Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41855ZKBDNCV73ARR8E605

The bell above the bakery door chimed, though no one entered. Mara froze with a tray of cinnamon buns balanced in both hands. “That’s the third time this morning.” “Draft from the alley.” “The alley is closed for construction.” “Then perhaps the ghost of Mr. Bell has developed a sweet tooth.” Mara set the tray down. Beneath the counter, a muddy footprint marked the flour-dusted floor. It pointed toward the locked office. “You noticed that and didn’t mention it?” “I was waiting to see whether you’d notice.” “That is not reassuring, Detective Finch.” Finch crouched beside the print, his tweed knee nearly brushing a fallen jar of nutmeg. “Your back door was open at six.” “It was not.” “It was when I arrived.” Mara reached for the key ring at her waist, then stopped. A pale blue thread clung to the latch. “Mrs. Pritchard wore a blue coat yesterday.” “Half the town owns a blue coat.” “Mrs. Pritchard also knew where I keep the charity tin.” Finch glanced toward the display case. The tin sat beneath the lemon tarts, its lid crooked. “How much is missing?” “Nothing.” “Then what was the point?” Mara lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the coins, lay a brass button stamped with a tiny crown. From the alley came a sharp clatter. “Ghosts don’t wear uniforms.” “Neither do burglars who want to be caught.” The bell chimed again, and this time the door began to open.