Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCSMJN5ZQGA5T081VFQ0MPT

The bell above Maple Lane Bakery chimed softly, carrying in the damp scent of autumn rain. Behind the curved glass counter, a woman in a flour-dusted apron arranged croissants with the precision of a jeweler. "You haven't touched the lemon tart, have you?" "I only looked. The glaze was perfect, like yellow stained glass." "That is exactly what Mrs. Peabody said Tuesday morning, right before she collapsed in the hydrangeas." The spoon in his cup clinked twice. "Are you suggesting poison?" "I'm suggesting she was violently allergic to walnuts, and that particular tart had a rather suspicious crunch." He lowered his voice, glancing toward the kitchen door. "The baker swears the recipe card was untouched." "Recipe cards never lie. But grieving bakers who inherit antique mixing bowls often do." "That is quite a leap for a Wednesday." "Not a leap at all. More like noticing footprints in fresh powdered sugar." The oven timer sang out. She slid open the door, pulled out a tray of golden scones, and smiled too brightly. "Would you like one? On the house. I can personally guarantee there are no walnuts." "I think I'll take my coffee black. And perhaps sit facing the door." "Wise choice. In this town, eventually everyone learns to watch the door."