Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ079TWVCJC6CZ8XCRBDQZTY

Steam rose from the fresh croissants as the bell above the door jingled. A warm scent of cinnamon swirled around the cracked tiles. “Did you hear about the missing heirloom?” a voice whispered, barely louder than the hum of the mixer. The other chuckled, wiping flour from the apron. “Only because Mrs. Whitaker bragged it was safe in her pantry. She never locks anything.” A kettle whistled, drawing a brief pause. “And yet the police found the jewelry in the backroom of the thrift shop, right under the floorboard.” “Exactly. Someone must have slipped it out while we were busy with the morning rush.” The cursor of a pen traced a quick note on a napkin. “I’m thinking the delivery boy—he’s always lingering near the back door.” A soft clatter of plates punctuated the thought. “He’s got an alibi, though. He was there when the rain started, and the shop’s CCTV shows him loading boxes.” The baker smiled, a crumb dusting her cheek. “Alibis are easy to forge. What about the missing batch of lemon tarts? They vanished the night before the gala.” A sudden creak echoed from the storage closet. “Maybe the answer has been hiding in plain sight, right under the counter all along.”