Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0A8A1N9ARHT5H43PP39DS4

The bell over the bakery door gave its cheerful little jingle as rain ticked softly against the windows. Warmth rolled out in a wave of cinnamon, butter, and fresh bread. “You’re here early.” “Couldn’t sleep. Someone rang my doorbell at six and vanished before I got downstairs.” “That’s not exactly comforting.” “No, it’s not. Especially when they left this.” A folded square of paper slid across the pastry case. The baker squinted at it, flour dusting one cheek. “That’s just a note.” “Read it.” “‘Ask about the blue spoon.’ Well. That’s peculiar.” “Peculiar is one word.” “Did you ask anyone?” “There wasn’t anyone to ask. Except Mrs. Vale, and she was feeding her cat from a spoon, which felt unrelated.” A tray clattered in the back. The baker lowered her voice. “Mrs. Vale said something odd yesterday. She wanted extra shortbread for the historical society meeting, but she kept staring at the old sugar tin like it had insulted her.” “The tin with the lock?” “Yes.” “And you didn’t mention that?” “I was saving it for a slower day.” The rain tapped harder at the glass. From the front window, both of them looked toward the square, where the fountain sat slick and gray beneath the morning sky. “Do you think it’s about the missing spoon from the museum?” “I think,” said the baker, lifting a warm loaf from the rack, “that if someone is leaving clues before breakfast, we’d better put on another pot of coffee.”