Run: 2026-10-13-01M4TBSGSJNJQAKDWDHTFNXQVD

The bell over the Crumb & Crust door jingled as morning fog pressed against the windows. Inside, cinnamon warmed the air. "You're saying he was found behind the flour mill?" "Face-down in a pile of bran muffins, no less. Myrtle's, from the church social." "That's odd. He hated bran. Told me so Tuesday, right over this counter." "Then why was he carrying a bag of them?" "Maybe he wasn't carrying it. Maybe someone put it there." The oven timer chimed. A tray of scones emerged, golden and steaming. "Mrs. Pemberton ordered twelve dozen bran muffins last week. Never picked them up." "Twelve dozen? What's a woman need with that many muffins?" "Exactly what I've been wondering. Along with why she paid cash, and why she asked if they could be made... extra strong." "Strong?" "Her word. Strong bran muffins. Who says that?" "Someone who knows the victim had a heart condition, perhaps." Silence, save for the rain starting against the glass. "We should call the sheriff." "We should. But first—try a scone. Sleuthing on an empty stomach never solved anything."