Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YFBS1FXCQ80AKJN58DY9Q7

The bell over the bakery door gave an apologetic jingle, shaking rain from its brass clapper. Beyond the steamed windows, Maple Hollow was still asleep. Inside, the ovens glowed, and a tray of cinnamon knots cooled beside an empty flour bin. “You’re certain the note was in there?” “Under the last scoop. I thought it was a supplier’s invoice until I saw the wax seal.” “And you touched nothing else?” “Only the kettle. Murder or no murder, this town expects tea before six.” A floorboard creaked above them. The bakery’s upstairs flat had been empty since the village fete. “I thought you said old Mr. Pruitt left yesterday.” “He did. I drove him to the station myself.” From the flour bin came a soft, metallic scrape. “Please tell me that’s a mouse.” “In my bakery? Never.” The lid lifted half an inch, then settled. A single line of flour slid across the floorboards, stopping at the pantry door. “That note—what did it say?” “‘Ask who ordered the almond cake.’” “But no one ordered an almond cake.” “Exactly. And Mr. Pruitt was allergic to almonds.” Upstairs, something heavy toppled. The kettle began to whistle, shrill as an alarm. “Tea can wait.”