Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HQJED15K4VN8CTVY33V6A

The bell above the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the room itself felt oddly hushed. Morning light pooled across the glass case, gilding rows of apricot tarts and sugared buns. Behind the counter, a tray of cinnamon twists sat untouched, one space empty as if someone had changed their mind mid-theft. “You moved the lemon scones.” “I most certainly did not. They were beside the blackberry muffins when I locked up.” “Then unless the sourdough learned to reorganize shelves in the night, someone was in here.” A pause settled between the whir of the old refrigerator and the soft tick of the wall clock. Near the till, flour dusted the floor in a thin white veil, interrupted by one clear footprint. “That’s not your shoe.” “No, and I don’t know anyone in Maple Brin who wears a heel that sharp before breakfast.” “It gets better. Look there.” Tucked beneath the cake stand was a single pearl button, creamy and luminous against the black-and-white tile. “Well. That’s too fancy for our usual cookie bandits.” “And too small for Mr. Hargrove, unless he’s taken up doll clothes.” A laugh escaped, quick and nervous. “So someone sneaks into a bakery and steals exactly one cinnamon twist?” “Or they were interrupted.” “By what?” The bell above the door jingled again. “Perhaps by whoever just walked in wearing one pearl button short.”