Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NV8W9XWQSHRK1Z6NT6DK7

The bell over the bakery door gave a tired jingle as rain swept in with Nora Bell. “Tell me that’s not flour on your coat.” “It’s powdered sugar. I was dusting the cinnamon rolls when Mr. Pritchard came through the back door.” “After closing?” “He said he’d misplaced his umbrella. Then he misplaced ten minutes, a blueberry tart, and the key to the church hall.” Mara paused with a tray of scones halfway to the case. “You think he stole it?” “I think he was looking for something. His umbrella was hanging right beside the door.” The little bakery smelled of coffee, warm butter, and wet wool. Outside, the lamps along Maple Street blurred in the rain. Nora set a silver key on the counter. “Where did you find that?” “Under the flour bin. And before you ask, I didn’t put it there.” Mara lowered the tray. “The church hall key?” “Unless we’ve started locking up the mayor’s shed with silver.” A knock sounded at the front window. Mr. Pritchard stood on the pavement, hatless, watching them. When he noticed the key, his face went pale. “Don’t open the door,” Nora whispered. “I wasn’t going to.” The handle rattled. Mara reached for the rolling pin. “Good. Because I was about to ask what he wanted with the church hall.” The knock came again—then a folded note slid beneath the door.