Run: 2026-03-12-01KKHZSH07PKWG1N9YDMQXM1G1

Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of the Sweet Haven Bakery, warming the glass cases of cinnamon rolls and lemon tarts. The scent of fresh bread wrapped around the two women like a favorite sweater as they lingered at their usual window table. I keep thinking about that broken display case at the historical society. The one with the antique recipe box? Terrible. And yet the only thing taken was Great-Aunt Louise’s handwritten pie crust instructions. Who steals a crust recipe? Someone who knows exactly how good it is. Remember how the mayor’s wife bragged about entering the fair this year? She did seem awfully confident for someone who usually burns everything. Then there was the little scrap of waxed paper left behind with those odd numbers on it. Looked like measurements, but not for any normal dough. Exactly. I found another scrap this morning tucked under my welcome mat. We’re being played with. Like someone wants us to solve it before the festival. Or wants us distracted while they take something bigger. Another scone? They’re still warm. Only if you promise we keep this between us until we know more. The sheriff never did figure out last summer’s missing preserves. The oven timer chimed softly in the background as the women exchanged knowing smiles, the cozy bakery suddenly feeling a touch more mysterious.