Run: 2026-09-01-01M1EKT58KHTHQEB33DR676N9P

The flour dusted everything in Maple Lane Bakery like a second snowfall. A bell chimed as the door pushed open, dragging in November chill. "You're early." "Couldn't sleep. The coroner called about the shed behind the church again." "Pour yourself some tea. The scones just came out." "Not hungry. But I need that ledger, Clara. The one with flour orders from September." "Why would you need flour orders?" "Because someone poisoned the batch that went to the garden club, and the invoices vanish exactly when they do." Clara wiped her hands on a floury apron, a silver ring catching the morning light. "You think murder, not a mistake." "I think the proof is in the receipts. And you're hiding them." "Impatient. You always were, even as boys." "I'm not some boy anymore." "No. You're the sheriff's cousin, and you're going to ruin my reputation before lunch." "Only if you don't show me the page." She turned to the counter, pulled a leather book from beneath the register, and opened it with a thumb that trembled slightly. "Page forty-two. The red ink means unpaid account. The church paid in full three days after the gala." The ink smelled of lavender and guilt. "I'm going to the church now." "Take the sticky bun. It's warm." "Only if it's not from the bad batch." "Everything here is fresh. Especially the secrets."