Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40XMDFTVT3ZG83RG4BJC8F

The bell above the bakery door gave a timid jingle as rain pearled on the windows. Cinnamon and browned butter softened the gray morning, though the empty display case where Mrs. Bell’s lemon tarts should have been did not. “You’re telling me they vanished overnight?” “Not vanished. Stolen.” “Who steals twelve lemon tarts?” “Someone with excellent taste and a poor conscience.” A tray clattered in the kitchen. Beyond the counter, flour dusted the tiled floor in a neat trail leading toward the back door. “That looks rather deliberate.” “It looks like footprints.” “Flourprints.” “Please don’t make that a word.” A bent silver button glinted near the bread rack. It bore the tiny crest of a fox. “Oh.” “Oh?” “That’s from the mayor’s campaign coat. He wore it at the harvest parade.” “The mayor is stealing pastries now?” “He did say my tarts were ‘dangerously persuasive.’” The back door stood ajar, letting in a ribbon of wet air. On the sill sat a single lemon seed, pressed into the wood like a clue. “Should we call the constable?” “Not yet.” “Why not?” “Because if the mayor stole my tarts, he’ll come back for the raspberry crumbles.” “And then?” “And then we’ll be waiting with the icing sugar.” “Justice is sweet.” “Especially when dusted generously.”