Run: 2026-09-23-01M36V1W2GBMMSTGY9WT21AY2X

The morning rush had thinned to the tick of the cooling racks and the sweet drift of cardamom. One shelf in the case stood bare, a smear of glaze marking where something had been. “You didn’t sell the lemon crown, did you?” “It was still here when I set out the scones. Plate and all.” “Then someone came through the back.” “The latch was up. I always drop it after the flour delivery.” A knife tapped once against the marble. Crumbs clung to the edge of a cooling tray, too neat to be an accident. “Mrs. Ellison asked after it twice yesterday. Said it was for the historical society.” “She also asked whether I’d noticed any lights in the old mill after closing.” “And had you?” “A lantern. Moving. I told myself it was the caretaker.” “The caretaker’s been in the hospital since Tuesday.” Steam rose between them from two thick mugs. Outside, a bicycle leaned against the lamppost, its basket lined with a checked cloth the exact blue of the bakery’s napkins. “There’s flour on the back step. A footprint, small.” “And a button. Brass. Off a coat I hemmmed last winter.” “So we know who.” “We know who took the cake. We don’t know what they were paying for.” The bell over the door stirred, though no one had touched it. Neither of them reached for the lock.