Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NYR32G7P7HN31GTG25B9P

The bell above the door gave a tired jingle as rain swept into Marigold’s Bakery. A streak of mud crossed the checkerboard floor and stopped beside the cooling racks. “You said the back door was locked.” “It was. The key was still in the flour tin.” “Then how did someone get in?” A tray of cinnamon rolls steamed between them. Beyond it, the empty display case reflected the gray morning—and a small smear of red icing on its glass. “That’s not icing.” “Don’t touch it.” “I wasn’t going to. I have excellent instincts.” “You once mistook a mouse for a walnut.” “It was dark.” Mabel leaned closer to the glass. The red streak ended in a neat little crescent, like a fingerprint. Outside, the church clock struck eight, though it had been five minutes slow for years. “Who knew about the tin?” “Half the town. I told Mrs. Bell it was a terrible hiding place.” “And she told everyone else.” A gust rattled the windows. The bell jingled again, though no one entered. “Did you hear that?” “I heard the bell.” “The door didn’t open.” Behind the counter, the old brass key slid from the flour tin and landed on the floor. Neither of them moved. Then, from the kitchen, the oven timer began to ring.