Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQWRR8JA2Y9NJ7W2H2B1BM

The bell over the door gave its usual tired jangle, and the smell of cardamom buns rolled out to meet the cold. "You're early. I haven't even glazed the crullers." "I didn't come for crullers. I came because Marjorie Pike's kitchen light was on at four this morning, and Marjorie Pike hasn't risen before nine since her hip went." "So she couldn't sleep." "So she was baking. And this afternoon there'll be a lemon drizzle at the church sale with her name on the card, and everyone will coo over it, and I will know." A pause, filled with the scrape of a spatula across a cooling rack. "You think she's using my recipe." "I think she's using your recipe, your tin, and the oven thermometer that went missing off your windowsill in September." "That's a serious accusation to make before six." "I've made worse before five." Flour drifted through the lamplight, settling on the counter like fine snow. "Sit down. Have a bun. If she has got the recipe, she'll have got it wrong — she never could resist adding almond." "And if she hasn't got it wrong?" "Then, Enid, we shall have to find out who did give it to her. And I'll want a very large pot of tea first."