Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD4WQWSA3HHJ1DB7PD2PB4K

The bell over Honeycutt Bakery jingled, bringing in cold air and the smell of wet wool. Rain hammered the awning, fogging the windows and making the kitchen smell even sweeter against the damp. The display case was half empty, and a single lemon tart sat crooked, its powdered sugar disturbed by a fingerprint. "You still have the tart." "Can't sell it now. Evidence, remember?" "Right. Evidence of who can't bake. It's lopsided." "That's not funny. Someone tried to poison the mayor with it." "With a lemon tart? In this town? He'd have done it himself with your coffee." "You saw anyone near it yesterday after three? You were right here frosting those cinnamon rolls." "Only Mrs. Finch. And she kept saying her nephew would inherit everything." "Her nephew is the mayor." "I know." The back door was still unlocked, its draft fluttering the order slips on the counter. "Did you leave it open again?" "You think Mrs. Finch snuck in through the alley? She's eighty." "She runs marathons. And she hates lemon. We should call Deputy Miller before you dust it again."