Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4197SS28GMD36RAMYCZS31

The bell above Buttercup Bakery’s door chimed as rain silvered the windows. Inside, cinnamon buns cooled beside a tray of blackberry scones, and the old wall clock ticked toward six. “You locked the back door, didn’t you?” “Twice. Why?” “Because this wasn’t here ten minutes ago.” On the flour-dusted counter lay a brass key tied with blue ribbon. A tiny paper tag dangled from it: **ASK ABOUT THE WEDDING CAKE.** “That ribbon came from my order drawer.” “And the key?” “Not mine.” “Perhaps someone slipped in while you were fetching the cream.” “No one slips anywhere in this town. Mrs. Peabody would report it before they arrived.” Thunder rattled the glass. Beneath the counter, the bakery cat gave an indignant yowl. “The wedding cake for Saturday?” “Yes. Three tiers, lemon sponge, sugar violets.” “For Clara Finch.” A pause settled between the warm ovens and the whispering rain. “Clara canceled her wedding this morning.” “She did?” “Left a message. No explanation.” The key turned slowly between floury fingers. Stamped along its stem were the words **STATION LOCKER 12**. “Our station hasn’t had lockers since 1978.” “The old ones are still in the cellar.” Another yowl sounded, followed by a metallic scrape. “That came from the pantry.” The pantry door stood slightly open. From the darkness beyond, blue ribbon trailed across the floor like a dropped clue. “Bring the rolling pin.” “The marble one?” “The heaviest.”