Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA7K295J4V613DBBF57KAG

Close the oven, would you? The raisin buns are gossiping. They’re not the only ones. Look at the sugar bin. Salt? No wonder Mrs. Pike spit out her shortbread. Someone wanted the judges to, too. The Harvest Fair's tomorrow. Before you wipe that up, see the print in the spill? Boot heel, small crack shaped like a star. I've seen it. At the library. On Tom Avery’s heel, shelving returns. Tom bakes with his mother here on Thursdays. He knows better. Then why is our maple-pecan recipe card missing? Maybe because the prize buys a new oven. Tempting motive. Hold on—what's tucked beneath the blueberry lattice? A note, dusted in powdered sugar. "Not yours. Midnight. Mill." Stolen recipe ransom? In a town of five streets? Small towns hold big secrets. Fold the note; don’t smudge it. We could tell Sheriff Lane, or we could bring cinnamon coffee. And hide behind the flour sacks. I prefer cinnamon coffee. Before that, swap the sugar back and lock the back door. Already done. And I moved the decoy recipe to the display. You made a decoy? With molasses stains like a treasure map? If they take it, their fingers will tell me tomorrow.