Run: 2026-10-05-01M46B8S99R066JQ129A08CC00

The bell above the bakery door gave its usual apologetic jingle. Outside, rain polished the cobbles of Market Street; inside, cinnamon buns cooled beneath a gingham cloth. “You’ve brought the biscuit tin back.” “Empty, I’m afraid.” “It was empty when you borrowed it.” “Then we agree on the facts.” Behind the counter, flour-dusted hands stopped folding a paper bag. On the customer’s side, a wet umbrella dripped into an ancient brass stand. “That tin held the raffle money.” “Yes. And someone’s replaced it with a very nice thank-you note.” “How thoughtful of the thief.” “The note says the money is being kept safe until the village committee learns to count.” “That sounds like Mrs. Bell.” “Mrs. Bell dots her i’s with circles. These are little hearts.” The oven ticked in the silence. Across the square, the church clock struck ten, although everyone knew it was twenty minutes slow. “Did you notice anything else?” “A smear of raspberry jam on the lid.” “We sold raspberry doughnuts to half the town yesterday.” “And one person asked for a napkin before touching anything.” A tray slid onto the counter. “Then we’d better visit the cleanest hands in Little Mallow.” “After a bun?” “Investigations require breakfast.”