Run: 2026-09-23-01M36P3NAAFYA7ZXVFCVSJVJEP

The bell over the door gave a nervous jingle, though the morning was still. “Tell me you didn’t put the mayor’s pocket watch in the cinnamon rolls.” “If I had, the dough would be ticking.” “That’s not funny, Elsie.” “It’s a little funny, Martin. And the watch was on the counter when I opened.” The bakery smelled of cardamom and warm butter. Outside, rain stitched silver lines down Main Street; inside, a tray of scones cooled beside the empty brass hook where the town’s old clock key usually hung. “Someone came in after closing,” Martin said. “The back door was unlocked.” “Or someone never left.” A pause. The oven clicked as it cooled. “You’re thinking of the flour prints.” “I’m thinking they lead from the pantry to the office, then stop at the window.” “Which was painted shut last summer.” “Exactly.” Martin leaned over the counter, lowering his voice. “You found something, didn’t you?” Elsie slid a sugar-dusted envelope from beneath the till. Its flap bore a smear of blue icing. “Not the watch.” “Then what?” “A note. It says, ‘Ask who changed the clock before the storm.’” The bell jingled again. Both of them looked toward the door. No one stood there—only a fresh set of floury footprints, pointing in.