Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRDDN168CFA3BATE03BYW5

The bell over the door jangled, and flour dust rose in the morning light. "You're early. The cinnamon knots aren't even proofed yet." "I'm not here for cinnamon knots." "Then you're here about Harold Pettigrew's window, and I'll tell you the same thing I told Deputy Nash. I was here at four, same as every morning, elbow-deep in sourdough." "Nobody thinks you threw a brick through the hardware store, Marjorie. But you see everything from that front counter, and you've got a memory like a steel trap." A pause. The scrape of a proofing tray sliding onto the rack. "There was a car. Green, or maybe blue—the streetlight out front's been dying since August. Parked across from Harold's with the engine running a good twenty minutes." "Twenty minutes is a long time to sit in the cold." "That's what I thought. And then a woman got out, walked right up to the window, and stood there like she was reading a menu." "Did you recognize her?" "I've lived in Cranberry Hollow sixty-one years. I'd have recognized her." "So a stranger." "A stranger in a coat worth more than my mixer." A soft laugh. "Sit down. I'll pour you coffee. This part gets interesting."