Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TAJ8VVCTJZGDX6PZ8FG8FA

The bell over the door jingled as rain tapped the bakery windows. Behind the counter, a tray of cinnamon rolls steamed, fresh from the oven. "You're telling me Harold didn't touch his morning scone?" "Not a crumb. And Harold's eaten the same scone every day for eleven years." "Maybe he wasn't hungry." "Harold is always hungry. That's why I found it strange—right before they found him behind the library." "Found him how?" "Dead as a doornail, that's how. Now lower your voice." "Sorry. It's just... poison? In my town?" "Our town. And nobody's said poison yet." "Nobody had to. I saw Doc Miller's face when he came in for his coffee. White as flour." "Pass me that piping bag. If we're going to talk murder, I need my hands busy." "Do you think the scone—" "Don't say it." "But if someone tampered with it, and it came from this bakery—" "Exactly. Which is why you're going to help me figure out who went near that tray yesterday morning." "Me? Why me?" "Because you frost cupcakes at four a.m. You see everyone who passes that window." "...The mayor's wife walks her poodle at four fifteen." "Now we're getting somewhere."