Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2ACQDSD43X81A4DHXNE7Q

The bell above the door jingled, and flour puffed from the counter as someone slapped down a newspaper. "Have you seen this?" "I've been elbow-deep in sourdough since four this morning. I haven't seen anything but the inside of an oven." "Mr. Pemberton's prize dahlias. Every last one, gone. Dug up overnight." "Well, that's terrible. Cinnamon roll?" "Don't change the subject. You were the last person to speak to him yesterday." "I sold him a lemon tart. That's hardly a conspiracy." "He was furious about the tart, wasn't he?" "He was furious about the *price* of the tart. He's been furious about the price of everything since 1987." "Then explain why there's dirt on your apron." "Because I keep a window box, Agatha. Geraniums. Do you want to inspect those, too?" "Perhaps I do." "Fine. But look closer at that dirt first. It's pale and chalky. Pemberton's garden is all dark loam." "...So it is." "And you might ask who else in this village has chalky soil and a sudden interest in dahlias." "The Hartleys' new greenhouse." "Now you're thinking. Take the cinnamon roll. It's on the house." "Bribery?" "Motivation."