Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NMNXVDFC77SP860E9N6SV

The bell over the door gave a timid jingle as rain swept into Marigold Bakery. “Your flour sack is leaking.” “It’s not flour. Flour doesn’t sparkle.” Mina leaned over the counter. A trail of silver grains led from the sack to the display case, where the town’s prized baking trophy stood empty. “Mrs. Bell left that trophy here after the judging.” “She left it locked in the case.” “Then why is the key sitting beside the cinnamon rolls?” Mina picked it up with a tea towel. A smear of blue icing marked its brass bow. “Only one person used blue icing today.” “Mr. Pritchard’s blueberry tarts.” “He was here before the rain.” “And now he’s at the town hall, telling everyone he won first prize.” The oven timer chimed. Mina glanced toward the kitchen, where a fresh batch of buns was rising beneath a flour-dusted cloth. “Don’t accuse him without proof.” “I’m not accusing. I’m inviting him back for a tart.” “Your traps always involve pastry.” “And people always fall for pastry.” Mina set the key beside the register, carefully away from the silver trail. “Then you’ll need two forks.” “Why two?” “Because if he confesses, we’ll celebrate. If he doesn’t, we’ll still have tart.” Outside, the bell jingled again. A shadow paused at the window. Mina reached for the rolling pin. “Better bring three forks.”