Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAEGBS7FHAAFK5RB3E6KXJ

The bell above the bakery door gave its familiar, tinny chirp, and the warm air smelled of cinnamon, yeast, and something burnt just at the edges. “Morning. If you’re here for scones, you’re too late.” “I’m here for answers, not scones. Though I’ll take one if you’ve got a mercy crumb left.” “Answers don’t come with clotted cream.” “They might if you hide them under the counter with the cash box.” “That’s a terrible habit to start. What do you want to know?” “Why your back door was propped open at midnight.” “It wasn’t. I was asleep at midnight.” “Then someone else was awake in your flour.” “Flour tracks aren’t proof. Every cat in Maple Hollow thinks this place is a buffet.” “Cats don’t wear men’s loafers. Size eleven. And they don’t smear raspberry jam on a window latch.” A tray clattered softly. The glass case caught a stray beam of winter light, turning the éclairs glossy as secrets. “Raspberry is popular.” “Not with the victim. He was allergic.” Silence, thick as icing. “If you’re implying I—” “I’m implying you saw something and you’ve been kneading it into silence.” “I saw a car. Dark blue. No plates on the front.” “That’s not nothing.” “It is if I say it out loud and someone decides I’m next on the menu.” “Then we say it over coffee. Quietly. With the door locked.”