Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD669RVAX48126JST4G83AC

The bell above the Flour & Fern door jingled as rain spattered the windows. Early morning light caught the flour dust floating over the counter. "You're here before the scones again." "Dead men don't wait for scones, Marlene." "Harold Fitch was ninety-two. Men of ninety-two die." "Not with a half-eaten crumpet on the table and no butter knife in sight. Harold buttered everything. Twice." "So you're saying the crumpet's a witness now?" "I'm saying someone sat with him. Someone he trusted enough to skip the butter for." A tray of cinnamon rolls slid into the case, the metal scraping softly. "Half the town trusted Harold." "Half the town didn't know he changed his will last Tuesday." "You've been snooping in lawyer Pemberton's files again." "I baked for Pemberton's wife. People talk over lemon cake." "They gossip, you mean." "Gossip rises, same as dough. Someone visited Harold that evening. Someone who knew about the money." "And you intend to find them how, exactly?" "By asking who bought two dozen crumpets from you on Monday." The rolling pin stopped mid-roll. "How did you know I sold crumpets Monday?" "You didn't. Until now."