Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4016FMDDMRDAFTNW85ECRK

The bell over the bakery door gave a nervous jingle as rain tapped the windows. “Tell me that’s blackberry jam on the floor.” Mara crouched beside the display case, where a dark red smear led beneath the counter. “If it is, why does it smell like almonds?” Theo leaned over, flour dusting his sleeves. “Because you’re standing in the marzipan aisle.” “We don’t have a marzipan aisle.” “We do now.” He lifted the counter’s loose panel. Behind it sat a silver cuff link, flecked with powdered sugar. Mara picked it up with a pair of tongs. “This belongs to Councilman Pike.” “Pike doesn’t wear cuff links. He wears those bolo ties with the tiny horses.” “He wore these last night at the Harvest Committee supper.” Theo’s gaze flicked toward the back room. “And last night, someone stole the mayor’s charity box.” “Someone who knew the bakery would be empty after closing.” “Empty?” A floorboard creaked behind them. Mara and Theo turned. The oven door stood open, breathing out a wave of heat. On the flour-dusted tiles, a trail of damp footprints vanished beneath the cooling racks. “Please tell me those are yours.” “I’m wearing clogs.” The bell jingled again. Mara gripped the rolling pin. “Then let’s hope our customer has an explanation—and exact change.”