Run: 2026-10-06-01M48VXTJCDZX5J1SR5THSD5GY

The bell above the door chimed, and warm cinnamon air wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. "Morning, Clara. The sourdough's still proofing, but the cardamom knots are fresh." "Perfect. I'll take two, and whatever's left of yesterday's lemon bars." "Three left. Mrs. Patterson took one, said her grandson's visiting from Portland." "Of course she did. Heard anything about the Henderson place on Maple?" "Sold. Closed yesterday. Cash buyer, no agent." "That's three houses in six months. Someone's building an empire." "Or running from one." The oven timer dinged. Clara reached for the tongs, then paused. "You ever wonder why we notice things like that? Three houses, cash buyers, no names?" "Because we're nosy old ladies with too much time and excellent hearing." "Because we're *good* at it." She slid the knots into a paper bag, the lemon bars into a box. Outside, a blue sedan idled at the curb, windows tinted. "That's the fourth car this week," Clara said quietly. "Same make. Same model." "Coincidence." "Small towns don't have coincidences. They have *patterns*." The bell chimed again. They both turned. "Afternoon," said a woman in a linen suit, smiling too widely. "I'm looking at the Henderson place. Do you know anything about the neighborhood?"