Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40YDVYHNGMDNS5WRS868JC

The bell above the bakery door chimed as rain silvered the windows. Inside, warm air smelled of cinnamon, yeast, and the lemon tarts cooling beside the till. “You’re early.” “And you’re hiding something under that tea towel.” “It’s a batch of scones.” “Scones don’t usually tick.” The towel was lifted. Between two golden rounds sat a silver pocket watch, its cracked face dusted with flour. “That belonged to Mr. Bellweather.” “So everyone keeps telling me.” “He was wearing it yesterday, before he vanished.” “Then it wandered into my dough all by itself.” “Stranger things have happened in this town.” “Not before breakfast.” A tray clattered onto the counter. Outside, a bicycle rolled past, its rider hunched beneath a red umbrella. “The watch stopped at eleven forty.” “That’s when the power failed.” “And when you said you were alone here.” “I was alone.” “Except for whoever bought the last blackberry pie.” Silence settled between them, soft as sifted sugar. “I never sold it.” “But it’s gone.” “So is Mr. Bellweather.” The oven timer rang. Neither moved. “Check the order book.” A flour-smudged ledger lay open beneath the till. On yesterday’s page, one line had been written in unfamiliar green ink: BLACKBERRY PIE—DELIVER TO THE OLD MILL. MIDNIGHT. “Well.” “Yes.” “Pack two lanterns.” “And some scones?” “Obviously. We may be solving a disappearance, but there’s no reason to do it hungry.”