Run: 2026-07-09-01KX408VFT3XRJFQFECK7P483G

The bell over the bakery door gave a cheerful jingle, though the rain outside had turned Maple Street into a gray ribbon. Cinnamon and warm butter softened the gloom. “You’re early.” “I haven’t slept.” “That explains the flour in your hair.” “It’s not flour.” A pause settled between the glass pastry case and the humming coffee machine. “Is that what I think it is?” “It was on the back step.” “Good heavens. Don’t touch it.” “I used the tongs.” “For a note?” “For the key.” The other figure leaned closer, peering at the brass key resting on a saucer beside a row of lemon tarts. A blue ribbon had been tied through its bow. “That belongs to the old library.” “It belonged to Mrs. Pemberton.” “Mrs. Pemberton has been dead for twelve years.” “Then why is her handwriting on the note?” Outside, tires hissed over wet pavement. Inside, the oven timer chimed, bright and insistent. “What does it say?” “‘The recipe is in the cellar.’” “The library doesn’t have a cellar.” “It does if the blueprints were wrong.” “That’s a terrible reason to skip breakfast.” “I made blueberry scones.” “That is a much better reason to investigate a hidden cellar.” “And the murder?” The coffee machine clicked off. “We’ll solve that after the scones.”