Run: 2026-07-09-01KX412A0C687TDXJK42FGRQ2A

The bell above the bakery door gave a timid jingle as Mara slid a tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven. “You’re early.” “I could say the same about you.” “I own the place. I’m allowed to arrive before breakfast.” “You’re also allowed to explain why Deputy Bell found a silver button in the flour bin.” Mara’s tongs paused. Outside, the town square wore a fresh frosting of snow, and inside, butter and sugar softened the cold. “Perhaps the button belongs to a customer.” “Perhaps. But it matches the ones on Mayor Pritchard’s coat.” “He was here yesterday.” “He was murdered yesterday.” The cinnamon rolls hissed as Mara set them on the counter. “Keep your voice down.” “There’s no one here.” “There’s always someone listening in a bakery.” A floorboard creaked in the back room. Both women stared toward the swinging door. “You heard that?” “I heard the ovens, the mixer, and your imagination.” “Your imagination doesn’t usually wear muddy boots.” The door moved an inch. Mara reached beneath the counter and wrapped her fingers around the rolling pin. “If that’s the killer, I’d like to point out that the raspberry scones are still warm.” “Bribery?” “Hospitality.” The door eased open. A small terrier waddled out, dragging a torn blue coat sleeve. The silence broke. “Mayor Pritchard’s coat?” Mara exhaled. “That dog has always had questionable taste.” “And a talent for finding evidence.” “Then give him a scone. We may need him on the case.”