Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41BBWDZ3RJHAMRYNQE8VZX

The bell above the bakery door jingled, though no one entered. “Please tell me you heard that.” “I heard it. I also heard Mrs. Pritchard say she saw a ghost in the flour room.” “She says that every time the cinnamon rolls burn.” “Which is often.” Mara lowered her voice. “Then why is the back door open?” Across the counter, Theo stopped polishing a pie server. Outside, rain silvered the quiet street of Bellwether, and the bakery’s windows glowed like little squares of honey. “I locked it at six.” “You locked it after Mr. Vale left?” “I locked it before Mr. Vale left.” “That’s not what I asked.” A soft thump came from the kitchen. Theo reached beneath the counter and produced a rolling pin. Mara stared at it. “You’re going to defend us with pastry equipment?” “It’s walnut. Very sturdy.” Another thump, followed by a scrape. They crept past trays of cooling biscuits and the towering wedding cake Mrs. Pritchard had ordered for her third husband. The flour-room door stood ajar. Mara pushed it wider. A small black cat sprang out, scattering flour across the floor. Behind it lay a single muddy boot—and Mr. Vale’s silver pocket watch. Theo exhaled. “So, not a ghost.” “No. But unless that cat robbed him, we have a mystery.” From the front shop came the bell again. This time, a man whispered, “Don’t move.” Neither of them did.