Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HEKT1RNEZB1GCE4FD4TJ3

By ten o’clock, the bakery windows had fogged over, blurring the view of Bellwether’s square. Inside, cinnamon rolls cooled in neat rows while rain tapped at the glass. “Did you move the blue ribbon?” “No. Why?” “It was tied around Mrs. Pritchard’s cake box when I put it in the pantry. Now it’s on the counter.” “Perhaps she changed her mind about the bow.” “She hasn’t collected the cake.” A tray slid into the oven. The little bell above the door gave a single, uncertain jingle, though no one came in. “That bell’s been doing that all morning.” “So you said. Look at the ribbon.” “It’s damp.” “And smells like roses. Mrs. Pritchard wore rose perfume yesterday.” “She also said she was going straight home after ordering. Are you thinking she came back?” “I’m thinking someone opened the pantry window. There’s flour on the sill.” Outside, the rain eased. Across the square, the florist was unlocking her shop, a bright yellow umbrella tucked under one arm. “The florist grows roses behind her shop.” “And she borrowed my ladder yesterday.” “Why would she want a cake?” “I don’t know. But I’d like to ask her before we tell Mrs. Pritchard her birthday surprise has disappeared.” On the counter, the ribbon dripped onto a flour-dusted note neither of them had noticed before.