Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1H3FC22FDMN000MZWT52JK

The bell above the bakery door gave a polite little jingle, and a gust of November air followed someone in, carrying the smell of wet leaves. Behind the glass case, apricot danishes gleamed beside neat rows of lemon tarts, while cinnamon and yeast warmed every corner of the room. “You’re late.” “I brought the eggs, didn’t I?” “You brought six.” “You said half a dozen.” “I meant half a dozen cartons.” There was a soft thump as a paper sack landed on the counter. Outside, rain stippled the window, blurring Main Street into watercolor grays. “Well, no one ever accused you of clarity.” “No one ever accused you of listening.” A tray scraped across the counter. The sugar cookies on it were cut into perfect maple leaves, each one iced in gold and russet. “Are those for the Harvest Social?” “They were, until I found the note.” The room seemed to tighten around the words. “What note?” “The one tucked under the flour tin. ‘Ask Edith about the blue scarf.’” “That’s not funny.” “I didn’t think so either, especially since Edith hasn’t set foot in this bakery since the church raffle.” “And since when do mysterious notes turn your pastry case into a courtroom?” “Since Edith Hargrove was seen at the river last night.” Silence settled, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. “The blue scarf she wore to the raffle?” “The very one they found snagged on the bridge.”