Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9K63CYH4BMN2YY1E9AAH5

The smell of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the air as Margaret wiped down the display case for the third time that morning. "You know it wasn't an accident, right?" "Everyone keeps saying that. But nobody wants to say it to the sheriff." "Because the sheriff plays poker with half the men in this town, including Bill Norris, and Bill Norris was the last one to see Eleanor alive." "That doesn't mean he pushed her down those stairs." "No, but it means somebody should ask him what they were arguing about that night." The bell above the door jingled. A woman in a red coat stepped inside, glancing at the pastry case before making her way to the counter. "Two coffees, please. And maybe a croissant, if you have one left." "Of course, dear. Anything else?" "Just curious—did Eleanor Whitfield used to come in here? I heard she had a sweet tooth." "Every Tuesday morning. Same order. Blueberry muffin, black coffee." "Strange, isn't it? Someone so careful, so particular, tumbling down her own staircase." "Strange is one word for it." "What's another?" "Convenient."