Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ03QDSK82DE7SEA2E699VYN

The scent of vanilla and caramelized sugar hung thick in Flourish Bakery. A tiny bell jingled as the front door closed. “They’re gone. Just vanished from the locked recipe box.” “You mean to tell me someone broke in overnight, stole nothing else, and made off with your grandmother’s handwritten card for the perfect raisin bran muffin?” “Why would anyone do that? It’s not a state secret. It’s bran muffins!” “Maybe it is a secret. To someone. Think—who else has been asking about that specific recipe?” The question hung in the warm air, punctuated by the slow, rhythmic tick of the antique wall clock. The speaker paused, then lowered her voice, though the shop was empty. “Mrs. Henderson. At the knitting circle last Tuesday. She said her batch never turns out right. She asked three times if you were sure you used *real* buttermilk.” The baker’s eyes widened above her flour-dusted apron. The bell on the timer for the current batch rang, a cheerful, oblivious sound in the quiet shop. “I suppose I should go pay her a visit. With a new batch of muffins. And a few questions.”