Flour tells the truth even when the label does not.

Willowbrook’s first Harvest Market is the most visible thing Rory Lane has ever put her name to, and Rory’s Corner Café is the anchor venue. Bunting on the high street, trestle tables, woodsmoke, and every stall holder in the village trusted to declare their own allergens on a form nobody checked.

By the close of the first day, the travelling food journalist who came to write about artisan provenance is dead in the storage marquee, and her EpiPen was empty before she ever needed it. The trail runs through a press tasting kit assembled by hand, a supplier invoice folded into the lining of a bread crate, a certification number that returns no result, and one handwritten amendment added in fresher ink than the card it sits on.

The fourth Rory Lane Café Mystery. Warm and golden on the surface, with something quietly rotten underneath, and a lie that started as a temporary measure and never stopped.