Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPTD14P22FQAKB3DG93RBG

The bell over the door jangled, and the smell of scorched sugar drifted out from the back. "You burned the cardamom buns again." "I did not burn them. They're caramelized." "Ruth. There's smoke coming out of the vent above the alley. Mrs. Pell thought the building was going up." "Mrs. Pell thinks everything is going up. Last April it was the church roof, and that was a barbecue." "Speaking of April—did you hear about the Hollister place?" "I heard the sheriff's car was parked there two hours yesterday, and nobody's said why." "Two hours and twenty minutes. I timed it while I was waiting for the mail." "You timed it." "Somebody has to. And here's the part nobody's mentioned: the daughter came back on Tuesday. Drove in after dark, no luggage." "No luggage?" "Not a bag. And she came in here Wednesday morning for coffee, black, and she didn't take her sunglasses off once." "That could be a headache." "It could be. It could also be a black eye." A pause, filled with the tick of the oven timer. "Hand me the piping bag." "What are you doing?" "Making a cinnamon ring. If she comes in tomorrow, she'll want something sweet. People talk over sweet things." "You're terrible." "I'm hospitable. Sit down, have a bun."