Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6HABJZV6NMWTAPT600AA4

The bell above the bakery door chimed as rain-scented air swept in with the morning customers. Behind the counter, the last cinnamon rolls cooled under a dusting of sugar. "You heard about Mr. Abernathy? Found dead in his greenhouse last night." "Dead? But I saw him yesterday—he ordered a lemon tart for Friday." "He canceled it by phone, around six. That's what makes it strange." "Strange how?" "Theodore Abernathy never canceled anything. He once collected a cake during a snowstorm. On foot." "Maybe he was feeling ill." "Maybe. Or maybe someone made that call for him." A pause. The espresso machine hissed. "His gloves were on the counter, Marla. The good leather ones. He wouldn't have stepped into the greenhouse without them." "So whoever was with him..." "Was someone he trusted enough to leave his gloves behind for." The oven timer trilled. Neither moved. "You don't think it's connected to the missing recipe box, do you?" "That box held the town's oldest secrets, folded between the pie crusts and the pound cakes. Half of Willow Creek would kill to keep those buried." "Well." A slow breath. "I suppose we'd better start baking. Funerals always require casseroles—and casseroles always require gossip."