Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GWN3DKTGJ6XJTGDSWQ7MHK

The cinnamon rolls hadn't made it to the display case before the bell over the door jingled. "You're early. Even for you." "Couldn't sleep. Did you hear about Margaret Whitfield?" "Heard what? Here, hold this tray." "They moved up the pie contest announcements. Last night, at the grange hall. And now nobody's seen Margaret since." "She probably went home to sulk. She's entered that contest for thirty years, and Holly's peach lattice beat her by a mile." "Holly won?" "First place. So?" "So Margaret accused her of stealing the recipe. In front of everyone. Said she'd prove it if it was the last thing she did." "That's just Margaret being Margaret." "She isn't answering her phone. Her porch light burned all night, her car's still in the driveway, and her cat has been yowling on the porch rail since dawn." "Margaret never leaves that cat outside." "Exactly." "The rolls need ten more minutes anyway. Pour the coffee, then start over. Slowly this time." "From the beginning?" "From the moment the judges stood up." The bell jingled again. Whatever was coming for the town, it would come through this bakery first. It always did.