Run: 2026-09-23-01M36VMYBHRFTSF8NP7A6BH01R

The bell above the door of Pemberton's Bakery jingled as a woman brushed flour from her apron and looked up from behind the display case. The morning light caught the dust motes dancing between them like tiny witnesses. "Has Mabel come through today?" "Not since Wednesday. She always ordered the same thing—cinnamon twist and black coffee. Never missed a day in seven years." "That's just it. She wasn't home last night. Curtains drawn, lights off. Mr. Pemberton called me from the back office and said her landlady was worried." "Margaret, that's hardly proof of anything. She could be visiting her sister in Charleston." "She doesn't have a sister in Charleston. I've known Mabel thirty years." A pause settled between them, heavier than the sourdough proofing in the back. The older woman set down the dish towel she'd been folding and folded it again. "Did you speak to the sheriff?" "I stopped by. He smiled that lazy smile of his and said there was nothing to worry about." "And what did you say to that?" "I said, 'Harold, if a woman who never breaks her routine suddenly vanishes the very week town council votes on the bakery's rezoning application, someone ought to worry on her behalf.'" Silence stretched. Somewhere behind them, an oven timer began to ring.