Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GVTNFYFDPQD4P2QS1VKKWA

Morning light pooled across the display case as Marisol slid the last tray of cinnamon rolls onto the rack. The bell above the door jangled. "You're up early for a woman whose neighbor was found dead last night." "Bread doesn't bake itself, Chief. Besides, gossip travels faster than my sourdough starter." "So you've heard." "Heard? Half the town is already queued at my window. Clara Henderson, dead in her greenhouse, and everyone wants to know if I saw anything." "Did you?" "I saw her at the harvest festival, arguing with the Reverend over the pie judging. She threatened to expose him. Said she had it in writing." "Writing about what?" "That's the question, isn't it? She leaned in close and whispered that her letters would set Maple Hollow on its ear. Then she bought two dozen lavender shortbread and left." "Two dozen? Nobody eats two dozen shortbread alone." "Which means she was expecting company." The bell jangled again; a tourist ducked in from the rain, shaking out an umbrella. "And one more thing, Chief. Those weren't Clara's recipe cards clutched in her hand when they carried her out. I'd know that looped cursive anywhere. It's mine." Outside, the rain began again, soft against the glass.