Run: 2026-05-19-01KS0V227WKF5SRV8XXBCXPC5J

The bell above the door chimed, but the comforting scent of warm cardamom and yeast kept the kitchen feeling like a safe haven. A dusting of white flour coated the copper counter, save for the glass bowl where a single brass key gleamed. "Is that what I think it is?" "If you think it's the key to Mayor Higgins’s private desk, then yes. I found it at the bottom of the rye flour bin." "But only three people have access to the pantry." "Four, if you count the ghost Mrs. Gable swears haunts the oven. But I doubt spirits have a penchant for antique brass." "This ruins his alibi, doesn't it? He said he was locked in the town hall all night." "He also said he lost this key on the train to Boston last Tuesday." A wooden spoon tapped rhythmically against the edge of a ceramic mixing bowl, a dull counterpoint to the ticking clock. Outside, the morning mist still clung to the cobblestones of Willow Creek. "Should we call the sheriff?" "Not yet. Let's see who comes in demanding a rye sourdough first."