Run: 2026-09-23-01M36R9R8KW6R17VVH2GYC59F3

The bell above the bakery door gave a nervous little jingle, though no one had entered. “Please tell me the wind did that.” “The windows are shut, and the wind has never been especially interested in sourdough.” Mara set down her tray of cinnamon rolls. Across the shop, Elsie stood beside the display case, staring at the empty space where the town’s silver pie server had been. “It was here when I locked up.” “And now it’s gone. Along with the cherry pie?” Mara glanced at the crumbs on the counter. “Someone took the pie server, too?” “Unless it learned to walk.” A sprinkle of flour dusted the floor beneath the back table. In it, a neat half-moon print pointed toward the kitchen door. “Those aren’t my shoes.” “Mine either. I wore slippers.” Mara crouched. Tucked under the table leg was a folded scrap of paper, its edge stained red with cherry filling. She opened it carefully. “‘The recipe is mine.’ That sounds less like a breakfast order and more like a threat.” “Mrs. Bell said her grandmother invented that pie.” “And Mr. Pike insists the recipe came from his family.” The bell jingled again. Both women looked toward the empty doorway. “Maybe we should lock the door.” “After you put the kettle on. Whoever stole our pie has excellent taste, but terrible manners.”