Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNG1FYPCX154WW4MRMFXX9F

The bell above the door chimed as Margaret slid a fresh blueberry muffin onto the counter. "Smells wonderful in here," the woman said, stepping closer to the glass case. "Is that your famous lemon bread I see?" "Mrs. Patterson, you have good eyes." Margaret wiped her hands on her apron. "Just took it out ten minutes ago. Would you like a slice?" "Please. And call me Eleanor." She paused, lowering her voice. "I suppose you've heard about the trouble at the Hartwell place." Margaret's hand paused over the bread knife. "The old estate? I heard something was stolen." "Not just stolen." Eleanor leaned forward conspiratorially. "The entire collection of antique jewelry. Disappeared right from the safe. And Harold Whitmore swears he saw someone lurking near the back garden just before midnight." "Harry Whitmore? That man imagines things." "That's what I thought too. But he also said the figure was carrying a red toolbox." Eleanor accepted the wrapped slice. "Didn't someone mention the Locksmith was in town? The one with the odd reputation?" Margaret felt a chill despite the warm bakery. "You don't think—" "I don't think anything." Eleanor smiled and placed exact change on the counter. "I just know questions have a way of being answered in this town. Usually over coffee and pastries."