitt." "I knew it. That man's owed money to half this town." "Except Harmon says Gerald has an alibi. He was at the tavern till two, half the bar can vouch for him." "Then who?" "That's the question, isn't it? Whitfield says nothing else was touched. Not the cash, not the silver. Just the brooch." "That's not a robbery. That's personal." "Exactly what I thought. Pour me a coffee and I'll tell you what else Harmon mentioned about the note left behind." "There was a note?" "Oh, there was a note."