Run: 2026-09-24-01M39W5TQR5XNXAPD38ACMFZFV

The bell over the door jingled as the morning fog rolled in behind her. "You're early. The cinnamon rolls aren't even out of the oven yet." "I'm not here for pastry. Well, not only for pastry." "Mm. That tone again. Last time you used that tone, Harold Whitfield ended up answering questions at the sheriff's office." "This is different. Did Marlene come in yesterday around four?" "Four? Busy hour. Sold out of sourdough, argued with the Postmaster about his bill, and yes—Marlene bought two lemon tarts." "Two? She always buys one. She told me herself she watches her sugar." "People change." "Not Marlene. And she left one on my doorstep last night, untouched, still in the box." "Maybe she was being neighborly." "Maybe. Or maybe she wanted me to have a souvenir before she skipped town. Her car's gone, and her cottage windows were dark when I walked past at dawn." "The tarts were fine when they left here. Fresh, I mean." "Nobody's accusing your baking. But someone came in right after her, didn't they? You've been chewing your lip since I walked in." "There was a man. Bought nothing. Just stood by the window, watching the street." "Describe him." "Trench coat. Gloves. And he paid for nothing with a hundred-dollar bill."