Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRAEBKJQAWKW5ZBB55953P

The bell over the door jingled and the smell of cinnamon hit like a warm blanket. Flour dusted the counter and the glass case glittered with lemon tarts, fresh scones, and a tray of rye cooling on the rack. "You're late." "I had to pull the perpetrator out of the river. Again." "That makes two Tuesdays in a row." "Don't joke. He was face down in the millpond. Again." "Did you bring me a croissant?" "I brought you evidence. The dough on his shoes matches your rye." "You bake with river water now?" "I bake with well water. Same as you. Same as everyone who isn't trying to poison the mayor." "That's a big accusation for a scone." "It's not the scone. It's the almond filling. He was allergic." "And you know this how?" "Because he told me yesterday. Right before he ate the one I left for the bake sale." The timer dinged. The door bell jingled again as a customer entered, and the conversation stopped mid-air, sweet and quiet as sugar.