Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YJ6GZ2WZ4FK84BJ3BHZSCZ

Rain freckled the bakery windows, and the last cinnamon rolls cooled beneath a checked cloth. Behind the counter, the baker stared at an empty cake stand. Her friend, still wearing a damp raincoat, peered into the display. “The mayor’s gooseberry tart was right there.” “Perhaps he collected it early.” “He called five minutes ago. He’s still at the dentist.” A trail of flour led across the counter, ending beside the cupboard where the tea things were kept. “Those look like paw prints.” “They’re thumbprints. My mother never remembers to wipe her hands.” “Your mother left an hour ago.” “Then why would she hide the tart?” The cupboard door creaked open. Behind a stack of saucers sat the tart, tucked beneath a knitted tea cosy. A note was pinned to its crust with a cocktail stick. “What does it say?” “‘Tell the mayor he can have his pudding when he pays for last year’s raffle tickets.’” “Didn’t he win the raffle?” “A wheelbarrow. He claimed he’d paid, but Mother keeps the books.” Rain pattered against the glass. The baker reached for the telephone while her friend rescued the tart from its woolly hiding place. “Shall I tell him it’s being held hostage?” “Tell him we also accept cheques.”