Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCR1W196M9H8FZX0GHB0QBA

The bells over the door had barely stopped shivering. "You're out of cinnamon twists." "I'm out of everything. I didn't bake this morning." "Marguerite. You've baked every morning for thirty-one years. You baked through the ice storm. You baked the day your Ronald had his hip done." "I couldn't get into my own kitchen. Sheriff Dunn had tape across the doorway like it was a Christmas ribbon." "Tape. Over what, exactly?" "Over the flour bin. Where I found Harold Pettibone's cufflink sitting on top of the sifted like a little silver egg." "Harold doesn't wear cufflinks. Harold wears a windbreaker with a fish on it." "He wore cufflinks Thursday. At the Grange dinner. I noticed because he kept fussing with the left one all through the invocation, and now the left one's the one I'm missing—well, the one I'm not missing, I suppose. The one I've got." "And where's Harold?" "That's the trouble, isn't it." The espresso machine hissed into the quiet, and neither of them reached for it. "Sit down. I'll put the kettle on, since you've abandoned your post." "Don't touch the second shelf. That's where I hid the ledger before the sheriff came." "Marguerite." "Two sugars, please."