Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6F08P8ENY3S8D2XR1QD2N

The bell above the bakery door jingled, letting in a gust of rain and the smell of wet wool. A tray of lavender scones landed on the counter with a soft clatter. “Tell me again why the mayor’s prize-winning blackberry pie was in your freezer.” “Because I found it there. Before dawn. Next to the butter, wearing a little foil crown.” “That’s not funny.” “I wasn’t laughing. I was praying it wasn’t a sign.” “Signs don’t usually come with a handwritten label that says ‘For the judging table, do not touch.’” “Exactly. Someone wanted me to touch it.” “Or wanted me to think you touched it.” The oven timer dinged. Flour drifted through the morning light like snow. A folded napkin appeared beside the cash register—same blue ink as the label. “Read that.” “‘Ask Mabel about the second key.’” “I don’t like this.” “Neither do I. But if Mabel has a second key, she also has a second freezer.” “Who uses a second freezer for pies?” “Someone with a lot of pies and a very small conscience.” “Or a very large grudge.” “Against whom?” “Against whoever wins the baking contest.” “Then we’d better hope she likes scones.”