Run: 2026-03-18-01KM086XZA7GHYG2AK984QDPJT

The bell over the bakery door gave a cheerful jingle as Clara stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold morning air with her. Warmth, sugar, and butter wrapped around her like a blanket. Behind the glass case, rows of lemon bars, cinnamon twists, and glossy berry tarts gleamed under the lights. “You’re late.” “Good morning to you too.” “I saved you the last blueberry scone.” “Then I forgive you.” A tin mixing bowl clinked somewhere in the back. Flour dusted the apron of Mrs. Bell, who stood with one hand on her hip and the other on a tray of cooling rolls. “You look like someone who has news,” she said. “I look like someone who got caught in a rainstorm on the way here.” “That too. But you’ve got that face.” “Which face?” “The one you make when you’re trying not to gossip.” Clara smiled despite herself and leaned over the case. “If I were gossiping, I’d say Mr. Finch was seen near the old mill last night.” Mrs. Bell lifted her brows. “At his age?” “Apparently so.” “Well,” she said, sliding the scone into a paper bag, “if he’s involved in anything suspicious, it had better not be near my shop. I’ve got tarts to sell and a pie contest to win.” Clara laughed. “In this town, those might be the same thing.”