Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PWWHHY4VNCWH6YMSX4P63

The bell above the door jingled as the last tray of cinnamon rolls came out of the oven. "You're telling me Mildred's prize-winning pie recipe just... disappeared?" "Vanished. Right out of her kitchen. The night before the county fair, no less." "Well, that's a shame. She's won twelve years running." "Which is precisely why half the town wanted it gone. Have you seen Deborah Lynn's face every time Mildred takes home that blue ribbon?" "I try not to look directly at it." "Ha! Anyway, Mildred swears someone broke in. Says her kitchen window was open, and there's a smear of flour on the counter shaped like a boot." "A boot?" "Size eight, if you ask Sheriff Dawson. He measured it against his own foot." "He did not." "Did too. Right there in the kitchen, standing on Mildred's good rug with his muddy boots." "So who in town wears a size eight?" "That's the thing, isn't it? Deborah Lynn's boy wears a nine. Harold from the hardware store swears by his tens." "Then who?" "Maybe you should ask the person who ordered a dozen lemon tarts yesterday and paid in exact change." "Why exact change?" "Because nobody in this town carries exact change unless they've been counting it. Carefully." The bell jingled again. Deborah Lynn walked in, smiling just a little too wide.