Run: 2026-03-03-01KJV0J6YS12934DNXPZGW7MXA

The scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar clung to the air, thick enough to mask the metallic tang of the morning rain. "You didn’t have to close the shop early just for a scone." "I didn't close for the scone, I closed because the front window was shattered." "A stray baseball, surely. Kids in this town have terrible aim." "A baseball doesn't leave behind a vintage brass key on the tile floor, especially not a key that fits the lock of the mayor’s private office." "Perhaps you should call the sheriff instead of dusting for fingerprints with a pastry brush." "And let him find the note tucked inside the display case? The one written on official stationery?" "What does it say?" "It says 'check the flour bin,' but I’m far too afraid to look." "Then move aside. If there’s a secret hidden in the sourdough, I’d rather face it before the morning rush." "Careful. Whoever broke that window didn't come in for a muffin, and they certainly didn't come in for a chat. Give me the stool; my knees aren't what they used to be."