Run: 2026-10-13-01M4V1PFRRY0YEAX6K9F179XCC

The bell above the door of *The Rolling Pin* chimed, letting in a draft of crisp autumn air that mingled with the warm, sugary scent of proofing dough and toasted pecans. Behind the glass display case, rows of glazed maple bars glistened under the soft yellow lights. Rain tapped a gentle rhythm against the front window, blurring the view of Main Street. "You're out of the lemon lavender scones." "Barnaby bought the last six at seven this morning. Claimed he needed the comfort food." "Comfort? His prize-winning dahlias were trampled, not murdered." "Try telling him that. Wait—is that blood on your gardening clogs?" "Beetroot juice. Mostly. Are you going to hand me that maple bar, or hold it hostage?" "Depends. Did you actually see Agatha near the greenhouse last night, or are you just stirring the pot?" "I saw her teal cardigan snag on the rosebushes. There isn't another sweater that hideous in all of Oakhaven." "That's hardly enough evidence to take to the Sheriff." "Which is why we aren't going to the Sheriff. Pass the napkins, and pour yourself a coffee. We have some snooping to do before the noon rush."