Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9PSKQBMDWEMKS7TNNYT3XV

Morning light glazed the front windows of Honeycomb Bakery, turning the dusting of flour on the counter to gold. A tray of blueberry scones cooled beside the till, and the bell over the door gave a nervous little jingle as it shut. “You’ve rearranged the ginger biscuits.” “They were blocking the view of the street.” “You never care about the view.” “Today I do.” The espresso machine hissed. Outside, Main Street idled awake: a bicyclist wobbling past, Mrs. Crumb’s terrier straining at its lead, the flower shop awning still furled. “You saw it too, then.” “A black car parked behind the bakery at half past five is hard to miss.” “It wasn’t the car.” A pause settled between the cinnamon and sugar. “The basket by the back steps?” “And what was inside it.” “Don’t say it so calmly.” “How else should I say ‘a silver candlestick wrapped in a tea towel from St. Aldwyn’s church’?” The oven timer pinged, absurdly cheerful. “You think someone hid it there?” “I think someone wanted it found here.” “In your bakery?” “In our bakery, if you’re still taking wages.” “That depends. Are we solving this before the church fête, or after the police decide my shortbread knife looks suspicious?” A smile tugged loose despite everything. “Put the kettle on. If we’re being framed, we may as well be properly fortified.”