Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YF65CSBGMPW3KHPG830YQG

At half past six, the ovens at Buttercup Bakery were still yawning warmth into the little shop when Marnie found the note beneath a tray of cooling cinnamon buns. “If you’re here to steal a bun, you’re out of luck.” “I brought coffee. And your front door was unlocked.” “It was not.” “Then your lock has learned manners.” Marnie crossed the flour-dusted floor and took the cup. Beyond the windows, Maple Street glistened after rain, empty except for Reverend Poole’s bicycle. The note read: *Ask Elsie who really bought the mill. Then come alone.* “Cheery thing to find with breakfast.” “It’s about Mr. Halloway.” “Everything in Bramblewick is about Mr. Halloway since he turned up dead in the raffle drum.” “He wasn’t in the drum. He was beside it.” “Much better.” Marnie turned the paper over. A faint crescent marked one corner, pale violet against the cream. “Blueberry?” “Elderberry ink. Elsie uses it for her prize-winning jam labels.” “So she wrote it.” “Or someone wants us to think so.” From the back room came a soft metallic scrape. They both looked toward the swinging door. “You keep a cat?” “Not anymore.” The door swayed once. On the other side, something heavy struck the floor, followed by the bright, accusing crash of Marnie’s best mixing bowl.