Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8MKN3P2Y4Y9Y0MJF0GF2H

The morning sun warmed the checkered tiles of the bakery, where the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar curled through the air. A bell chimed above the door, and flour dust danced in the light. “You’re in early.” “Couldn’t sleep. Mrs. Peabody’s rooster started crowing at three again. Claims it’s a faulty internal clock, but I suspect she wound it up on purpose.” “That woman thrives on chaos.” “Remember the great zucchini incident of last summer?” “Heart attack at the farmers’ market. I still can’t look at squash the same way.” A loaf cracked in the cooling rack. The counter gleamed with jam jars and chipped teacups. “New scones today?” “Lemon poppy, with a hint of lavender from my garden. Though after the incident with Miss Clara’s cat and the essential oil bottle, I’ve started locking the shed.” “She still thinks her tabby’s missing?” “Officially vanished. Though Doris swears she saw him sunbathing on old man Hemsworth’s porch last Tuesday.” “Hemsworth hates cats.” “Exactly. Which is why I think he’s hiding something.” “You always find conspiracy in pastry.” “And you ignore it. That’s why Doris found three teacups in the recycling when she only drank one coffee last week.” “She must’ve miscounted.” “Three cups. One saucer. And a smear of strawberry jam that doesn’t match her usual preserves.” Silence. The oven timer buzzed. “You think he’s involved?” “I think no one eats jam at eleven a.m. unless they’re hiding something.”