Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1G1239Z6XWV66QV8VE0XWZ

The bell above the door chimed, releasing a breath of cinnamon and warm yeast into the cool morning air. Sunlight slanted through flour-dusted windows, catching the glass jars of sprinkles lined up along the back shelf like little soldiers. "You're out early today." "Couldn't sleep. Margie Thatcher's been up all night counting her garden gnome shoes." "Her what now?" "Little red clogs. Three of them vanished from her front yard sometime Tuesday." A long pause. Somewhere behind the counter, dough was being kneaded with quiet, rhythmic thuds. "And everybody knows you were the last person to walk past her place that night." "I was carrying a sack of flour. Twenty pounds. From here. She watched me go right by." "Did she." "Ask her yourself." The old wall clock ticked. A pie crust crackled faintly as it cooled on a wire rack. "So. You're not putting that in the paper, are you?" "Not yet. But if a fourth shoe turns up, I might have to." "Lemon bar? On the house." "You're trying to bribe a reporter with pastry?" "It's not a bribe. It's just good business." "Two, then. And hold the guilt."