Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9WHTC5PVSQQH4QM7T341Z

The smell of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the air as Marge wiped down the display case for the third time that morning. "You're going to rub a hole clean through that glass." "I need something to do with my hands." "You could tell me why Constable Reyes was in here at seven a.m. asking about who bought poppy seed muffins yesterday." "I could. Doesn't mean I will." "Marge Dooley, I have known you since we were six years old sharing paste at Sunday school. You baked something you weren't supposed to, and now Old Man Findley's clutching his stomach at the clinic." "It wasn't the muffins. I swear it on my mother's recipe box." "Then what was it?" "The sugar canister. Someone switched it. I only noticed this morning when I went to restock." "Switched it with what?" "Something that wasn't sugar. Reyes took a sample. Said he'd know more by noon." "Who else has a key to this place?" "That's the question keeping me up nights. Just Danny, my part-timer, and—" "And?" "And Findley himself. He came by after closing Tuesday, said he forgot his umbrella." "You think he poisoned himself?" "I think somebody wanted us both to look guilty."