Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41MTBAJ397N1KCEF4XAHJW

The bell above the bakery door gave a guilty jingle. “You’re late.” “I brought evidence.” “That’s a raspberry scone.” “It was beside the evidence.” Flour dust shimmered in the morning light. Beyond the fogged windows, the town square stirred awake beneath bunting for the Apple Blossom Fair. Inside, the ovens warmed the room with cinnamon and butter. “Put it down carefully.” “The scone?” “The envelope.” A cream-colored envelope slid across the counter, leaving a faint streak of mud. “That seal belongs to the mayor.” “So does the boot print on the pantry floor.” “You went into my pantry?” “Your back door was open.” “My back door is never open.” “Exactly.” The mixer thumped once, though no one stood near it. “Please tell me that was dough.” “It was dough.” “You hesitated.” A second thump sounded from behind the pantry door. “Hand me the rolling pin.” “For protection?” “For persuasion.” They approached together, passing racks of glazed buns and cooling cherry pies. The pantry latch trembled. “On three.” “You always rush two.” “One.” “That’s what I mean.” The door burst outward. A soot-black cat shot between their ankles, trailing a ribbon of red bunting. Behind it, a loose sack of flour toppled, revealing a silver cuff link. “The mayor’s initials.” “And blackberry jam.” “The same jam found on the stolen fair ledger.” “Lock the door.” “And the scone?” “Guard it with your life.”