Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2G3VVJMRK6HPVQ6BTNH5EQ

The last of the morning’s cinnamon rolls sat untouched in the display case, a rare sight in a town where Addie’s baking usually vanished by ten. Outside, autumn leaves scraped against the window, restless in a breeze that carried the faint, sweet smell of woodsmoke from the distant hills. “You can’t honestly think the candied ginger just walked out of the pantry on its own.” “Stranger things have happened on a Tuesday. Remember when the Teagues’ cow turned up in the church pews?” “That was a prank. This is a very specific larceny. A whole jar of my crystallized ginger, gone, and the lid left perfectly tight. No fingerprints, no stray sugar. Who steals a single ingredient?” “Someone who needed a last-minute addition to a very particular recipe. Or someone who wanted to send a message.” “A message? It’s ginger, not a horse’s head. What could it possibly signify?” “The gingerbread competition at the harvest festival is in three days. And everyone knows Eliza Thornton’s secret weapon is a heavy hand with the candied stem ginger. Without it, her recipe falls flat as a pancake.” Silence draped the little bakery, thick as flour dust. The only sound was the old refrigerator humming its weary tune. Then, a soft, dry crunch—a stray sugar cube being crushed beneath an anxious heel. “You’re saying someone sabotaged her before she even started.” “I’m saying I’d check the grocery store receipts for anyone who bought a suspicious backup jar this morning. And I’d do it before the sheriff gets a slice of that pie and decides to call it a prank, too.”