Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCWTBRGC6WQ4W5XCB3KGRTY

The morning sun filtered through lace curtains onto trays of still-warm croissants. A small bell tinkled, though the door hadn't moved. "You're out of cardamom twists already?" "Sold the last batch to Mrs. Gable. She bought all twelve." "She never takes more than two. Not since Tuesday." "Tuesday she was trembling. Asked three times if anyone opened the lockbox behind the flour sacks." "The one with the old recipe cards?" "Exactly. Now she's ordering three dozen like she's feeding a crowd." "A crowd that doesn't leave prints behind." "Prints?" "Size seven. Muddy soles. Right beside the cooling rack. The police called it an accident with the mixer, but—" "Mixers don't make footprints in buttercream." "No. And they don't bleed raspberry filling onto the floorboards." "You're saying someone searched the kitchen?" "I'm saying Mrs. Gable wasn't buying pastries. She was buying silence." "About the sourdough starter?" "The one people claim is worth more than this whole block. Legends don't come with broken locks." "The lock wasn't broken. It was picked." "You saw the marks?" "I saw them. Same scratches left on the library's back door last winter." "That was never solved." "Maybe now it will be." "Should we call Sheriff Halloway?" "He already knows. He just needs someone brave enough to say it out loud."