Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40YY2HD7J9KQXD1YBXW0CW

The bell over the bakery door gave its cheerful jingle just as the morning buns came out of the oven. Cinnamon and butter wrapped around the room like a quilt. “You’re early.” “I haven’t slept.” “That explains the hair.” “My hair is the least alarming thing in this town.” A tray clattered softly onto the counter. Outside, Main Street was still damp from dawn rain, the flower boxes glittering beneath the courthouse clock. “Coffee?” “Please. Black.” “You only drink it black when you’re worried.” “I only come here before six when I’m worried.” The espresso machine hissed. On the display case, a row of lemon tarts sat beneath a handwritten card: *Mabel’s Prize Recipe.* “She was here yesterday,” “Who?” “Mabel. Around closing. She bought two scones and asked whether anyone had been in the alley.” “And?” “And I told her old Mr. Pritchard takes shortcuts through it.” A spoon struck porcelain. “Mabel didn’t come home last night.” The bakery suddenly seemed too quiet, save for the ticking clock and the low rumble of the ovens. “Her car?” “Still outside the library.” “And the scones?” “One was found in the alley.” “Found?” “In the gutter. Wrapped in a napkin with your bakery stamp.” A hand tightened around the coffee pot. “That’s impossible.” “Why?” “Because I never gave Mabel scones.”