Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2D8BP7MHNAAK8DEQ54V1H

The bell above the door jingled, and flour puffed from the counter as the baker slapped down a rolling pin. "You're late. The cinnamon rolls went an hour ago." "I didn't come for rolls. I came about Mr. Fenwick." "Ah." A pause, filled with the hiss of the espresso machine. "Then you'll want the back table. Walls have ears in Maple Hollow, and half of them are chewing scones." They settled beneath a framed photo of the town's 1987 pie contest. "He ordered the same thing every morning, didn't he? Rye, sliced thin." "Every morning for thirty years. Except Tuesday." "What happened Tuesday?" "He asked for sourdough. Two loaves. Paid in quarters, and his hands were shaking." "Quarters?" "Rolled up in a sock. Sat there muttering about the clock tower." "The clock tower stopped at 4:15 last week." "Funny thing. That's when he came in." Somewhere in the kitchen, a timer dinged. Neither of them moved. "Did he leave anything behind?" A slow smile. "Just the bag. I meant to throw it out." "And?" "And there's a key taped inside the bottom. Brass. Tagged with a number." "Show me." "Eat something first. You can't solve a mystery on an empty stomach." "Is that a rule?" "In my bakery, it's law."