Run: 2026-09-23-01M36VGW925QRTC9S0RJP0K6Q1

The bell above the door chimed as the morning's first customer stepped into The Rolling Pin. Cinnamon and brown sugar hung in the warm air like a sweet fog. "Morning, Clara. Two cinnamon rolls?" "Don't play dumb with me, Margaret. You know exactly why I'm here." Margaret wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and set a cup of coffee on the counter without being asked. "Now, before you get all worked up—" "Worked up? The man is dead. Dead in your garden, Margaret." "And I am just as horrified about that as you are. But you marching in here like I planted him there alongside my petunias—" "Nobody is accusing you of anything yet." "That 'yet' is doing an awful lot of heavy lifting." A pause. The coffee steamed between them. "Fine. Did anyone come by the bakery last night? Late, after closing?" "One person, actually. Sheriff Huggins, around seven. Bought a loaf of sourdough. He's been buying the same loaf every Wednesday for six years." "Huggins." The chair scraped as it was pulled out. "He was the one who found the body." "Then maybe you should be having coffee with him instead of me." Margaret pushed a cinnamon roll across the counter. "Eat something. You look terrible."