Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQVZTA2DBNCXBHJ53Z4P28

The bell over the door jangled, and a gust of November came in with it. "You're out of the cinnamon twists already? It's not even nine." "Not out. Hidden. Second shelf of the walk-in, behind the buttermilk." "Hidden from whom?" "From Delia Pruitt, who has come in every morning this week at ten past eight and bought the entire tray. All fourteen. And she doesn't eat them." "How on earth would you know that?" "Because Tuesday I saw her drop the whole bag in the bin outside the post office. Didn't even open it." A pause, then the scrape of a stool being dragged closer to the counter. "Buying pastries she throws away. That's not a crime, Margaret, that's just eccentric. This town runs on eccentric." "She pays in bills straight from the register at the hardware store. Still banded. And she never used to come in at all — not once in four years — until the morning after Harold's shop burned." "You've been keeping notes." "On the back of the flour order. Don't look at me like that." "I'm looking at you like someone who wants a coffee and a cinnamon twist while you explain the rest of it." "Second shelf. Behind the buttermilk. Bring two."