Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40JS2T2K0MPX1D6PBCGY0B

The bell over Buttercup Bakery’s door gave its cheerful jingle, though the silence inside remained as stiff as day-old baguettes. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.” On the marble counter, beside a tray of cooling cinnamon twists, lay a silver teaspoon smeared with raspberry jam. “It was tucked into the mayor’s scone box.” “The mayor’s scones are packed in blue boxes.” “Not today. Someone switched the labels.” Outside, rain polished the cobblestones of Maple Street. Inside, the scent of butter and cardamom could not quite cover the sharp tang of worry. “Mrs. Pritchard bought the last blue box at eight-thirty.” “Mrs. Pritchard collects antique spoons.” “And she’s been feuding with the mayor since he moved the library book drop.” “That seems a little dramatic, even for her.” A crumb-strewn receipt lay beneath the spoon. One corner bore a neat purple stamp: HAWTHORNE ESTATE SALE. “The estate sale was yesterday.” “Then why is the receipt dated tomorrow?” The oven timer chimed. Neither of them moved. “Do you think the spoon is stolen?” “I think it’s a message.” “For whom?” The bakery door swung open again, admitting a gust of rain and the mayor himself, smiling beneath a dripping umbrella. “Wonderful. You’re both here. Has anyone seen my jam scone?” The silver spoon gleamed red on the counter.