Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HNRP5SHH66PABWB6015KY

The bell above the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though nothing else about the morning felt usual. Someone had taken the blue ribbon from the Founders’ Day cake, leaving a clean stripe through the powdered sugar. “Please tell me you moved it.” “If I had, I’d know where it was.” Mara set down her tray of currant scones. Across the room, Tom stood beside the display case, flour on one sleeve and worry on his face. Without the ribbon, the cake looked oddly undressed. “The judge arrives at ten.” “Then we have forty minutes to find it.” A faint thump came from behind the counter. Both looked down. The old bakery cat emerged from beneath the shelves, trailing a length of blue satin from his collar. “Well, there’s our culprit.” “Not quite. Look at the end.” The ribbon had been cut, not torn. Tied to it was a tiny brass key. Mara turned the key over. A stamped number caught the light: 14. “Doesn’t Mrs. Finch have locker fourteen at the station?” “She did. Before she left town last Tuesday.” Outside, the church clock struck nine-twenty. Tom glanced at the cake, then at Mara. “Should I fetch the constable?” “After you put the kettle on. I think Mrs. Finch meant us to find this.”