Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DZ2F0JV4X5F56H8HP9EY65

"You're late," Marigold said, not looking up from the tray of cinnamon rolls. "The sign on Elm Street said Sweet Pea Bakery closed at six. It's six-fifteen." "Then you should have knocked louder. I heard you the first time." "I did knock. Twice. Nobody answered." "Well, I was busy." Flour dusted the counter like fresh snow. "Did you bring the envelope?" "Depends. Did you bake the lemon tarts for Mrs. Petrie's funeral luncheon?" "Of course. They're in the cooler, same as always." "Only they're not. I checked." A pause. The oven timer ticked. "Then someone moved them." "Or someone who knows your kitchen better than you think." "Don't be ridiculous. Only the staff have keys." "Exactly. And the staff is you, me, and that nervous boy who washes dishes." "Tomas wouldn't." "No? Then tell me why there's a smear of blueberry jam on the back door handle, and why it's still warm from the oven." Silence settled between them, thick as frosting. "Fine," came the reply, quieter now. "Pour us both some coffee. And lock the front door. This is going to take a while."