Run: 2026-11-11-01M75RXPVGB0SC043KERBC5T06

The brass bell above the door jingled, letting in a crisp autumn breeze that mingled with the warm, comforting scent of cinnamon and yeast. Inside *The Rolling Pin*, morning sunlight glinted off the curved glass display case, illuminating neat rows of glazed scones, blackberry tarts, and raspberry danishes. Fine white flour dusted the worn wooden countertop like the season's first snow. "Tell me you didn't sell the last almond croissant to Arthur Pendelton." "Why shouldn't I? He paid in exact change and left a five-dollar tip." "Because the Sheriff just cordoned off the town gazebo, and Arthur is lying face down in the prized petunias." "Good heavens. Was it his ticker finally giving out?" "Heart attacks don't usually smell suspiciously like bitter almonds. Wait a minute—didn't you tell me you were completely out of almond extract yesterday?" "I was. Agatha dropped by at dawn with a spare bottle from her pantry so I could finish the morning bake." "Agatha? Arthur’s recently disinherited ex-wife?" "Oh, dear. Do you think I should pull the rest of the tray from the case?" "Unless you want half the town council joining him in the flowerbed, yes. Grab the silver tongs, lock the front door, and don't touch a single crumb." In the corner, the vintage espresso machine hissed violently, shattering the sudden, heavy silence.