Run: 2026-03-09-01KKAC2N3XJFD59T50E9X2EF48

The bell over the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the mood inside Buttercup Lane Bakes was anything but cheerful. Cinnamon and warm sugar still hung in the air, but the tray of blackberry scones on the counter had gone untouched. “You rearranged the biscuit tins.” “They needed rearranging.” “No, they needed leaving alone. Mabel always kept the ginger snaps by the till.” “Mabel also never labeled the flour properly, and now half the town thinks I’ve sold them rye instead of whole wheat.” A dusting of flour clung to the glass case, catching the pale morning light. Outside, bicycles leaned against flower boxes, and Main Street carried on as if the police cart parked at the curb weren’t the most exciting thing to happen in years. “Did you hear what Officer Bell said?” “I heard enough.” “He found Mr. Pritchard’s ledger in the proofing drawer.” “That doesn’t make me feel better.” “It should. It means someone wanted it hidden here.” “Or wanted it found here.” The espresso machine hissed like an indignant cat. “You think one of our customers planted it?” “I think in a town this small, the person who smiles while buying a lemon bun can still be keeping secrets.” “That sounds unkind.” “That sounds accurate.” A pause settled between them while the old wall clock ticked above the bread shelves. “Do you still want me to ice the birthday cake?” “Yes. Blue roses.” “For the mayor’s wife?” “For the woman most likely to tell us who was in the bakery after closing.”