Run: 2026-09-03-01M1K4TVNKNT3TC307SNWEQ0RF

The bell over the door on Maple Street hadn't stopped jingling since seven. Warm air smelled of cinnamon and burnt sugar, and powdered flour floated in the sunlight across the front case. The chalkboard still read blueberry festival, three days away. “You hid the good loaves in back again.” “Only the rye. You know Mrs. Potter buys six if she sees them.” “Mrs. Potter isn't my problem. My problem is my pie plate hasn't come back since Tuesday.” “Oh, that chipped blue one? I saw it right there on the cooling rack.” “It was there. Past tense. Now it's gone, and so is my lucky whisk.” “You think someone took them?” “In this town? No one steals. They just borrow permanently.” “Well, the back door was propped open yesterday during deliveries.” “Exactly. And only three people knew I left my grandmother's recipe card under that plate.” “Let me guess. The contest judge was sniffing around?” “He asked for my crust secret twice. Twice.” “Then we'd better check the trash. Butter leaves fingerprints, but lard leaves gossip.” “Grab a cinnamon roll first. Sleuthing is miserable on an empty stomach.”