Run: 2026-09-02-01M1H5B6P4XR69DFG659G8YDP0

The bell above the door jingled, and the smell of cinnamon drifted through the small bakery. "You're up early, Mrs. Pemberton." "I could say the same about you. I thought you'd still be at the station writing up your report." "There's not much to write. The camera at the pier was smashed. Whoever took the mayor's trophy knew exactly where the blind spots were." "Hmm. You know, Danny was in here last night, buying a whole box of lemon bars." "Danny?" "The one who's been complaining about the mayor for months. All that business with the fishing licenses." "Lemon bars. He never touches lemon. Says they're too sour." "Exactly. And who were they for, I wonder? He wouldn't say. Just kept glancing out the window like a rabbit checking for foxes." "Did he leave anything else?" "Footprints of powdered sugar near the back door. And a scrap of paper with the pier's address scribbled on it." "That's convenient." "That's what happens when people forget bakeries hear everything. Now, sit down. You look like you need a blueberry scone more than you need my gossip." "Just one. And Mrs. Pemberton—this stays between us and the scones."