Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ72DPJPWY13QVQAV3HW7BDC

The bell above the door chimed, cutting through the hum of Saturday morning chatter. Flour dusted the air like snow. I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped behind the counter. A familiar face waited near the display case, fingers drumming on the glass. "You're late." "I'm never late. Time is subjective. Besides, the blueberry scones needed one more minute in the oven." "The police came by. Again." My hands stilled over the tray of croissants. "They can't keep doing that. It's bad for business." "They asked about the delivery from yesterday. Who was it?" "Mrs. Gable. She wanted the special cake for her grandson's birthday. You know that. Don't act like you don't." "She wasn't at her house. The officer saw me." "Then tell them the truth. I delivered a single cake. Not three boxes. Not a mysterious package hidden in a bag." "Look, the officer mentioned a name. A name that shouldn't be involved." "Names are just letters. Words can mean anything depending on who says them." "But this word means trouble." "Or it means opportunity." "Opportunity doesn't leave fingerprints on evidence bags." "Maybe not. But it leaves secrets in plain sight. Check the receipt book again." "You really think the cake was a distraction?" "Think about who orders blueberry but never eats it. Think about who walks this street at two in the morning." The bell chimed again. A third person stood in the doorway, watching. I didn't look up. "Tell your friend to wait outside." "They aren't my friend." "Then tell them to leave. The scones are cooling." "We need answers." "Answers are baked. You just need to wait for them to rise."