Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6MYW00K2AGNFCQYDP95D5

The bell above the bakery door chimed, and the smell of cinnamon and warm glaze wrapped around the empty tables. A tray of scones rattled behind the counter. Outside, the town clock struck eight. Neither of them moved. "Tell me again why the sheriff was here before seven." "Because someone left a note in the suggestion box. Said the blue ribbon pie was never baked at all." "That's ridiculous. I saw it. Apples, lattice, one burnt corner." "You saw a pie. Did you see her bake it?" "...No. But she was flour to the elbows." "Flour can be borrowed. So can a blue ribbon." "Don't say that. Half the town would kill for that ribbon." "Exactly. And only one person had a key to the display case." "The case was locked." "Was it? Or did it just look locked?" "Stop. You're making my crullers sweat." "Then help me check the flour bin. If there's a recipe card hidden under the pastry stash, we'll know." "And if there isn't?" "We'll have another cinnamon roll and pretend we're not suspects." "Fine. But if we find a card, we call the sheriff." "Of course. After we dust it for sugar." "And if the card's in your apron pocket?" "Then I'll need a very good lawyer and a very large coffee."