Run: 2026-10-05-01M46B5PG0RTJD7MP5S5W2FQ9G

Rain silvered the windows of Buttercup Bakery, blurring the village green. Behind the counter, a tray of cinnamon buns steamed beside the morning paper. “The constable says Mr. Pritchard fell into the millpond.” “With his pockets full of stones?” “He says people do peculiar things.” A teaspoon clicked against china. The bakery clock, shaped like a gingerbread house, chimed nine. “I found something in the flour bin.” “Please tell me it wasn’t another mouse.” A brass button lay on the counter between them. Across its face, a fox leaped over a crown. “That’s from the mayor’s hunting jacket.” “His only hunting jacket. He complained about the price of those buttons for six months.” Outside, the butcher raised his striped awning. Everything in Little Wren looked offensively ordinary. “When was the mayor here?” “Yesterday. After closing. He wanted the spare key to Pritchard’s cottage.” “And you gave it to him?” “He said there’d been a burst pipe.” The teaspoon stopped moving. “There wasn’t a burst pipe.” “No.” “Does anyone else know about the button?” “Only you.” The buns settled with tiny, sugary sighs. “Wrap me two of those.” “You’re hungry?” “No. We’re visiting the constable. He listens better when his mouth is full.”