Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCVJC24KHF2ST5GKPQ6VWST

Flour dusted the counter like snow that refused to melt. The older woman slid a plate of lemon bars across the worn pine. "You heard about the missing cookbook?" The younger one stopped wiping the display case. "The one from Mrs. Peabody's estate?" "Found open in the garden shed this morning. Pages torn out." The older woman didn't touch her coffee. "Which pages?" "The ones with the almond torte. The same recipe she served the night before she died." "You're saying someone stole it to hide the ingredients?" "I'm saying the police aren't asking about the bakery deliveries." The oven timer chimed, but neither moved. The younger woman glanced toward the back room. "So who brought her the marzipan?" "That's just it. No one ordered any. Yet there it was, wrapped in wax paper, on her doorstep." She tapped the counter. "Maybe she made it herself." "With arthritic hands? Besides, the wrapper had the old train station stamp. Nobody's used that ink since the depot closed." The younger woman passed a fresh cup across the counter. "Then we need to check the delivery logs." "Burned them all. Every record from Tuesday to Thursday." "Convenient." "Exactly. Now, about these lemon bars—do they taste like regret, or am I just paranoid?" "Paranoid. But have another. We'll need the sugar."