Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DW4XGKEAY4MW593HRK6YFE

Flour dusted every surface of The Crooked Whisk, and the morning's cinnamon rolls had sold out before eight. The lemon tart cooling on the rack looked perfect, but something about it was off. "Taste this for me." "Is this the tart for the bake-off?" "Just taste it." "Lemon, butter, a little sugar... wait. Is that almond?" "There's no almond in my recipe." "Then why does it taste like it?" "Smell the vanilla." "Marzipan. Oh, no." "That's my vanilla, the brown bottle under the sink. Somebody swapped it." Out front, the bell over the door jingled, and the morning crowd wandered in, blissfully unaware. "Who else knows Agatha Pruitt can't eat almonds?" "Everyone who's ever read the sign taped to her pie stand." "So someone wanted Agatha to take one bite and swell up in front of the judges." "The judging's at noon." "Then we'd better figure out who had access to this kitchen. Fast." "Nobody has a key to that back door but me and Tilly's nephew." "Then somebody's had a copy made." "Tilly wouldn't." "Tilly would absolutely. She'd sell her own grandmother's recipe for that ribbon." "Then I'm pulling the tart from the competition." "Oh, no, you're not. Somebody just made this personal."