Run: 2026-03-18-01KM098NYCGJBC0HN9375XSG65

The bell over the bakery door gave a cheerful jingle, and warm air wrapped around Clara like a quilt. Cinnamon, butter, and fresh bread drifted from the back room, making the whole place smell like breakfast and comfort. “You’re late.” “I brought coffee.” “That almost makes up for it.” Clara slid a paper cup across the counter. Mrs. Vale accepted it with a sniff, though the corners of her mouth softened. Behind her, trays of raspberry scones cooled beside a plate of lemon bars dusted so evenly with sugar they looked frosted. “I found something odd outside,” Clara said, lowering her voice. “Odd is what passes for excitement in this town.” “Someone left a flour print by the back door.” Mrs. Vale paused, one hand on the rolling pin. “A shoe print?” “More like a handprint. In flour.” That got her attention. She set the pin down and came around the counter. “Show me.” Clara reached into her tote and produced a small brass key, still dusted white at the edges. “It was beside it.” Mrs. Vale stared at the key, then toward the curtained doorway leading to the storeroom. “Well,” she said at last, “that’s not supposed to be there.” From the back, a muffled thump echoed through the bakery. They both turned. “Oh, dear,” Clara whispered. Mrs. Vale took another sip of coffee and reached for the rolling pin. “Now that,” she said, “is definitely not part of the recipe.”