Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2GV9N31SEP7PE70GE90DS9

The warmth of the ovens fought a losing battle against the chill from the propped-open back door. Flour dust motes danced in the morning sun. A tray of untouched cinnamon rolls sat on the cooling rack, their glaze already hardening into a dull, cracked shell. “You don’t just leave a batch of your prizewinning snickerdoodles to burn and vanish before dawn.” “Those weren’t for the bake sale and you know it. She was going to deliver them herself.” “Exactly. And now she’s not here, and neither are the cookies. I found her apron folded on the flour bin. Folded. As if she’d just stepped out for a coffee refill.” “Cora hasn’t taken a day off in seventeen years. When I came in to proof the sourdough at five, the back door wasn’t just unlocked—it was wide open. The alley was silent. Too silent, now that the mayor’s yappy terrier has gone missing.” “Missing? I saw that dog tied to the bike rack outside the library not two hours ago.” “Then you saw a ghost, because the library steps are where they found Mrs. Henderson’s knitting bag, with one needle missing. And a smear of cocoa powder on the railing.” “Cocoa powder… dusted on her snickerdoodles. You’re saying Cora and the dog—no. That’s absurd. You’ve been reading too many of those paperback thrillers left in the lending library.” “Perhaps. But explain the single cinnamon roll left untouched on the welcome mat of the closed-down post office. Bite marks too small for a human.”