Run: 2026-03-18-01KM084RQNP90VQDJXQ3Q8YW45

The bell over the bakery door gave its cheerful little jingle, and warm air wrapped around me like a blanket. Cinnamon, butter, and fresh bread drifted out from the kitchen, making my stomach growl in spite of the late hour. “Tell me that isn’t the last peach tart.” “It is, unless you can sweet-talk Mrs. Dallow into giving up hers.” “She’d sooner surrender her cat.” “Her cat has better manners.” A low laugh slipped from the back table. Mrs. Dallow, perched with her tea and a suspiciously full pastry box, lifted one eyebrow over the rim of her cup. “I heard that.” “Then you also heard I said your cat has better manners, which was a compliment.” “It was not.” The baker emerged from behind the counter with a tray of sugar-dusted scones. “If you’re both here to argue, at least argue slowly. These need five more minutes before they’re ready.” “No one comes to Maple Street Bakery to argue,” I said. The baker set the tray down and glanced toward the window, where the town square glowed softly under the streetlamps. “Oh? Then what do they come for?” Mrs. Dallow closed her pastry box with a delicate snap. “To gossip, dear. And tonight, they’ve got a fine story already.” The baker frowned. “What story?” “The one about the missing key,” I said, lowering my voice. “And the odd footprints by the back door.” For a moment, even the ovens seemed to go quiet.