Run: 2026-11-11-01M75PV2JJGXKNRS8T04770A2T

The brass bell above the door of *The Flour Pot* jingled, letting in crisp autumn air that mingled with the warm scent of cinnamon and butter. Behind the glass display case, rows of glazed scones sat untouched, while flashing police lights from Main Street reflected off the espresso machine. "Did the sheriff really impound a whole tray of your lemon tarts?" "Every single one. Right out from under Mrs. Gable’s nose, heaven rest her soul." "I always said her sweet tooth would be the death of her. Though I imagined clogged arteries, not cyanide." "It couldn't have come from my kitchen! Wait... almond extract smells like cyanide, doesn't it?" "Only the bitter kind. Don't you just use vanilla and Meyer lemons for those?" "Always. Unless someone swapped my extracts during the morning rush." "Your alley door *was* propped open to cool the pies. Half the town walked past it." "Oh, dear. Do prison jumpsuits clash with auburn hair?" "Stop hyperventilating into the powdered sugar and pour us two coffees. You aren't going to jail. We just need to figure out who hated Agatha Gable even more than she hated underbaked crusts."