Run: 2026-09-02-01M1H9XGMBS5KCZD92QYQXSYZC

The bell chimed, and Elara shook off rain, glaring at the blackened loaf on the rack. "Still burning the sourdough?" "It's called crust." The brush snapped against the counter. "Besides, the pie judges love crunch." Elara leaned over the flour-dusted table. "Crunch or char, there was an odd smell coming from your oven. Almonds and... fear?" The scrubbing stopped. "Fear? That was the amaretto croissant test. You're hearing ghosts again. Your book club has scrambled your wits." "Maybe." Elara slid a yellowed envelope across the wood. "But I found this wedged under Mrs. Gable's shopping cart. 'See you at the kneading station.'" Martha snatched the paper, knuckles whitening. "Mrs. Gable can't even read the menu anymore. It's nonsense." "Is it?" Elara poured two mugs of tea. "Because the ledger shows three cases of prize-winning rhubarb vanished this morning. And your display case has room for exactly three pies." Martha set the envelope down with a tremor. "Rhubarb? I haven't bought rhubarb since spring. Why would anyone threaten me over fruit?" "Ask the person who knows where you hide the secret ingredient, Martha. Or are you finally ready to tell me what you were doing behind the walk-in at midnight?" Martha's face went pale as unbaked dough. "Midnight? I was... checking the yeast culture!" "Right." Elara took a slow sip. "Well, check it again. Because if that yeast wasn't mixed with rhubarb jam, you've got a lot more explaining to do before the mayor arrives for his scone order." Martha grabbed the tray of amaretto pastries, her hand shaking violently. "Just stay away from the oven, Elara. Some secrets burn worse than bread."