Run: 2026-09-02-01M1HGB3XG1MRNER3CZAYXC2CW

The brass bell chimed above the door, stirring the sweet, yeasty warmth of early-morning brioche. A wooden rolling pin paused against a dusting of unbleached flour. "Two almond croissants, please. And keep your voice down." "The curtains are drawn, George. Nobody is spying on us through the display window." "You’d be surprised where Mrs. Gable sticks her nose. Did you hear about the garden club's punch bowl?" Tongs clinked softly against the glass pastry case. "I heard Eleanor merely spilled a cup into the begonias." "Spilled? The poor flowers shriveled within twenty minutes, Martha. Turned entirely black." A brown paper bag rustled, puffed open with a brisk flick of a wrist. "Pesticide, surely." "Bitter almond. The lethal variety from the old apothecary on Mill Street." "Good heavens. Eleanor is terribly allergic to tree nuts." "Precisely. Someone knew she always takes the first ladle." The bag froze mid-fold. A fine haze of powdered sugar drifted down like winter frost over the counter. "And whose pantry was ransacked last night?" "Don't tell me." "The rector's." "He hasn't baked a scone in his life." "No. So why did the constable find three empty bottles hidden beneath his Sunday vestments?"