Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41DXGFVTJYFJ5K1K2BBYXD

The bell above the bakery door gave a nervous little jingle, though no one had entered. Mara paused over the cinnamon rolls. “That’s the third time this morning.” “Draft,” Clara replied, sliding a tray into the oven. “Or a guilty conscience.” On the counter, beside the cooling lemon loaves, lay the mayor’s silver spoon. It had vanished from the town’s Founders’ Day tea yesterday and now wore a smear of raspberry jam. Mara lifted it with a napkin. “Why would a thief bring it here?” “Maybe the thief wanted breakfast.” “Then he chose poorly. The raspberry jam is for the scones.” Clara glanced toward the empty kitchen doorway. “You’re enjoying this.” “I enjoy pastries. Murder investigations are merely a seasonal flavor.” A floorboard creaked behind them. Both women turned. The bakery cat, Pickle, emerged from beneath the worktable with a blue ribbon in his teeth. He dropped it at Mara’s shoes. Clara crouched and picked it up. “The mayor wore this on his lapel.” “And Pickle found it under the flour bins.” Mara studied the paw prints dusting the ribbon. “Someone hid the spoon here, then crawled through the kitchen.” “Crawled?” “Unless your cat has learned to open locked cupboards.” Pickle yowled and sprang onto the counter, knocking a paper bag to the floor. Something inside clinked. Clara stared at Mara. Mara reached for the bag. “Please let it be an éclair.” The silver spoon rolled into the sunlight.