Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09Z9MQHERGWDH41EZJEB3D

The bell over the bakery door chimed, soft as a bedtime song. Cinnamon and warm butter hung in the air, battling the morning draft that kept trying to sneak in from the street. “Morning, Hattie. You look like you’ve been up since sunrise.” “I was up,” Hattie said, peering into the oven window like it might confess. “It’s the new pastries. Someone swapped the labels again.” The flour-sack apron on the other woman’s waist creaked as she leaned over the counter. “Swapped how?” “Cherry danishes were meant for Mrs. Donnelly’s bridge club. Now they’re on the shelf beside the lemon tarts, like they’re related.” Hattie slid a tray forward. A smear of red jam marked the edge of one pastry, too fresh to have been baked yesterday. “They could’ve mixed up the order slips.” “They didn’t even bother with the proper boxes.” Hattie tapped the bottom of the tray. A tiny oval of glitter glue clung to the cardboard, the kind kids use for crafts. “Who decorates bakery boxes with glitter?” The other woman’s eyes narrowed toward the receipt book. “Someone who wants to be noticed.” “Or someone who wants us to stop noticing the real clues,” Hattie said, lowering her voice. “Like who’s been sneaking in here before the delivery truck arrives.”