Run: 2026-03-09-01KKABVYEP4573VTZY1E6616N9

The bell over the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the room itself felt strangely hushed. Morning light lay across the glass cases, turning the apricot tarts glossy as jewels. Behind the counter, trays of cinnamon buns cooled beneath a blue-checked towel, filling the shop with butter and spice. “You opened early.” “I couldn’t sleep.” “That makes two of us. The whole town was talking before sunrise.” “They do love a scandal with their coffee.” “This one’s hard to ignore. Mayor Pickering face-down in the gazebo is not exactly a whisper.” “And yet somehow they’ve still found room to speculate about my cardamom twists.” “They’re burned.” “They are caramelized.” A pause settled between the clink of china and the low hum of the refrigerator. “You heard about the napkin, then?” “I found out when Doris came in for scones and nearly swallowed her own tongue telling me. A bakery receipt in his pocket.” “From here.” “From yesterday.” “That doesn’t mean anything. Half this town carries my receipts around like valentines.” “This one had a note on the back.” The pastry bag in waiting hands crinkled softly. “What note?” “Meet me at nine. Come alone.” “That could be anyone’s handwriting.” “Could be. But there’s flour on your sleeve, sugar in your hair, and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “In this town, that usually means I’m about to be volunteered for something.”