Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFFK45HEQTETGE9D3P2KVKJ

Sun slanted through gingham bakery curtains, gilding flour dusting the oak counter, the only sounds the slow hum of the proofing oven and the soft crinkle of a blackberry scone’s wax paper wrapper. The bell above the front door had fallen silent ten minutes prior, the last of the morning rush gone home with loaves of sourdough and pear cinnamon muffins. You didn’t touch that plain cardboard box on the back shelf by the root beer cases, did you? The one with no label? Was it even there this morning? I stacked aluminum pie tins on that shelf yesterday, never glanced at anything else. What would a random box be doing back there, anyway? Why’s it such a big deal? I snuck a peek when I went back for extra napkins ten minutes ago. The corner of Mrs. Hale’s silver locket was sticking out. The one that vanished from her estate sale the week after she moved into the nursing home. The one engraved with the wild rose she pinned to every sweater she ever wore. Someone’s been hiding it here.