Run: 2026-03-18-01KM081G6R75YGH2F30PZBF8QP

The bell over Poppy’s Bakery gave a cheerful jingle as rain tapped the front window. “Tell me that smell is cinnamon and not trouble.” “It’s cinnamon. Trouble hasn’t earned the right to smell this good.” A tray of still-warm rolls cooled on the counter, their icing glistening like tiny white ribbons. Outside, Main Street was nearly empty except for the mayor’s dented sedan and Mrs. Bell’s umbrella bobbing past the bookshop. “You’re late.” “I was at the hardware store.” “For flour?” “For gossip.” A flour dusting drifted off the apron with every laugh. “And?” “And the back door was open again.” The rolling pin paused. “That’s the third time this week.” “Fourth, if you count the latch being snapped off and glued back on.” “It wasn’t glued.” “It was painted over.” The bakery seemed to hold its breath with the ovens. “Did you see anyone?” “Only a muddy print on the tile. Too small for a man. Too neat for a stray dog.” A tin of ginger snaps clicked softly as it was set down. “Then someone’s been borrowing more than sugar.” Outside, thunder muttered over the rooftops. “Should I call Sheriff Hale?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because the person who keeps opening your back door just walked in wearing my aunt’s raincoat.” The bell over the door jangled again.