Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HJVTJ9N05RNMSXFQK4WEG

The bell above the bakery door gave a polite jingle, and warm air smelling of cinnamon and yeast wrapped around the room. Outside, rain pearled on Main Street. Inside, trays of apricot scones cooled beside a glass case of lemon tarts. “You’re early.” “I couldn’t sleep.” “That makes two of us. Coffee?” “If it’s strong enough to revive the dead.” “Charming choice of words for a Tuesday morning.” A mug slid across the flour-dusted counter. The woman who caught it glanced toward the window, where the church steeple blurred in the drizzle. “Everyone’s already talking.” “They would be. In Maple Hollow, a missing pie plate gets more attention than the mayor.” “This is a little bigger than a missing pie plate.” “I know.” The pastry brush in the baker’s hand stilled over a braid of dough. Behind them, the old refrigerator hummed like a nervous relative. “You found it, then?” “In the alley. Behind the flower shop.” “And?” “And I wish I hadn’t.” Silence settled briefly, broken only by the soft patter of rain and the click of china against the saucer. “The scarf was hers?” “That’s what worries me.” “You think she was there last night.” “I think someone wants us to believe that.” The baker looked at the sugared buns, suddenly distracted. “Well, that’s just the sort of thing that ruins a bake.” “And possibly the Founders Day parade.”