Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KCN325PXN1EH7MXZ0VGRQ3

The scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar hung in the air, too sweet for the conversation unfolding by the display case. “You’ve been dusting the same croissant for five minutes.” “Maybe I like a thorough dusting.” “You’re avoiding my question. The receipt from Harbor Lane was in your apron pocket, not mine.” “And you went through my apron?” “I was looking for the vanilla bean paste. Found a motive instead.” “Careful. That’s slander with a side of powdered sugar.” “Then explain why your handwriting matches the note left under the mayor’s scone.” Silence except for the hum of the refrigerated case. “I didn’t write anything.” “The loops on your y’s say otherwise. You always hook them like a fish.” “Everyone in this town hooks their y’s.” “Not everyone owed the mayor three months’ rent on a storefront.” A timer dinged from the kitchen. “Are you accusing me, or asking me to help you bury evidence?” “I’m asking you to tell me the truth before I have to choose between our friendship and a murder charge.” “The truth is the mayor was allergic to almonds. And someone switched the flour bin.” “You know that’s not a denial.” “It’s a warning. Check the scones.”