Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0PRX7HY8EK6TNNS0DG0M94

The bell over Sugar Mill Bakery’s door gave its usual timid jingle, half lost beneath the whir of the mixer and the rain ticking against the front windows. “You’re early.” “You’re frosting nervous, Alma. That’s never good.” A tray of lemon buns cooled on the counter, their glossy tops bright as summer despite the gray morning. Behind them, a flour-dusted envelope lay tucked beneath the cash register. “I found something in the donation tin.” “Please tell me it was more than buttons and Canadian pennies.” “It was a recipe card.” “For murder?” “For blackberry scones. Written in Eleanor Finch’s handwriting.” The mixer stopped. The bakery seemed to hold its breath. “Eleanor’s been dead six months.” “And the card was dated yesterday.” Outside, a bicycle splashed through a puddle on Maple Street. Inside, cinnamon hung warm and sweet in the air. “Maybe someone copied it.” “They copied the little teapot she drew over every i?” A silence settled between the racks of croissants. “Who else knew about that?” “Half the town bought her scones. Only one person hated them enough to call them ‘jammy doorstops.’” “Mayor Whitcomb.” “And he’s judging the bake-off at noon.” The envelope crinkled softly. “Alma, what’s inside?” “A key.” “To what?” “The cellar under Town Hall.”