We parked and quickly made our way toward the crowd that had formed.

“Was there a fire?” I asked a man with a golden retriever close by his side.

“Looks that way,” he replied, shaking his head and gesturing toward a nearby building. A sign in front of the shop was in the shape of an open book. “And at Paige’s Pages, of all places.”

Nearby, three young women had their heads together, whispering—but loud enough that we could hear them.

“And now we won’t get to meet Lacey O’Brien,” one of them said.

“I can’t believe it, Carly!” another replied. “And I’ve read all her mysteries.”

That word got my attention. I moved closer to the girls.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know what happened? We’re just here for the weekend, but what’s going on here? I was trying to get to the bookstore, but it looks like that’s going to be, uh, difficult.”

“We were here for the bookstore too,” the first girl replied. “Lacey O’Brien was supposed to do a reading and a book signing—you know, the mystery writer?”

“I’ve heard of her, sure,” I replied.

“She’s like a local celebrity around here,” the second girl, who had dark, curly hair, said. “Well, except that people hardly ever see her. I heard this book signing was the only one she was doing all year.”

“And now we’re out of luck, aren’t we, Mandy?” the third girl added. “No signing today.”

The girls continued chattering, and I took a few steps back. But I could still hear them clearly. In fact, everyone around us could. A firefighter near us was talking with a distraught-looking woman with graying hair who was pointing to the store.

“Did you realize there was a fire in her latest book, Burned?” Mandy whisper-shouted to her friends.

“You’re right!” Carly answered. “That’s a weird coincidence. You don’t think Lacey had anything to do with this fire, do you?”

“Well, at least something finally happened here. Nothing exciting or mysterious ever happens in Avondale,” Mandy said.

I wouldn’t be so sure, I thought. That’s what everyone thinks until something actually happens.

At that moment, one of the other firefighters approached us.

“Everyone, please step back,” he announced. “We need to get our equipment out of the store.”

“Sure, no problem,” George said. We all moved back, but Mandy had ideas of her own and went right up to the fireman.

“What happened?” she demanded. “We really, really wanted to see Lacey O’Brien today. And now we might have to wait another year until we do.”

I could have sworn the fireman rolled his eyes. But he patiently answered her question. “From our initial investigation, it looks like some faulty wiring in an old chandelier,” he replied. “That happens a lot in older buildings like this one.”

Mandy gasped. “It does?” she asked, an amazed look on her face. “Because that’s exactly how the fire started in Lacey O’Brien’s last book! Except the wiring in the chandelier hadn’t really caused the fire. It was arson!”

CHAPTER TWO

The Missing Wallet

I TURNED TO GEORGE AND Bess to see if they had been listening. One glance at their faces told me they had heard everything. In fact, there was an almost collective gasp from the crowd around us.

“Hmm,” the firefighter replied. “That’s very interesting. But until we do a more complete investigation, we can’t make that assumption, miss.”

Mandy turned back to her friends. “Well, I can, and I will,” she whispered to them.

The crowd broke up and Bess, George, and I walked slowly down the main street.

George cleared her throat. “Nancy, if this is arson, then it’s really none of our business, right?” she began. “We can just go about our weekend plans, can’t we?”

“Without you looking under every rock,” Bess chimed in.

My mouth dropped open, but I wasn’t really surprised. My friends knew me better than anyone, except maybe for Ned. And they knew it would be close to impossible for me to resist a suspicious fire and a well-known writer who happened to specialize in mysteries.

“I guess I’m an open book,” I agreed with a soft laugh. “No pun intended.”

“Well, before we start,” George said as we walked, “can we grab some lunch first? I won’t be much help unless I eat.”

“Why don’t you and Bess find someplace, while I ask a few more questions? Just text me where you go, and I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes. Okay?” I said.

“Perfect,” George agreed as she and Bess headed down the street.

I turned back toward the spot where the firefighter had been talking with Lacey O’Brien’s fans. Most everyone who had gathered was gone, except for the firefighter who Mandy had questioned. He was busy talking on his phone and I waited a moment until he seemed like he was wrapping up his conversation.

“Excuse me,” I asked. “But do you know when the bookstore might reopen? And when Lacey O’Brien will be signing her books?”

“I think you’re out of luck,” he replied. “The store won’t be reopening for a few weeks at least. It wasn’t a bad fire, but there’s a lot of smoke and water damage. The owner, Paige Samuels, has quite a mess on her hands.”

“Do you think those girls were right?” I asked innocently. Then I thought fast. “My brother’s a volunteer firefighter and has never dealt with arson before.”

“I really don’t know and can’t say just yet,” he replied. “It looked like bad wiring to begin with, but it could have been anything. As I said, we’ll be doing a full investigation, but it’s too soon to tell right now.”

He excused himself and headed over to the other firefighters. I nodded and backed away. Then I pulled out my phone to see if George or Bess had texted me. I had one new message from George: MEET US AT THE AVONDALE DINER, CORNER OF PARKSIDE AND MAIN.

I headed up the street, passing an eyeglasses store and a bakery. Baskets of purple and pink impatiens hung from the streetlamps, and I had the feeling that Mandy was probably right that nothing exciting ever did happen in Avondale. It was quiet and quaint with a small-town feel. So why now—why a fire? And who? And did the fire really have anything to do with Lacey O’Brien’s book? Or maybe even Lacey O’Brien herself?

At that moment I passed the Cheshire Cat Inn. In front a woman was sweeping the sidewalk, mumbling to herself. She had curly, dark-brown hair with a distinctive streak of gray in it. As I got closer, I realized she was talking to someone—an older man in an apron who stood half-hidden in the doorway to the bakery.

“She had it coming to her, if you ask me, Arnold,” I heard her say.

“Now, now, Alice,” the man scolded gently. “I know you and Paige have never been the best of friends, but no one deserves to have her shop practically burned to the ground.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. They were talking about the bookstore and the owner. I had to find out more.

“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.