Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7XWKQFYKWW49TRPF1HP3E

The morning fog had barely lifted off Harbor Lane when the bell above the Crust & Crumb's door jingled. "You're here early. Did you hear about Mr. Pemberton?" "Everyone's heard. Found face-down in his own prize roses." She slid a tray of cinnamon rolls into the case. "Though between us, it wasn't the thorns that did him in." "You think someone—" "I think a man doesn't collapse in his garden with a teacup in his hand unless the tea had something to say about it." A pause. The espresso machine hissed. "That's a serious accusation to make before eight o'clock." "It's not an accusation. It's an observation. I bake. I notice when things are off. That lemon loaf he ordered last week? He said it was for his nephew, but the nephew's been in Portugal since May." "So he lied about cake." "People who lie about cake lie about other things, Doris." The older woman arranged doilies with surgical precision. "You should tell Constable Reed." "Reed thinks a clue is something in a crossword puzzle. No, I'll handle it my way." "Your way involves eavesdropping over scones." "My way involves listening. There's a difference." "Is there?" "Pass me the raspberry tarts. The book club arrives at nine, and book clubs know everything."