Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41KCCPDC5CX183F3YGEKJ1

The bell above the bakery door gave its cheerful chime, though the rain outside had turned Main Street the color of dishwater. Mara dusted flour from her hands and stared at the lemon tart in the display case. Someone had pressed a neat, muddy thumbprint into its glossy surface. “That wasn’t there at nine.” “It wasn’t there at ten, either.” “And you’re certain no customers reached over the counter?” “Unless Mrs. Pritchard has grown eight-foot arms.” Mara leaned closer. Beneath the thumbprint lay a tiny curl of blue paper, stuck in the lemon glaze. She eased it free with a cake tester. “Read it.” “It’s half a receipt.” “Read the half we have.” “‘Meet me behind—’ That’s all.” The kitchen timer dinged. Neither moved. “Behind what?” “Behind the bakery, presumably.” “That seems overly dramatic for someone ordering scones.” A gust rattled the front windows. Across the street, the old clock tower disappeared behind a curtain of rain. Mara folded the paper into her apron pocket. “Mr. Bellamy was supposed to collect his birthday cake at noon.” “And?” “He never misses cake.” The bell chimed again. This time, no one came in. Only a wet blue envelope slid beneath the door and stopped beside the mat. On its front, in careful black ink, were three words: FOR THE BAKER.