Run: 2026-07-09-01KX406MJ9BZYCB6B1Z0EWBVWX

The bell above the bakery door chimed as rain silvered the windows. Inside, cinnamon buns gleamed beneath glass domes, and the ovens warmed every shadow. “You’re early.” “You’re hiding something.” “That’s a dreadful way to greet the woman holding the last apricot scone.” “Then perhaps I’ll be polite. Good morning. What are you hiding?” A china plate slid across the flour-dusted counter. “This was under the cooling rack.” “A brass button?” “Look closer.” An engraved fox curled around its edge, one tiny green stone set in its eye. “I saw that button yesterday, on Mayor Bell’s waistcoat.” “So did half the town. He wore it during the harvest committee meeting.” “And this morning he claims he never entered the bakery.” Outside, tires hissed over wet cobbles. The clock above the bread shelves ticked toward seven. “Maybe it fell off another day.” “I swept last night.” “Thoroughly?” “I found Mrs. Finch’s lost earring and three currants. I was thorough.” The button turned between two floury fingers. “The mayor ordered twelve blackberry tarts for a private supper.” “He hates blackberries.” “Exactly.” A hollow thump sounded from the pantry. “Please tell me that was a sack of sugar.” “The sugar doesn’t wear polished shoes.” A narrow trail of muddy footprints showed beneath the pantry door. “Should we call Constable Reed?” “After we lock the back exit.” “And take the rolling pin.” “Take two.”