“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But I think I’m a bit lost. Is this the way to the Avondale Diner? Parkside and Main?”
“You’re going in the right direction,” the man—Arnold—replied. “This is Main Street here. Just keep walking two more short blocks and you’ll come to Parkside. The diner’s on the other side of the street. Best peach pie around, by the way,” he added, and smiled.
“Thank you,” I said, and started walking, but then turned back.
“One more thing. I was hoping to get a copy of Lacey O’Brien’s latest mystery at the bookstore, but her signing was canceled.” I gestured toward the few people still lingering in front of Paige’s Pages. “Do either of you know of another place in town that sells books?”
The woman stopped sweeping. “I sell all of Ce—I mean, Lacey’s—novels in my gift shop,” she replied, somewhat too cheerily. She stepped into the lobby of the inn and motioned for me to follow her.
“Thanks, that’s perfect,” I said. I followed her into the lobby, which was dim, dark, and covered in ornate, flowery wallpaper. An enormous antique grandfather clock stood against one wall. Just beyond it was a small arched entryway that led to a tiny nook of a room. In addition to a wide variety of antiques, it was packed with Cheshire cat–themed gifts, from salt and pepper shakers to clocks to tea towels and Alice in Wonderland books and toys.
“This is a lovely place,” I said as I studied an antique Tiffany lamp in the entryway to the gift shop. “It’s so charming.”
“Thank you,” she answered. She seemed surprised at the compliment. “It’s nice to see a young person like yourself appreciates dusty old antiques the same way I do. Most girls your age are more interested in cell phones and technical gadgets.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m Alice Ann Marple, by the way. Lacey O’Brien’s from around here, you know. Tourists know she’s a local writer, so guests are always asking for her books.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Nancy Drew,” I said. “I’m a writer myself,” I fibbed. “And a big mystery fan.” I gestured to the rack of Lacey O’Brien’s novels, which was tucked between a display of antique picture frames and a shelf of cat figurines. There were at least ten different titles to choose from.
“I’m sure you know, but this one’s her latest,” Alice Ann began, picking up a copy of Burned. The front cover showed an old house lit up in bright flames. “But this one’s my favorite.”
She handed me a copy of a book called Framed, which had an image of a shadowy figure in an oversize picture frame on the cover.
“You know, all of her books are set in a town that’s similar to Avondale,” Alice Ann continued. “Some people even think they’re based on real crimes, but I think that’s just ridiculous. I went to high school with her, and she had quite an active imagination.”
What was Alice Ann saying? Did she know something about the fire today? “Are you still close friends?” I asked.
“Friends? Close?” Alice Ann scoffed. “We were never really close. I wouldn’t even say we were friends. We were foe—” Alice stopped. And then she went on but in a more measured tone. “Lacey was—well, she kept to herself. Still does, as a matter of fact.”
I nodded. “Well, it would have been nice to see Lacey today, especially since I hear she rarely makes public appearances to promote her books. And how awful about the fire. I really feel bad for the owner.” I hoped Alice would continue talking about Paige.
But she just gave me a tight-lipped nod. It seemed like she had remembered that I was a stranger in town and not an old acquaintance to gossip with. I guessed I wasn’t going to find out why Alice felt Paige had something coming to her.
“Yes, it’s quite a tragedy,” she replied. For a moment I thought I heard sarcasm in her voice, but I couldn’t be sure because she moved on.
“Have you decided on a book?” she asked, gesturing to the two paperbacks I was holding.
“I’ll take them both,” I replied. “Thanks again for the help.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll ring them up for you.” It was clear our chat was over.
A few minutes later I was sitting in a booth at the diner with George and Bess, who were finishing dessert.
“We almost started to worry about you,” Bess said. “But we went ahead and ordered you an avocado-and-cheddar wrap with hummus. Hope that’s okay.”
“Well, it’s not Hannah’s fried chicken, but it still sounds pretty good,” I replied. “I’m starving.”
“So, what did you find out?” George asked.
“Only that Lacey O’Brien grew up here and keeps to herself, and that Alice Ann Marple, owner of the Cheshire Cat Inn, is no fan of Paige Samuels or Lacey O’Brien. I overheard Alice saying that Paige had it coming to her, and then she started to say that she and Lacey were more enemies than friends.” I knew it would be way too easy if Alice Ann was the one to set the fire, but what did she mean by her remarks?
I took a sip of water from the glass in front of me.
“And I bought two Lacey O’Brien books,” I said. I pulled out my copies of Burned and Framed.
“Nice work,” George said. “Why don’t you give me Burned and you take Framed, and we’ll see if there’s anything to what those girls said about the bookstore fire.”
“Well, it’s a first step at least,” I said. “But I think we’re just getting started. You don’t think she could have been behind the fire, do you?”
Bess started to answer, but the waitress arrived with my wrap, and as she placed it on the table, she noticed my books.
“I loved Burned. I think it was her best yet,” she commented.
“I just started it, but so far it’s terrific,” I agreed.
“Lacey O’Brien lives in town, right?” Bess asked innocently. “Does she ever eat here?”
“Never has on any of my shifts,” the waitress replied. “She doesn’t live in town, though—she has a cabin on Moon Lake. And she’s one of those reclusive writer types. She does one signing a year at Paige’s Pages, but that’s it. No one around here sees her for the rest of the year.”
So the girls who we saw at the fire and Alice were in agreement about Lacey—she really didn’t show up in town often.
“We’re staying in a cabin on the lake. Maybe we’ll bump into her up there,” Bess said to the waitress.
“You never know,” she said with a shrug. “But her cabin is almost completely hidden. You can’t even see the place from the road. I’ve heard that her lakefront is decorated with a huge carving of a brown bear. I’ve never seen it myself, but that’s what a customer told me.”
Then the waitress leaned into our table and said, “I don’t think folks from around here like her too much. Like she thinks she’s better than everyone who lives in Avondale.”
She tucked the check under the saltshaker and moved on to take the order of the couple seated at the table behind ours.
“Wow,” Bess whispered. “I wonder what she meant by that. And I’m totally intrigued by this hidden cabin.”
“And the bear,” George said. “That’s a great way for us to find the cabin from the lake.”
“If we could score an interview with Lacey O’Brien, that would be terrific,” I remarked.
George nodded. “We can still take the canoe out this afternoon,” she suggested. “Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to spot that bear and Lacey’s cabin.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I picked up the check. “By the way, lunch is on me.”