Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09E5PRTH4CE263HREBZ850

The bell over the door chimed, and warm cinnamon air washed over them. Flour dusted the counter like fresh snow, and a tray of lemon tarts cooled under a tea towel. “You’re late,” Lena said, not looking up from the pastry bag. “The caramel will set if you keep hovering.” “Wouldn’t dream of hovering.” Grant leaned on the display case, eyes flicking to the door. “I came straight from the diner.” “Uh-huh. And yet you have that look.” “It’s not a look.” He pulled a folded note from his pocket, smoothing it against his palm. “It’s a… problem.” Lena finally met his gaze. “Drop the dramatic pause. What happened?” “Mrs. Pritchard’s been asking questions again.” Grant tapped the note. “She thinks someone tampered with the church raffle ledger. The one that was locked in the back office.” Lena’s fingers stilled. The bag hissed softly as she squeezed. “Tampered? In a town where everybody knows your sourdough starter?” “She says she saw a man in a gray cap near the office at closing.” Lena set the bag down, slow and careful. “Gray cap. Like the one that keeps coming in for day-old cannoli and never buys the coffee.” Grant exhaled. “So you’ve noticed.” “Of course I’ve noticed.” Lena reached for a fresh tin and slid it toward him. “Take these to the ladies’ group. Then tell me exactly what you heard at the diner.”