Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HMC1V1R4NAW3MAQE7XKVD

By nine o’clock, the bakery smelled of cinnamon, warm butter, and rain drying off wool coats. Outside, the bell on the town hall struck once. Inside, someone had stolen the silver cake server. “You’re sure it was here?” “Beside the lemon tarts. I polished it this morning.” “Maybe Mrs. Bell borrowed it.” “Mrs. Bell borrows recipes. She returns those, eventually.” A tray of currant buns cooled on the counter. Beneath it lay a dusting of flour, interrupted by one neat oval print. “That isn’t a shoe mark.” “No. It’s the base of the honey jar.” “The jar’s over there.” “And its lid is sticky.” Rain tapped at the window. Across the square, the florist was sweeping water from his doorstep, while a customer in a red scarf waited under the awning. “You think our thief stopped for honey?” “I think our thief put something inside the jar.” The lid came loose with a soft pop. There was no silver cake server, only a folded note, sweet at the corners. “‘Look behind the third sack of flour.’” “That’s where I hid it.” “Then who wrote the note?” From the kitchen came the scrape of a chair. Both looked toward the swinging door as it settled gently into place.