Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7E66ZZTMGA1DWS9M0G19T

The bell above the bakery door chimed as the morning regulars filed in. Behind the counter, the smell of cinnamon rolls hung thick and sweet. "You're out of Mrs. Pemberton's usual. The lemon scones." "I know. That's the strange part. She ordered six yesterday, paid in advance. Never showed." "Never showed? She hasn't missed a scone day in twenty years." "Exactly. And look at this." A flour-dusted note slid across the counter. "Found it tucked under the register this morning." "'Tell her the recipe isn't hers to sell.' Well. That's not ominous at all." "It gets worse. Her back door was open when I walked by. Cat's on the porch, crying. You know that cat doesn't leave her side." "You went inside, didn't you." "Only the kitchen! And someone had been baking. The oven was still warm. Flour everywhere, and—here's the thing—two teacups." "Mrs. Pemberton lives alone." "She does now." "Don't start. Last time you 'investigated,' you accused the pastor of stealing communion wine." "And I was right." "It was the cleaning crew." "Details. Finish frosting those cupcakes. We're closing early." "We are not closing early." "We are. There's a lemon scone out there with our name on it."