Run: 2026-09-24-01M39W22SVXD7SMH7TN667EB9Y

The bell above the door jingled, cinnamon and warm sugar drifting out to meet the morning fog. "You're up early, even for baking day." "Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about Harold." "The one who collapsed at the chess club?" "Right after eating one of my lemon tarts. Or so everyone keeps saying." "You didn't—" "Of course not! But Gladys told me something strange. A woman came in that afternoon asking if we carried arsenic." "Arsenic! In a bakery?" "For rats, supposedly. But she kept staring at the display case. The lemon tarts, specifically." "Did she buy one?" "In a pink box. Harold's wife despises pink. Always has." "So the tart wasn't for the wife..." "Exactly. And I saved the last one from that batch. It's in the back, wrapped up tight, waiting for the sheriff." "He takes his coffee black, doesn't he?" "Two sugars, actually. I want him in a generous mood when I hand over my only evidence." "Your only evidence? What about Gladys?" "Gladys is already hiding in the storeroom. She says the woman with the pink box smelled of cigarettes. Harold's chess partner smokes like a chimney." "The quiet one with the mustache?" "The very same. Pour the coffee, dear. I hear his truck now."