Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GRN9HMCHMJKQ72AQ9S08SF

The cinnamon rolls had just come out of the oven when the bell over the door jangled. "You're not open for another twenty minutes." "I know. That's why I'm here. I had to tell you before the whole town gets in." "Sit down. Coffee?" "Half a cup. My hands won't stop shaking." "Drink first. Then tell me why you look like you've seen the Hartwell ghost." "It's Ted. The funeral director. Walt and I walk up by the lake on Sundays, and there he was — six in the morning, digging by the old boathouse. With a shovel." "Maybe he was planting something." "Two days after that poor woman drowned? And he filled the hole back in. Patted it smooth, like a grave. Then he saw us. He *smiled*, Marla. He waved." "...Finish your coffee." "You don't believe me." "I believe Estelle Fenwick didn't drown by accident. She came in here Tuesday, asked if anyone had been round asking after her. Someone had. A man she wouldn't name." "She said that? Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you shake like a leaf in October. Now — can you manage the path back up to that boathouse, or must I go alone?" "You'd go alone?" "I'd bring the rest of the rolls. Ted has a terrible weakness for my cinnamon."