Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GQS902S6RKV80WR2HWHWGP

The cinnamon rolls had just come out of the oven, filling the little shop with warmth, when the bell above the door chimed. "You're early. Even for you." "Couldn't sleep. Did you hear about Walter Pemberton?" "Heard? He was in here Tuesday, buying lemon squares for the church bake sale. And now this. Heart, they're saying." "That's just it. Walter's heart was clean as a whistle—Beatrice told me herself. And the bake sale isn't until next month. I checked." "People misremember dates." "Not Walter. He ran that sale like a general." A pause, flour dusting the air between them. "There's more. Doris at the florist says he ordered lilies that same afternoon. Paid cash." "Lilies. For what?" "That's what I intend to find out." "He was odd, but he wasn't—" "Funeral flowers, paid in cash, the day before he died? He knew something. And I'd like to know what." A long sigh, then the scrape of a plate across the counter. "More coffee?" "Please. And two lemon squares to go. I'll need them where I'm headed." The bell jingled once more, leaving the smell of cinnamon—and one very inconvenient question—hanging in the warm air.