Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCWNCZ2HV0PXMEQDKQESZSZ

The bell over the door jingled softly, carrying in the scent of autumn leaves. "You're here for the maple scones, aren't you? I set one aside." "We both know you set three aside." "Only if you're lucky. The seniors' walking group buys them out by eight." She slid a paper bag across the flour-dusted counter, her hands dusted with cinnamon. "Lucky's my middle name." "Your middle name is Prudence, and you're always late." "Traffic was murder. Mrs. Peabody's cat escaped into the rhododendrons." "Again? That cat's got a real estate license." We laughed, and she poured coffee into a chipped mug that said World's Best Baker in faded letters. "Did you hear about the garden club's prize hydrangea? Someone replaced the soil with coffee grounds." "Sabotage? Here?" "In Oakhaven? Please. Last year someone swapped the bingo cards." The scone was still warm, the glaze sticky with local syrup. "You're investigating, aren't you? I can tell by your eyebrows." "I'm retired, remember?" "Retired people don't ask about fertilizer deliveries." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Meet me after closing. The hydrangea's not the only thing that wilted." The coffee was strong, the bakery quiet except for the hum of display cases. "I knew you'd come back."