Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NHB0TN2TTCKPA6T0Y1SK2

The bell above the bakery door jingled, though the morning rush had ended. Rain jeweled the windows; cinnamon and warm bread softened the gray day. “You’re early for your usual,” came a voice from behind the counter. “I’m not here for a bun. I found this beneath the bench outside the library.” A folded note landed beside the flour-dusted rolling pin. The baker wiped her hands and opened it. “‘Return the blue ledger before the church supper—or the truth comes out.’ That’s not a recipe.” “Mrs. Bellamy says the library bench is where the town council meets when they don’t want anyone to know they’re meeting.” “Mrs. Bellamy also claims her cat understands French.” “She may be right about the ledger, though. The historical society’s blue account book vanished last week.” The baker glanced toward the little table by the window. A crumb trail led from it to the back door. “Someone’s been eating my lemon cake.” “Someone’s been borrowing your back door, too. The latch is muddy.” A gust rattled the glass. Both turned as a shadow crossed the frosted pane. “Should we call the sheriff?” “After we hide the note. He’ll ask questions, and I’d rather ask the person who left those muddy prints.” The bell jingled again. “Then put the kettle on. Whoever it is, they look cold.” “And possibly guilty.” “Most guilty people are.”