“I understand, but the ‘No Trespassing’ signs are there for a reason. The owner of this cabin likes her privacy and is very wary of any strangers who could be stalking her,” said the sheriff.

Bess spoke. “We really didn’t mean anything by this, sir. We promise to steer clear for the rest of our visit. I apologize for all of us.”

The sheriff nodded. “I will let you off with a warning—this time. But if I hear another complaint about you three, I’ll bring you into the precinct. That’s a promise.”

He walked away and started talking on his phone, leaving us with the younger officer. We were speechless. How had this weekend taken such a disastrous turn?

He smiled. “I’m sorry my uncle was so rough on you guys,” he apologized. “But folks in Avondale really take their privacy seriously. I’m Ian Garrison, by the way. I’m interning over the next couple of months for the sheriff’s office. It looks like you could use help getting back to wherever you’re going. Right?”

I nodded. “We’re heading to our cabin on the southeast corner of the lake,” I explained. “I think we’ll be fine. But if you’re going in that direction, we wouldn’t mind the company.”

“We’re heading that way too. Just consider us your police escort.”

“Nancy,” I replied as I took his hand. “And that’s Bess and George.” I pointed to my friends.

“Nice to meet you all,” he said.

George and I portaged the canoe down to the shore, Bess carried the paddles, and we climbed in and pushed off. We got back, slowly but surely, the motorboat officers watching our every move.

By the time we got back to our cabin, the weather had cleared. And I couldn’t believe it, but it was close to dinnertime. What a day it had been.

“Can we get you anything to drink before you leave?” I asked Sheriff Garrison.

“No thanks,” he replied. “I have to get back. But remember, stay out of trouble while you’re here.” Then he smiled and said, “But barring an emergency, Ian here is done for the day.” He gestured to his nephew.

“That would be great, thanks,” Ian replied with a shy smile in Bess’s direction.

Sheriff Garrison took off, and Bess and I went into the kitchen to get the drinks.

As I sliced some lemons to add to a pitcher of iced tea, I said to Bess, “I was hoping you might be able to pump Ian for some info on the fire.” I smiled at her in what I hoped was a winning fashion. “You know, since he seems to really like you.”

“He does not,” Bess protested. “But I’ll ask a few questions if it helps.”

We headed back out onto the porch with the ice-filled pitcher, four glasses, and some snacks.

“This is great, thanks. So, where are you all from?” Ian said.

“River Heights,” George replied. “We’re just up here for the weekend.”

“What do you think so far?” Ian asked.

“The lake is beautiful if you can manage to stay in the canoe,” I joked. “And we got to check out Avondale earlier today as well. That bookstore fire looked really terrible.”

I glanced at Bess to see if she would take the lead.

She turned to Ian and asked, “Who would want to torch a bookstore? We heard some people say that Lacey isn’t too popular around here, even though she’s a famous mystery writer. And Paige seems to have an enemy or two as well.”

“Well, I’m not supposed to discuss ongoing investigations, but we really don’t know that much yet. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt,” Ian said. “The fire chief and Uncle Bob—uh, I mean the sheriff—were in the bookstore all morning collecting evidence. They still have to evaluate everything officially, but just between us, that fire was definitely not an accident.

“They found traces of kerosene, though they also found some frayed wires on an old chandelier,” he continued. “It looked like someone cut through the wires to make it look like that’s what started the fire. Now they’ve launched a full investigation.”

So it was official: Someone had started the fire on purpose. But who was the target? Paige? Lacey? Or someone else? I was contemplating my next move when the ringing of Ian’s cell phone cut through my thoughts.

“Hey, Uncle Bob,” he answered. “Is everything okay?”

The sheriff. It was difficult not to eavesdrop, since Ian was sitting just a few feet away.

“Really?” he asked. “Of course . . . I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The call over, he looked at us, seemingly in shock.

“Thanks for the iced tea,” he said, nodding his head at Bess as he spoke. “But our small town has been hit again. Someone stole a valuable, one-of-a-kind statue.”

He shook his head. “I just don’t understand why this is happening.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Cracking the Code

BESS WAS UP FROM HER chair in a second. “Come on, Ian,” she offered. “I’ll give you a lift back.”

George and I walked Bess and Ian to the car. “Do you have any more details?” I asked.

He opened the car door and said, “The piece was by artist Rick Brown. It was taken from one of the small art galleries in town. The Bride of Avondale, I think my uncle said.”

“Two crimes in less than twelve hours?” George questioned once they drove off. “I know that may not be much for River Heights, but from what we’ve heard about Avondale, it’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it?”

“I agree,” I said. “I know I’ve heard the name Rick Brown, but I can’t remember where.”

“Maybe you saw one of his pieces in a museum, or read about him in art class,” George suggested.

“Wait a sec,” I said. “I remember.” I jumped up and ran into the house to grab the two Lacey O’Brien books I had bought earlier in the day. I came back to the porch and opened one of them to the “About the Author” page and skimmed it quickly.

“I knew it!” I said triumphantly. “I read about the author on the way to the diner before. Rick Brown is Lacey O’Brien’s husband.”

“That’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?” George said. “I mean, first Lacey’s supposed to appear for a reading but there’s a fire at the bookstore. Then her husband’s statue is stolen from an art gallery on the same day.”

I took a sip of tea and closed my eyes for a second.

“Do you remember those two girls at the bookstore fire this morning? One of them mentioned that it seemed awfully similar to the plot of Lacey O’Brien’s book Burned.”

George nodded. “Right,” she agreed. “But what does that have to do with the stolen sculpture?”

“Well, Burned is about a fire in an old building, and Framed is about a theft from an art museum,” I told her.

“Seriously?” she said.

I nodded. “And another one of Lacey’s mysteries is Drowned. Think about what happened to us on the lake before. It sounds like someone’s copying the crimes from her mystery novels,” I said.

George gave me one of her George looks and said, “Okay, so we could have drowned today in Moon Lake, but why would anyone target us? No one knows who we are. And besides, how could anyone have known we’d go out on the lake and be caught in a storm?”

“But remember Alice Ann—and that waitress—told us where Lacey lives. I just have a feeling it’s connected somehow. I know you’re beat, but maybe we should start reading Burned and Framed now. There just might be more clues to what’s next.”

“I’ll tell you what’s next for me, Nancy: sleep. You can wait up for Bess, but I’m going to bed.”

The next morning I woke up early and waited to tell Bess and George what I had discovered. I had looked at both books, letting George get her beauty sleep. Burned opens with a mysterious fire at an antiques store. The arsonist tampers with the wiring in an old chandelier to make it look as though the fire is accidental. The rest of the plot involves an international ring of criminals who traffic in fake and stolen antiques. The heroine in the novel—a journalist named Lucy Luckstone—breaks the story and eventually solves the case with the help of Detective Buck Albemarle.