Run: 2026-09-02-01M1HH21K6QYXDEDCXKAD92G8N

The brass bell above the door chimed softly, muffled by the sweet fog of vanilla and warm cardamom. Flour drifted through the morning sunbeams, settling like powdered sugar over the butcher-block counter. "More nutmeg?" "It’s not the pie I’m worried about, and you know it." A wooden rolling pin halted mid-stroke, resting heavy against the butter-rich pastry dough. "The sheriff ruled it an accident. A tragic stumble down the cellar stairs." "Since when does a simple fall leave traces of bitter almond on someone’s collar?" "Tell me you didn’t." "I only took a quick sniff while Chief Higgins was distracted by the apple fritters." "You’re going to get us barred from the Autumn Festival committee." "Or I’m going to catch Arthur’s killer before the cinnamon rolls cool." A tray of almond croissants sat between them on the cooling rack, suddenly looking far more sinister than intended. "Cyanide isn’t sold at the general store." "No, but specialty baking emulsion is. And only one kitchen in Whisper Bay ordered a fresh case last week." The rolling pin was set aside with a decisive thud. "Turn the deadbolt." "Already done."