Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HMTQ3QSB5WWC8AB6YSB8P

The bell above the bakery door gave its polite little jingle as a draft of autumn air curled around the display case. Cinnamon buns glistened beneath their sugar glaze, and somewhere in back, a mixer thudded like a steady heart. “You’re early.” “You say that as though it’s a crime.” “In this town, showing up before the coffee’s poured is at least suspicious.” A porcelain cup clicked onto the counter. Outside, Main Street was still rubbing sleep from its eyes, but inside the bakery everything was warm butter, brown sugar, and the faint bite of nutmeg. “I saw the lights on at half past five.” “Insomnia. Or industry. I haven’t decided which sounds more respectable.” “Neither explains why your back door was wide open.” For a moment, even the mixer seemed to hesitate. “It was not wide open.” “Three inches is wide open when there’s a cash box and a raspberry tart worth stealing.” “No one in Maple Hollow would steal a tart.” “No, but they might steal what was tucked beneath the flour sack.” The tray being set down made a sharper sound than necessary. “You shouldn’t go snooping.” “And you shouldn’t hide envelopes in a bakery unless you want people curious.” “It wasn’t hidden.” “Then you won’t mind telling me why Eleanor Pike’s name was written across the front.” From the oven came a bright chime. “That,” came after a pause, “depends on whether you’d like the truth before or after breakfast.”