Run: 2026-10-09-01M4G09TDGSZDAKH7GAVT0HDYX

“You're late,” Marjorie said, not looking up from the proofing dough. “The cat knocked over my coffee again.” Bea shook rain from her umbrella and set it in the stand by the door. “Did you hear about the Fenwick ledger?” “Everyone heard. Ray Fenwick hasn’t shown his face at the bank since Tuesday.” “Then why was his car parked behind the church at six this morning?” “Maybe he likes the quiet.” “Nobody likes that church quiet, Marjorie.” A timer buzzed. Marjorie pulled out a tray of cinnamon rolls, glossy and steaming, and slid them onto the cooling rack. “Careful with that tone. You sound like you’ve already picked a culprit.” “I’ve picked a suspect. There’s a difference.” “Is there?” Bea leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. “His shoes were wet. Mud on the tread, and the lot was dry.” “Stop it. You’ve been reading those detective novels again.” “Someone has to.” A pause. “Did he buy anything this morning?” “Two loaves of rye and a black coffee. Paid in exact change.” “Exact change. Who does that unless they want to leave no trace?” “Oh, sit down before you wear a hole in my floor.” Bea didn’t sit. She was already staring at the bakery's back window, where a figure in a gray coat stood very still in the alley, watching them both.