Run: 2026-09-23-01M36T16KW5ETW4C17WRXZDFNP

The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, brushing flour from her sleeve. A queue of three customers stood before the counter, and behind it, a cake sat half-iced, abandoned mid-swirl. Did anyone see her leave? Not exactly. But she was carrying the brown envelope when she walked past the alley. Have you told Sheriff Bradley? I will. But first — don't touch that scone tray. I found powdered sugar scattered across the floor by the back door last night, like someone was in a hurry. Could she have gotten the combination from the recipe box? Nobody's been near that box since Dolores locked it in '92. Then somebody broke the lock. They glanced at the small brass keyhole on the old wooden recipe cabinet, tucked beneath the register. A thin crack ran along its edge. That's going in my notes. What notes? You're a baker, not a detective. Yesterday I was. Today I'm both.