Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6H75N16BXH0883WMA72CV

The bell above the bakery door jingled, and the scent of cinnamon rolls followed them in from the cold. "You're up early for a Sunday." "Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about the Henderson place." "The fire? Marsha, that was an accident. Faulty wiring, everyone says so." "Everyone says a lot of things. Sit down. I saved you a maple twist." "You're stalling." "I'm feeding you. There's a difference." The coffee pot gurgled. "Fine. I was closing up Friday night, and I saw someone leave through their back gate. Carrying a canister." "A canister." "Red. Like the kind you keep kerosene in." "You didn't tell the sheriff?" "I didn't have proof. And Sheriff Dale thinks I imagine burglars every time a raccoon knocks over a bin." "Fair point. But Friday night... wasn't Old Man Henderson already out of town?" "Exactly. He left Thursday. So who was in his yard?" "Whoever it was, they knew he'd be gone." "Which means they knew his schedule. Which narrows it to, what, half the town?" "More like a dozen. His bridge club, the church committee—" "And his nephew, who works two doors down." The maple twist sat untouched between them. "Marsha. Your nephew works two doors down too." "Eat your pastry, Tom. We have questions to ask before the morning rush."