Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0N0X7E562N8Z0QWFGPHF4S

The bell over the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the morning inside smelled more of worry than cinnamon. Rain ticked against the front windows, blurring the painted letters of Sweet Briar Bakes. “You’re early.” “So are the police.” A tray of lemon buns sat cooling on the counter, their glaze shining under the warm lights. Behind it, the old cash register was open, empty as a sigh. “Nothing was taken except the recipe card?” “And one apricot thumbprint cookie.” “That hardly sounds like a hardened criminal.” “It sounds like someone with nerves. Or a sweet tooth.” Flour dusted the floor near the pantry door. In it, a single shoeprint pointed toward the alley, small and neatly ridged. “Mrs. Peabody wears shoes like that.” “Mrs. Peabody also announces her bunions to anyone within six feet. She couldn’t sneak past a sleeping cat.” A ginger cat, perched on the windowsill beside a wilting basil plant, flicked its tail as if personally offended. “Then who wanted your grandmother’s almond torte recipe badly enough to break in?” “Someone entering the Harvest Bake-Off.” “That’s half the town.” “Exactly.” The oven timer chimed, bright and innocent. Outside, a patrol car rolled slowly past. “Lock the back door today.” “I will.” “And save me one lemon bun.” “Only if you promise not to arrest my customers before lunch.”