Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9Q3A2MP2DYMG29MYXS87KA

The bell over the bakery door gave its cheerful jingle, though the mood inside Buttercup Lane Bakes was anything but cheerful. Cinnamon and sugar still hung in the warm air, but the tray of blackberry scones on the counter had gone untouched. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t there when I opened.” “The ledger doesn’t simply vanish overnight.” “No, but people do borrow things around here as if flour and bookkeeping are public utilities.” Outside, rain pearled on the windowpanes. Inside, a smear of white icing streaked the glass display, and beside the cake stand sat a single muddy footprint, half-melted into the tile. “You’ve got a footprint by the éclairs.” “I have eyes.” “And that doesn’t concern you?” “What concerns me is that the pie contest is tomorrow, my prize money is in that ledger, and Mabel Crabtree will never let me forget it if I can’t enter.” A mixer hummed softly in the back room, abandoned mid-batter. On the counter, the little brass bell for service had been turned upside down. “That bell wasn’t like that yesterday.” “No.” “And you always leave it upright.” “Yes.” “So whoever came in last night wanted your attention drawn somewhere else.” “Or wanted me to miss what they actually took.” A pause settled between the sugared buns and cooling loaves. “You think this is about the contest?” “In a town this small? Everything is about the contest.”