Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DYCZT15TWSB6EN0K9DKB2H

Flour drifted across the counter like fresh snow. Out front, the town's early risers were already pressing their noses to the glass. The pastry box had been left on the back step before dawn, its red twine retied in a sloppy knot, nothing like the neat bows the bakery was known for. Tucked beneath the lid lay a single folded slip of parchment, its message printed in block letters. "It smells like cardamom." "Half of Pine Hollow smelled like cardamom after Saturday's bake sale." "Not like this. This is our blend. Cinnamon, cardamom, a whisper of orange peel." "Then somebody's been in the back kitchen." "Only three people have keys." "And two of them are standing right here." "Don't look at me like that." "Then read it aloud. I'd rather hear it than stare at it." Biscuit, the bakery's orange tabby, stretched across the flour sack, utterly unbothered by the drama. "'Stop asking about the mill fire, or your next box will come with a match inside.'" "The mill fire was forty years ago." "Which makes it strange that anyone still cares. I only asked Marjorie Dunn about it. Once." "Then Marjorie Dunn has some explaining to do."