Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HVDRNQB3NJWX2CM46AJR4

The bell over the bakery door gave its polite little jingle as a gust of November air chased in the scent of wet leaves. Behind the glass case, sugared jam buns shone under the lights, and a row of pumpkin tarts cooled beside the espresso machine with military precision. “I’m telling you, nobody forgets to pick up a three-tier wedding cake.” “Unless they eloped.” “With six dozen lemon cupcakes?” “Fair point.” A tray clinked softly onto the counter. Cinnamon, butter, and coffee wrapped around the room like a blanket. “It was supposed to go to the Hartwell reception at noon. Noon came and went. No bride, no groom, no frantic mother, not even a cousin with a folding table in the back of a hatchback.” “That is strange.” “Strange is one word for it. Ominous is another.” “Oh, don’t start. Last week you said Mrs. Pritchard’s missing cat was a sign of organized crime.” “And was I wrong? He came back wearing a rhinestone collar.” A laugh escaped, quickly smothered behind a teacup. “So what did you do with the cake?” “Put it in the cold room and tried not to take it personally.” “I’d take it personally. Especially after all those sugar roses.” There was a pause, then a lowered voice. “Someone did come for it, though.” “What?” “At half past twelve. Mud on the hem, pearls in her hair, and she said, ‘If anyone asks, the wedding went ahead exactly as planned.’”