Run: 2026-03-09-01KKAC4ADQYV5N3YFZT01PT3W4

The bell over the bakery door gave its polite little jingle, swallowed at once by the warm breath of cinnamon, yeast, and sugar. Morning light fell across the glass case, catching on iced buns and the powdered tops of blackberry scones. Near the register, a tray of honey cookies sat untouched except for one gap in the neat spiral. “You moved the cat cookies.” “They were too close to the lemon bars. Mrs. Hargrove says the licorice whiskers shed.” “Licorice doesn’t shed.” “In this town, it does if it gives people something to complain about.” A fresh loaf thumped onto the cooling rack. Outside, someone rattled the latch of the bicycle stand, then hurried on. “There were twelve.” “There are eleven. I can count before coffee, which is practically a miracle.” “You sold one early?” “I wasn’t even downstairs early. The back door was already unlatched when I came in.” The mixer on the counter clicked as it settled. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of steam from the espresso machine. “That’s not funny.” “I’m not joking.” “Nothing else missing?” “One cookie, and Old Tom’s apron from the hook.” “The blue striped one?” “The one with flour on it older than both of us.” A pause. Then a glance toward the flour-dusted back hall, where the pantry door stood open by an inch. “Tell me you didn’t leave that open.” “Tell me why there are muddy footprints shaped like church shoes.”