Nancy quickly got dressed and went outside. In the mud, she found small pawprints next to a large set of sneaker prints. She surmised that since the sneaker prints were much larger than Bess’s, it seemed that Marisa was right. Misty must have been stolen.
“Did you leave the door unlocked when you took Casey out?” Nancy asked Bess as she stepped inside.
Bess shook her head. “I’m sure I didn’t. I was careful because of the threats against you and Marisa.”
When she examined the Marvins’ locks, Nancy found no sign of forced entry. “It’s just like the break-in at your apartment,” she told Marisa. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Marisa shakily set down the glass of orange juice Bess had poured for her. “What if something happened to Misty? What am I going to do?”
Bess looked as though she might cry, too. “I’m so sorry, Marisa.”
“How can I go to class?” Marisa bit her thumbnail fiercely. “Not only will I not be able to concentrate, but I won’t be able to find my way around. I never learned how to use a cane very well. And I’m not even staying in my own apartment. I’ll never be able to manage.”
“What can we do to help?” Nancy asked.
“Could you bring me the phone?” Marisa asked. “I’m going to call Devon.”
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Nancy said. She and Bess took Casey to the kitchen.
“Do you think Misty’s disappearance is related to the counterfeiting case?” Bess asked Nancy.
Nancy shrugged. “A well-trained guide dog is worth a lot of money, right?”
Bess nodded. “Several thousand dollars.”
“It could be theft, plain and simple,” Nancy said. “Then again, what better way to sideline Marisa than to take Misty? But who knew Marisa was staying here? And how did the thief get in?”
Bess patted Casey’s head. “You probably tried to warn us last night, and we thought you were barking at the thunder.”
“Bess?” Marisa called from the living room.
Bess held open the swinging door for Nancy and Casey. “What’s going on?” she asked Marisa.
Marisa drew in a deep breath. “Well, Devon said that between his work hours and the fall play, he’s too busy to give me much extra help, but Eric promised to make sure I get from class to class.”
Bess and Nancy exchanged a look. Devon was too busy to help Marisa at a time like this? That seemed terribly insensitive, Nancy thought. Besides, wasn’t the restaurant still closed following last night’s incident with the broken glass?
Marisa shifted in her seat. “Nancy, could I ask you a huge favor?”
“Sure,” Nancy said.
“Could you give me a ride to the inn? I promised I’d meet Penny this morning, and we’re not on the bus line here.”
“Not a problem,” Nancy said. “Anyhow, I was hoping to talk to Penny and learn a little more about the history of the inn. I figure any extra information might help with the counterfeiting case.”
Marisa nodded. “You could be right. But I doubt Penny knows more than what I’ve already told you about the inn. I certainly don’t.”
“Okay,” Nancy said. “In that case, maybe I’ll try the River Heights Historical Society. But, I’ll still take you to the inn, of course.”
After dropping off Marisa, Nancy drove to the historical society, in downtown River Heights. A tall, thin woman sat behind a glass case in the empty reception area. The case was filled with old china, buttons, maps, money, and even a copper dustpan.
The woman stood up and shook Nancy’s hand. “Hi. I’m Betsy Lesh, president of the historical society. Have you seen our display of nineteenth-century household items?” She gestured toward the glass case. “These items are replicas, of course—the originals are very valuable to collectors. Perhaps you’d like to visit the recently restored Sorensen home on Main Street to experience a typical River Heights home of the time period.”
“That sounds interesting,” Nancy said. “Maybe another time.”
“How may I help you today?” Betsy asked.
Nancy explained that she was looking for information about the history of Candlelight Inn.
Betsy’s eyes lit up as Nancy spoke. “I have a wonderful book here on Illinois inns and taverns that dedicates several pages to Candlelight Inn.” She scanned the bookshelf behind her. “Here it is. Have you seen this?” she asked Nancy as she took the book off the shelf.
Nancy shook her head.
“It’s really quite fascinating,” Betsy said. She ran her finger down the table of contents, turned to a page, then began to read aloud. “ ‘The inn was built in 1853 by Edward Allen Taper, a self-made millionaire.’ ”
Betsy looked up from the book. “Not that it says so here, but he was rumored to be a stingy old man. Stingy but brilliant. Much of his fortune disappeared over the years, but the inn still stands as a legacy of his vision. I’m sure you’ve read about Emmaline Whitby in the newspapers, and her bequest to the Guiding Eyes?”
Nancy nodded.
“Obviously, Emmaline inherited her great-grandfather’s financial talents,” Betsy said. “But unlike Edward Taper, she was a truly generous individual who made numerous charitable contributions. Of course, we at the Society would have been happier had she not undertaken those extensive renovations at the inn thirty years ago, when she converted it to a full-time residence. Nonetheless, much of the original structure remains intact.”
“I took a tour of the inn recently,” Nancy said. “The construction is beautiful.”
Betsy nodded. “And the renovations were performed by Marshall and Marshall. They did an excellent job, and took great care to restore and preserve what they could.”
“Marshall?” Nancy repeated. “As in Larry Marshall?”
“That’s right,” Betsy said. “Larry Marshall and his father, Tom. I understand that Larry’s son, Devon, is following the family tradition and going to architecture school. If he’s as talented as his father, he has quite a future. It’s a shame Larry’s business has fallen on hard times. Between the poor real estate market and Emmaline’s will . . .”
