Run: 2026-07-09-01KX412EMTWME9QHE21PJ7S58J

The bell above Honeycrust Bakery’s door gave a nervous jingle as rain swept across Briar Glen’s empty square. “You’re early.” “You’re hiding something.” “Those are not mutually exclusive.” Warm cinnamon and browned butter hung in the air. On the counter, six blueberry scones cooled beside a vase of drooping daisies. The seventh lay crumbled on the floor. “Is that where you found him?” “Between the flour bin and the mixer. Face down, clutching this.” A brass button clicked against the glass display case. “That crest belongs to the mayor’s coat.” “So everyone keeps reminding me.” “Everyone?” “The sheriff. The mayor. Mrs. Pindle, who somehow knew before the ambulance arrived.” “Mrs. Pindle knows secrets before people commit them.” Thunder rattled the windows. In the kitchen, the old oven timer began to tick, though no one had wound it. “You said nothing was stolen.” “Nothing obvious.” “Then why is the recipe ledger open?” A flour-dusted page lay beneath the register, one corner neatly torn away. “He asked about my grandmother’s gingerbread.” “The recipe that won the winter fair in 1978?” “The recipe she swore could ruin three respectable families.” Outside, a shadow crossed the rain-blurred window. “Lock the door.” “I already did.” The bell jingled again. Neither of them moved. On the counter, the mayor’s brass button slowly rolled toward the missing scone.