Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08EWBZX374RTCEP3QBF7BH

The bell over Poppy Lane Bakery gave a cheerful jingle as Nora pushed open the door, bringing in a ribbon of cold morning air and the smell of cinnamon. “Tell me I’m imagining things.” “Depends. Are you imagining the mayor’s wife hiding behind the scone tower?” “I’m not imagining it.” “A little to the left, then. She can’t see us from there.” Nora set a paper bag on the counter and lowered her voice. “Why is Alice Wren crouched between the oat bran and the lemon bars?” “Because she’s either playing a very elaborate prank or she found something she didn’t like in her husband’s office.” “Or she’s avoiding the quilting club.” “Same thing, in this town.” From behind the shelves came a muffled sniffle, followed by a crackle of paper. “Don’t say anything,” Nora murmured. “If she’s crying, I’ll never know whether to offer a tart or a tissue.” “I vote tart.” “You would.” The bakery door jingled again, and Mr. Duffy from the hardware store stepped inside, hat in hand and looking far too pleased with himself. “Well,” he said, glancing toward the scone tower, “I suppose the whole town knows by lunch now.” Nora and June exchanged a quick look. “Knows what?” Mr. Duffy smiled. “That the mayor’s wife just found the key to the safe. And the note tucked under it.”