Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCXGRCFBXV43VB0F2RBVDGV

The morning light spilled across the checkered floor of Buttercup Lane Bakery, gilding trays of glazed crullers and warming the air with cinnamon. Behind the counter, the brass bell on the door stayed silent—until it wasn’t. “Rough morning?” “Rougher than overproofed dough. The sheriff just left.” “Did he finally come for the sourdough starter?” “He came about the break-in. Someone shattered the display case at the antique shop next door, then tried to jimmy my back lock.” “Your back lock is older than my grandmother’s quilt.” “Exactly why I’m worried. They got in anyway. Stole nothing, but left flour footprints all over my prep table.” “Flour footprints? That sounds like inside work. Or inside baking.” “Don’t joke. I found this tucked in my mixer.” The baker held up a small brass key, tarnished green with age. “Is that—” “I think it belongs to the town clock tower. My great-uncle was the caretaker. These footprints stopped right at the clock’s maintenance hatch in the alley.” “Someone was after the tower, not your pastries. But why use your bakery as a tunnel?” “I have the only key to the alley gate. Or I did, until that was missing too. I think they meant to plant it back in my apron pocket.” “The detective will want that key now.” “He already has it. I’m just afraid this little town’s sweetest secrets are about to go stale in front of everyone.” “Then let’s bake something fresh. If they come back, they’ll find us waiting—with a rolling pin and a very suspicious lemon tart.”<|end_message|>