Run: 2026-03-18-01KM093KMGH2FZ0YR8QK7N36KX

The bell over Marigold Bakery chimed as Lena carried in a paper sack of flour and a growing sense of dread. “Tell me that’s not the same man from the grocery store.” “It is,” said Nora, peering through the front window. “And he’s been standing by the maple display for five minutes.” “Maybe he likes maple bars.” “Maybe he likes asking questions about old keys and dead aunts.” Lena set the sack down a little too hard. “He asked you about Aunt Elsie?” “He asked if she ever kept a recipe box in the brick oven room.” Lena stared at her. “Why would he ask that?” “That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me.” The bell jingled again, and a blast of cold air followed the man inside. He was dry-shod, neat as a church bulletin, with kind eyes that made him look trustworthy in the way snakes sometimes did. “Afternoon,” he said. “I’m looking for a butter tart and a bit of information.” “We’re fresh out of information,” Nora said, sliding a tray of cinnamon rolls forward. “But the tarts are excellent.” He smiled, but his gaze drifted past the display case to the back door. “Funny thing. Your aunt’s recipe cards were supposed to be locked away.” Lena went still. Nora’s voice turned light as powdered sugar. “Supposed to be by whom?” The man reached into his coat and produced a tarnished brass key. “By whoever took the first one.”