Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9PQ2Z4KHSCHMQ8BY3DGQY

The bell over the door chimed as the morning rush thinned, leaving the bakery steeped in warm sugar and quiet. “You closed early yesterday. That’s not like you.” “Hard to sell blueberry scones when someone leaves a dead body by the delivery entrance.” “So it’s true. I thought it was just Mrs. Pritchard confusing the word ‘body’ with ‘bag of flour’ again.” “Flour doesn’t usually wear Italian loafers.” “You looked, then.” “I nearly tripped over him. Right there by the milk crates. Still had a cupcake box in his hand.” “From here?” “The logo was ours. Neatly tied ribbon, too. I don’t remember packing it.” “Maybe you just forgot. You do pack a lot of boxes.” “I forget my car keys, not entire orders. And the box was empty.” “Empty. In an alley. Next to a corpse. That’s… festive.” “The police asked if we’ve changed any recipes. I thought they were joking.” “People around here would riot if you messed with their cinnamon knots, not drop dead.” “They took the sugar canister.” “Took it? From your station?” “And scraped the frosting bowl. Apparently, someone thinks my buttercream is deadly.”