Run: 2026-09-23-01M36TVG2GWK3K63N9T2XQM6QG

The bell over the door had barely settled when the smell of cinnamon gave way to something sharper, like scorched sugar and worry. “You’re early.” “Couldn’t sleep. The scones are already gone, by the way. Mrs. Pell took the last two and asked if I’d seen her husband.” “Harold? He was here at six. Black coffee, no pastry. He looked past me like the wall had an answer.” “He left his scarf on the chair. Navy, with that awful moth hole. I put it behind the counter.” “That’s not Harold’s. His is gray. I mended it myself last winter.” A tray clattered. Flour drifted in the slant of morning light, soft as gossip. “Then whose is it?” “I don’t know. But whoever wore it stood by the back door long enough to track mud across my clean tiles. And they took the ledger from the office hook. I only noticed because the nail was bare.” “The ledger with the Saturday orders?” “And the names of who paid cash. Someone doesn’t want those names read.” Outside, a truck idled and didn’t pull away. Inside, the oven ticked as it cooled. “Lock the front. I’ll call the sheriff.” “Already did. He said he’d come after his doughnut. I told him we might not have one left.”