Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KAG47WRJK3RJ3S6K3SGKA8

The bell above the bakery door chimed, and the scent of cinnamon and yeast wrapped around the newcomer like a worn quilt. The display case gleamed, its trays of glazed danishes and crusty baguettes arranged with a fussy precision that only came from decades of habit. “You’re up early for someone who closed last night.” “Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about the state of that pie crust.” “The one you left on the counter? I saw it. Looked a bit flat.” “Flat is one thing. Soggy is another. Someone’s been poking holes in my bottom.” “Poking holes?” “In the dough. Before baking. You do that for a fruit pie, lets the steam out. But this was different. Too many holes. Deliberate.” The older woman wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and leaned closer. “You think someone tampered with it?” “No. I think someone was trying to send a message. And I think I know who.” “Don’t say his name in here. His wife’s been in every Tuesday for the prune danishes. If she heard you―” “She won’t. She’s busy over at the church, setting up for the bake sale. Which, by the way, is where the pie was supposed to end up.” A long silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of the old coffee machine. “Then we’d better bake a new one.” “We’d better work out who left that note rolled up in the crimp.”