Run: 2026-09-23-01M36SKD8Q81NHPZF4NM1WHN3E

The bell above the door jingled as Eleanor stepped inside, the scent of cinnamon and warm dough wrapping around her like a shawl. Behind the counter, dusted with flour, she found Bernard arranging eclairs with the precision of a surgeon. "I heard about Martha's tea shop," she said, leaning against the display case. "The lock was picked, not broken. And her grandmother's locket is gone." "No such thing as coincidence in this town," Bernard muttered, sliding a tray into the oven. "Remember when Oldham's bookstore got broken into two winters ago? Lock picked clean." "So you think it's the same person?" He straightened, wiping his hands on his apron. "I think whoever's doing this knows what they want and they take only that. Nothing else disturbed. Not a crumb out of place." He paused. "Eleanor, have you noticed anyone new around here lately?" She frowned. "There's been a woman at the inn. Keeps to herself. Drives a car with no plates." "Then perhaps you should invite her in for a scone." He smiled thinly. "People talk when they're comfortable. And you always make people comfortable."