Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAFDYTS17MBZEJZEETW28D

The bell over the door jangled, and the cinnamon rolls seemed to hold their breath. "You're early," came the voice from behind the counter. "The police don't open until nine." "Good thing I'm not here for the police." "Then what do you want? The lemon tarts are gone, and the sour cherry is still cooling." "A cup of coffee. Black. And an answer." "Answers are in short supply this morning." A tray clattered somewhere in the back. Neither of them moved toward it. "Marigold Pruitt came in yesterday, didn't she? Asked for the good scones." "Everyone asks for the good scones." "Did she pay in cash?" "Mostly. She always does." "Then why is there a twenty-dollar bill folded under the sugar jar, with a bakery receipt stapled to it? Dated the morning she vanished?" The silence stretched long enough for the oven timer to chime. "Sit down before you fall down. The tarts are a lost cause, but the truth I can still manage." "Start with the scones." "Marigold never bought scones. She bought the flour I keep under the register, the stuff nobody else is allowed to touch." "And the twenty?" "That's the question, isn't it?"