Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1H1ZJFZTJE0J5WBHW48V1M

The bell above the bakery door gave a polite jingle each time the wind nudged it, though no one came in. Morning light pooled over the glass case, turning apricot danishes and sugared scones into treasure. Behind the counter, the espresso machine hissed like it disapproved of secrets. “You rearranged the lemon tarts.” “They looked nervous.” “Pastry cannot look nervous.” “Then why do those éclairs seem to be hiding?” A tray settled onto the counter with a soft clink. Cinnamon and warm butter wrapped the room so snugly it felt impossible that anything unpleasant could happen in Maple Hollow. “You heard about the fundraiser?” “I heard Mrs. Bellweather’s antique cake stand vanished before the ribbon-cutting.” “Vanished is a theatrical word.” “In this town, everyone prefers theatrical words. Missing sounds so ordinary.” A pause followed, filled by the scrape of icing being smoothed over a bun. “You think someone took it?” “I think someone wanted people to notice.” “That sounds worse.” “Not worse. Just pettier.” Outside, a bicycle rattled past. Inside, the old wall clock ticked over to nine. “Well, petty or not, the stand turned up in the alley behind the post office.” “Empty?” “With a smear of raspberry frosting and one perfect fingerprint in the cream.” “That does sound theatrical.” “And now Mrs. Bellweather wants a dozen currant scones for a committee meeting.” “That sounds like motive.”