Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9Q1CYGKPEKQJS26HTNXNG

The bell over the bakery door chimed, letting in a gust of cold air and the faint smell of woodsmoke from Main Street. Glass cases gleamed with rows of cinnamon rolls and lemon squares, and the coffee machine hissed softly in the corner. “You’re late. The croissants almost staged a mutiny.” “Blame the sheriff. He stopped me on the sidewalk to ask why I was carrying a box of sugar instead of a box of evidence.” A cup clinked against its saucer. “Evidence doesn’t make a decent meringue. Besides, you’re the one who swore nothing ever happens in Maplebridge.” “Nothing used to. Then Old Man Darlow turns up dead, and suddenly everyone’s ordering comfort scones and asking if I’ve seen his will.” A tray slid onto the counter, filling the air with the smell of butter and almonds. “You really think the will’s missing?” “I think people don’t ask that many questions about a will unless they’re afraid of what’s in it.” A chair scraped across the floorboards. “And what makes you think the answer is hiding in a bakery?” “Because someone slipped this under the cinnamon twists at six this morning.” A crinkled scrap of paper rustled. “That’s Darlow’s handwriting.” “And that,” came the quiet reply, “is a recipe he never shared with anyone.”