Run: 2026-09-23-01M37Q729J45WNYKP0T92WPA4S

The bell over the door of Crumb & Kettle jangled at half past six, well before the sign flipped to OPEN. Flour drifted through the air like early snow, and the scent of cardamom buns hung warm and heavy over the counter. "You're early. The buns won't be out for another ten minutes." "I'm not here for buns, Hattie. I'm here about the pie." "Which pie? I made fourteen for the church social." "The one Reverend Pike ate right before he spent the night in the emergency room." "Now wait just a minute. My rhubarb has never hurt a soul." "Nobody's saying it did. Doc Ellison says it was foxglove. Somebody added it after the pie left your kitchen." "After? Well, thank heavens. But who on earth would—" "That's what I'm asking. Who carried the pies over to the hall?" "I did. Most of them, anyway. Marjorie Tate offered to take the last box. Said her car had more room." "Marjorie Tate. The same Marjorie who lost the choir solo to the Reverend's wife last month?" "Oh, Sheriff, she wouldn't. Would she?" "Does Marjorie keep a garden?" "The finest in the county. Blue ribbons three years running. Mostly perennials." "Foxglove's a perennial." "...I'll put the kettle on. Something tells me you'll want a bun after all."