Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GWXTY75YATGDHDAT91TT6B

The bell above the door chimed, and morning light spilled across the display case, gilding the last three blueberry scones. "You're late. The blueberry scones are nearly gone." "I had a reason. Sheriff Dolan was at the gazebo when I walked past." "He's never happy to see anyone. Hand me that tray." "He was measuring the gazebo floor. With a tape measure." The tray clattered against the counter. "You're joking." "Wish I were. And guess what turned up under the benches? A knitting needle case. Pink, with roses on it." "Mine. I lost that at the church picnic in June." Flour dust settled into the quiet. "Mrs. Pemberton already told them you and Harold argued near the gazebo last week." "We argued about lemon versus raspberry. Hardly motive for murder." "Tell that to Dolan. He has a sweet tooth and a grudge, in that order." "Then we find out who's had that case since June. Because someone wanted all eyes on me." The oven timer chimed. "Start with whoever sat beside you at that picnic. I never trusted the new choir director." "And I thought this was a quiet town." "Quiet towns have the deepest closets. Now wash your hands—we've got scones to rescue and a murderer to catch before the morning rush."