Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8C8VJCDT5PS51WRPMN386

Flour dusted the air like powdered sugar as golden croissants cooled on wire racks. The scent of cinnamon and yeast clung to every surface. A bell chimed above the door, and the warmth shifted. “You’re in early. Trouble sleeping again?” “Same dream. The red hat by the willow tree, only this time it was humming.” “Humming? Hats don’t hum.” “This one did. Low, like a hymn. And someone left a jar of pickled beets outside my door last night. No note.” “Beets? You hate beets.” “Exactly.” Silence stretched, broken only by the tick of the oven timer. “Did you hear about Martha’s cat? Vanished two mornings ago. Then showed up yesterday, neatly groomed, with a lace doily tied around its neck.” “A doily?” “Pink. Monogrammed. Initials were ‘E.R.’” “Evelyn Riley? She’s been knitting those for weeks. Said they were gifts.” “She doesn’t even like cats.” Another pause. A loaf cracked in the cooling rack. “You don’t suppose… she’s collecting them? The hat, the beets, the cat…” “You’re not suggesting Evelyn Riley’s in the business of small-town paranormal kidnapping?” “I’m just saying—she bakes lemon tarts no one dares eat. Claims they’re ‘blessed.’” “Hmm. I always thought her buttercream was suspiciously smooth.” “Coincidence?” “Or craftsmanship.” Footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. The bell chimed again. “Close the shutters early tonight.”