Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6NE8VC1MKHD1Q7GKNJJ1W

The bell above the bakery door jingled, and the scent of cinnamon and yeast wrapped around the newcomer like a familiar blanket. “You’re late. The bear claws are nearly gone.” “I know, I know. I got held up by the flower beds on Elm Street.” “The ones in front of the old Patterson place? Don’t tell me she’s still insisting those tulips are a message from beyond.” “Worse. She found a footprint in the mulch. Size eleven, she says. But here’s the thing—the only size eleven in town belongs to Pastor Miles.” “Who was out of town all weekend at a conference.” “Exactly. And Mrs. Patterson swears she saw a shadowy figure carrying a sack of flour at three in the morning.” “A sack of flour? Half the town’s been complaining about missing flour from the general store.” “I know. And you know who just ordered a suspiciously large batch of rye?” “Don’t say it.” “I won’t. But if the next loaf you slice has a little something extra baked inside, I’m calling the sheriff.” “Pour me a coffee. I think we’re going to need it.”