Run: 2026-09-23-01M37J0V80P954NAC62NPEQVBG

By seven, the windows of Willow’s Bakery had fogged with warmth, and the whole of Little Fen smelled of cinnamon. Maisie set a tray of buns on the counter while her friend Iris studied the empty space beside the till. “The silver cake knife was there last night.” “Perhaps you put it in the drawer.” “I checked. Twice.” Iris lifted the lace cloth beneath the cake stand. A dusting of flour lay across the counter, broken by one narrow streak. “Someone dragged it away.” “The door was locked.” “And the windows?” “Painted shut since 1984.” Outside, the church clock struck seven. Maisie glanced at the ovens, then at the flour streak. It ended beneath a stack of cardboard pastry boxes. “If we find a burglar in there, I’m charging them for breakfast.” Iris moved the boxes. Behind them sat the knife, balanced across a saucer. Beneath its silver handle, water dripped from a thin pipe into the dish. “Oh. I remember now. The pipe started leaking, and I couldn’t find a spoon long enough.” “You saved the counter.” “I nearly accused half the town.” Iris picked up a warm bun. “Only half? You’re getting generous.”