Run: 2026-10-13-01M4V1R9W2SJVJZ7BW983XG7WF

The tiny brass bell above the door of The Flour Pot chimed, welcoming a draft of crisp autumn air into the warmth of cinnamon and browned butter. Behind the glass display case, rows of glazed maple scones and pumpkin tarts glistened under the soft yellow lights. A lone wooden rolling pin sat abandoned on a flour-dusted butcher block beside a copy of the morning gazette. "I told you not to use the almond extract in the morning batch." "It wasn't almond extract. Check the coroner's preliminary report." "Since when do you have access to the coroner’s report?" "Since the deputy developed a weakness for my raspberry danishes. Now, are you going to help me hide the rolling pin, or just stand there holding that whisk?" "The rolling pin? Don't tell me the mayor was bludgeoned with our best French beechwood." "Of course not. He was poisoned. Which brings us back to the extract." "I didn't touch the almond! I used the vanilla from the top shelf, right next to your grandmother's ceramic flour canister." "That wasn't the vanilla." "Then what in heaven's name did I put in the mayor's muffin?" "Foxglove. And here comes the sheriff."