Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFD5VBRFKR00ZBMDTJKDK50

The bell jingled as Mrs. Whitaker entered, cinnamon scent wrapping her like a warm hug. "Morning, dear. You look like you’ve seen a ghost." She set a mug beside the counter, her fingers brushing the chipped porcelain. "I swear I saw something odd near the old mill last night." The baker’s eyebrows rose, still dusting her cheeks as she leaned against the oven. "Odd? Like what?" "A shadow moved in still air; a whisper hummed a church tune." A chuckle escaped her quietly, the kind that comes when secrets are half‑spoken. "Maybe it’s just the wind. Or perhaps the mill’s caretaker finally visited." Mrs. Whitaker smiled, lifting a scone to her lips. "Either way, I’ll keep an eye out. Maybe you’ll save me a slice of that apple pie later?" The baker winked, tapping rolling pin against counter. "Consider it done. Promise you’ll really tell me if you hear that humming again." She slid a slice of apple pie onto a plate, glaze glistening in the morning light. "Here’s your slice—if the mill sings again, don’t go alone." Mrs. Whitaker took the pie, smile widening as she breathed in the sweet aroma. "Thanks. I’ll bring my notebook just in case."