Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40TFT32T11S7PY1A1RYVX3

The bell above Buttercup Bakery’s door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the room had gone very still. Flour drifted across the counter like fresh snow. Beside the till, Mrs. Bellweather’s blue-ribbon lemon tart sat under a glass dome, one perfect slice missing. “You didn’t sell it?” “Not a crumb. I turned around to fetch the cream, and there it was.” On the tiled floor lay a silver teaspoon, its handle smeared with lemon curd. Outside, rain pearled against the window, blurring the empty square and the clock tower beyond. “Mrs. Bellweather will declare war.” “She already accused the garden club at last year’s jam contest.” A thin trail of yellow led from the counter to the back door. It stopped beside a pair of muddy galoshes. “Those are Mr. Pritchard’s.” “He hasn’t worn galoshes since the mayor called them sensible.” The bakery cat emerged from beneath the bread rack, tail high, carrying something bright in its mouth. It dropped a rhinestone earring onto the floor. “Now that is not Mr. Pritchard’s.” “No. But it does match the mayor’s wife.” The bell jingled again. A damp woman in a red raincoat stepped inside, smiling too widely. “Morning! I hope I’m not interrupting.” “Not at all. We were just discussing dessert.”