Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRC2AKH2E5006ZWM6MQMVM

The scent of warm cardamom and browning butter hung thick in the air, a comforting shield against the autumn drizzle tapping the front window. A wooden rolling pin struck the floured counter with a rhythmic *thump*. "He was seen down by the docks just past midnight." "Arthur never walks the docks. His gout flares if he even looks at sea mist." "Exactly. And yet, there was his tweed cap, soaked in salt water." A delicate swirl of cream cheese icing crowned a fresh cinnamon roll. The brass bell above the door remained silent, leaving only the low hum of the proofer in the quiet dawn. "Did you check Tuesday’s register tape?" "Why would I? He bought his usual blueberry scone and complained about the road repairs." "Look closer at the drawer. He paid with a crisp fifty-dollar bill." A dusting of white flour drifted through the morning light as two hands stilled over the pastry board. "Arthur hasn't carried paper cash since the savings and loan scare of ninety-two." "Precisely. Someone paid him to deliver a message." The rolling pin resumed its work, the pressure suddenly much heavier. "Then he didn't slip off the pier, did he?" "No. He was pushed."