Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08PZ48K5PF86S7W7GTKHQZ

The bell over the door chimed as the last tray slid into the cooling rack. Warm cinnamon hung in the air like a promise, and flour dusted the counter in pale halos around the rolling pin. “Tell me you didn’t do it,” Mara said, tapping the order slip with her knuckle. “The cinnamon rolls were in the display case at nine. I watched you carry them in.” “I carried them,” June replied, tightening her apron strings. “Then I went to grab more raisins. By the time I came back, the case was empty—and Mr. Haskins was asking questions.” “Questions,” Mara echoed. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Like he always does when someone’s missed a meeting.” June’s eyes flicked to the back table where a dark smudge marked the edge of the pastry bag. “It wasn’t me. Besides, you think I’d swap chocolate for cinnamon? The man can’t even say the word ‘pecan’ without sounding angry.” Mara exhaled, turning the slip over. “Someone left that mark. Look—flour, sure, but also… grease.” June crouched by the counter, sniffing carefully. “Motor oil.” Mara straightened, fear mixing with anger. “That’s not baking. That’s sabotage.” She glanced at the front window, where the street glowed with late-afternoon sun. “Now we find who brought the trouble in.”