Run: 2026-09-23-01M36P0MQ933A0K516K0VQEV7X

At eight, the bell above the door of Poppyseed Bakery chimed, and Deputy Finch stepped in, bringing a gust of rain and the smell of wet wool. “Tell me you’ve saved the cinnamon knots.” “Only if you tell me why there’s a muddy boot print on the sill of the locked conservatory.” Finch’s eyes moved to the flour-dusted counter. “I was hoping for breakfast before the questioning.” “You can have both. The print was there when I opened.” A tray clattered into the oven. Outside, Main Street shone silver beneath the drizzle, and the clock over the town green struck eight-thirty. “Whose boot?” “Small. Narrow heel. And whoever made it tracked in lavender.” Finch glanced toward the back room, where Mrs. Bell’s famous lavender shortbread cooled beneath a linen cloth. “You think the person who stole the mayor’s silver teapot came here?” “I think someone wanted us to think they did.” The deputy picked up a cinnamon knot, then paused. “You’ve got lavender on your apron.” “From the shortbread. And you’ve got mud on your left cuff.” Finch looked down. A violet petal clung to the dark smear. The bell chimed again, though the door hadn’t moved. Both turned toward the empty entrance. “Tell me the wind did that.” “Not with the door still locked.”