Run: 2026-03-09-01KKACC6W1NX17EQ0CM4MB09NB

The bell over the bakery door gave its polite little jingle as dawn buttered the windows gold. Cinnamon hung in the air, warm and persuasive, while trays of scones cooled beside the register. On the counter, between the sugar jar and a plate of crooked shortbread, lay a single pearl button. “That wasn’t here when I locked up.” “It looks expensive for this town.” “In this town, everything expensive has a story.” A rolling pin tapped lightly against the scarred wooden worktop. Outside, Main Street was still sleepy, the florist across the road only just lifting her blinds. “You don’t suppose it came off Mrs. Dalrymple’s coat?” “She’d have noticed. She notices when a raisin is missing from a bun.” A tray slid from the oven, releasing a rich puff of cardamom and heat. The front case gleamed with apricot tarts and cherry turnovers, all of it too cheerful for the unease gathering behind the counter. “Then whose is it?” “There was someone here after closing.” “That’s a terrible thing to say before breakfast.” “It’s a terrible thing to find before breakfast.” The button was turned over with the tip of a butter knife. On its underside, caught in the shank, was a thread of dark green wool. “Green. Not Mrs. Dalrymple.” “No.” The bell jingled again, though no one entered. “Did you lock the back door?” A pause. “I thought you did.”