Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ4TQWPAMK8AQT75RPM4111

The bell above the door chimed as flour dusted the morning light streaming through the windows. "Did you hear about old man Whitmore?" "Keep your voice down. His wife just walked in." "She's buying the cherry turnovers like nothing happened." "Grief affects everyone differently, Doris." "Affects them by making them hungry? The man's not even cold yet and she's picking out pastries." A plate slid across the glass display case. "These are fresh. Still warm." "Thank you, dear. You always did make Harold's favorites." The door chimed again. A quiet moment passed. "Well?" "She smiled at me. Said thank you." "That's not suspicious." "She also asked if I still had that key he gave me. The one to the back entrance." "You told her yes?" "I lied. Said I lost it months ago." "Good. The police were asking about that key this morning." "The key, or me?" "Both." A long exhale. "I didn't do anything." "Nobody said you did. But Whitmore's dead, you had a key to his bakery, and his wife just bought cherry turnovers with a smile on her face." "Sometimes the sweetest ones have the sharpest teeth." "That's why I always liked you, Doris." The bell chimed once more as the morning sun stretched across the flour-dusted floor.