Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8WJDSMZB5W6C114WC120WP

The air in the bakery smelled of warm cinnamon and burnt sugar. Flour clung to the mahogany counters like fresh snow, and the bell above the door chimed with a cheerful, rhythmic persistence. "You look peaked, Martha. Did the early rush get to you?" "It wasn't the rush. It was the delivery man." "Something wrong with the flour shipment?" "He didn't bring any flour. He brought a locked briefcase and a very nervous expression." "A briefcase? In a bakery?" "Exactly. And he left it right there, tucked behind the sourdough starter, before sprinting back to his van without a word." "Is it still there?" "Right behind the rye. I haven't touched it, though I suspect it's far heavier than a bag of yeast." "We should probably call the Sheriff. Now." "And ruin the morning mood? Good heavens, no. Let's have a lemon scone and some tea first. The mystery isn't going anywhere, but the glaze on these tartlets is starting to set." "You have a very peculiar definition of urgency." "It's what keeps this town interesting."