Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ2ZMFK7JKWPX9YVXNX6KVW

The bakery was quiet for a Tuesday morning. Dust motes danced in the slanting sunlight that fell across the counter. The scent of yeast and caramel hung in the air. "You're sure it was the blackberry? She never used anything but." "Not the fruit. The spice. I found an empty tin of nutmeg in her trash." "Nutmeg? In a blackberry pie?" "That's what the coroner said could account for the… confusion." "Confusion? He was found wandering the streets in his nightshirt." "Exactly. And the recipe box was open, but the card for her prize pie was gone." "So you think someone took the recipe and… spiked her batch?" "Or his batch. I saw Arnold coming out of her kitchen door last night." "Arnold from the hardware store?" "The man who spent years in the hospital after a bad batch of spice cookies. He's been reading about toxicology." "A poisoner in our midst." "Maybe. But the nutmeg couldn't do that—could it?" "In large enough doses, mixed with a little something else? Maybe." "I had a slice of that pie. It tasted… off. Sweeter than usual." "Then you're lucky to be standing here." The baker's hands trembled as she slid a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls into the display case. "Lucky. That's one word for it."