Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40G1MMZA7P8AGCMDCWZB99

The bell over the bakery door gave a nervous little jingle as rain freckled the front windows. Cinnamon rolls cooled beneath glass domes, their icing glossy in the yellow morning light. “You’ve rearranged the scones.” “I’ve alphabetized them.” “By flavor?” “By likelihood of being chosen by someone who says they’re only looking.” A soggy umbrella dripped beside the counter. Outside, Main Street was nearly empty except for the sheriff’s cruiser parked crookedly near the fountain. “Is that why Sheriff Bell has been staring at the bookshop all morning?” “Apparently Mr. Wickersham didn’t open.” “He never misses opening day for the spring sale.” “Especially not when he’s promised half-price mysteries.” A tray clattered softly in the kitchen. “Did you hear that?” “Probably the cooling rack.” “The cooling rack doesn’t usually say ‘help.’” For a moment, only the rain spoke. Then came a muffled thump from the flour storeroom. “You locked the back door, didn’t you?” “I thought I did.” “You thought?” “I was distracted by a customer asking whether our lemon bars were gluten-free.” “And?” “I told him they were emotionally gluten-free.” The storeroom door creaked open. A pale hand appeared around its edge, dusted with flour. “Oh, good,” came a breathless whisper. “You’re both here. Don’t scream.” “Why would we scream?” “Because someone has put a body in your walk-in freezer.”