Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DYQ9G5PQ31Y9Q00VYZ0WZ1

“You're late,” Marjorie said, not looking up from the proofing dough. “Traffic on Elm. Somebody's parked a hay wagon across the whole street again.” The bell over the door jingled as the second voice stepped inside, shaking rain from a yellow raincoat. “Is that cinnamon I smell, or are you trying to bribe me?” “Both. The good rolls are cooling on the rack. Don't touch the one with the crooked icing, that's Hollis's.” “Hollis is dead, Marjorie.” “Which is exactly why nobody's allowed to touch his roll.” A pause, then the soft scrape of a stool. “You're still keeping it for him?” “I'm keeping it because someone poisoned his coffee with almond extract, and I baked that roll the morning before he died. The police took the coffee cup. They didn't take the roll.” “Marjorie.” “Don't. I know what it sounds like.” Flour puffed as she slapped the dough down. “But he came in every Tuesday for twenty years and never once asked for almond anything. Someone wanted him to think it was an accident.” “Or someone wanted you to think it wasn't.” Marjorie finally turned, wiping her hands slowly on her apron. “Then you'd better eat that crooked roll and tell me what you taste.”