Run: 2026-03-18-01KM089AA72QTB5FTHFP47Y7WS

The bell over Honeycomb Bakery gave a cheerful jingle as Nora stepped in from the cold, bringing a swirl of sleet and the scent of wet wool with her. The place was warm enough to make her glasses fog. Behind the glass case, rows of cinnamon twists, jam tarts, and glossy lemon bars gleamed under the morning lights. “You’re late.” “I know. The bridge was iced over, and then Mrs. Barlow decided to tell me, in great detail, about her grandson’s trout.” “Unforgivable.” Nora laughed and held out a paper bag. “I brought the blueberry scones you asked for.” “Bless you.” A crash sounded from the kitchen, followed by a sharp curse. “Is that Marge?” “Who else would it be?” The woman behind the counter wiped her hands on her apron and frowned toward the swinging door. “She’s been in a state all morning. Says somebody’s been moving things in the bakery after closing.” “Moving things?” “Little things. A rolling pin. The receipt book. Yesterday she found a sugar sack tied with ribbon.” Nora’s smile faded. “Ribbon?” “Pink, she said. Not our ribbon.” The kitchen door banged open, and Marge burst out clutching a flour-dusted envelope. “I found this behind the flour bin,” she said. “And before anyone asks, no, I did not put it there.” Nora took the envelope, noticing the seal at once. It was embossed with the town crest. “Well,” she said quietly, “that’s not a recipe card.”