Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NWM2MTV89WHEDT54BC0A7

The bell over the bakery door jingled, and rain followed Nora inside, stippling the flour-dusted floor. “Your usual?” asked a voice from behind the counter. “Tea and a cinnamon bun. Unless the buns have been behaving suspiciously.” “Only one vanished after closing.” Nora glanced toward the empty tray. “A bun doesn’t vanish. Someone takes it.” “Not according to Mrs. Bellweather. She says the ghost of the old miller is hungry.” “Does the ghost leave crumbs?” “Crumbs, yes. And a blue button.” Nora set down her umbrella. “That sounds less like a ghost and more like a coat with poor fastenings.” A thump sounded in the kitchen. “You locked the back door?” “Of course.” The kitchen door eased open. A ginger cat padded out, carrying something golden in its mouth. It dropped the missing bun at Nora’s feet and sat down, smug as a judge. “Well,” said Nora, “your ghost has whiskers.” “And a taste for cinnamon.” A second thump came from the kitchen, followed by a startled sneeze. Nora leaned toward the doorway. “Perhaps the ghost has a baker.” “Or the baker has a secret.” They exchanged a look. Outside, thunder rolled over the rooftops, while somewhere beyond the swinging door, someone began humming the miller’s old tune. “Tea first,” Nora said. “Then we investigate.” “Good. I’d hate to solve a mystery on an empty stomach.”