Marisa smiled. “And she knew Misty averages three treats a day. I was close to the bottom of the can.”
Misty slunk into the room and, shaking, pressed up against Marisa’s leg.
Eric laughed. “I guess she heard the word ‘treat.’ I always liked you, Misty. You’re a smart dog.”
Misty growled and bared her teeth. “What’s the matter, girl?” Eric asked Misty. “We used to be best friends.”
Nancy closed her eyes. In Eric’s mind, he was protecting Marisa because he was madly in love with her. The threats, the theft, the lies—he’d done it all for Marisa. Everything made sense—almost. But who had vandalized Candlelight Inn? Who had stolen Bess’s sewing machine? And why?
“Wake up, Nancy.” Eric tapped Nancy on the shoulder. “I’ve got some important work for that detective brain of yours.”
Eric reached into his pocket and fished out a crumpled letter. He held it up in front of Nancy. The pages were filled with Braille dots, with the corresponding letters written underneath the Braille.
Eric smirked. “I hear I beat you to the library’s only book with the Braille alphabet. Sorry. I had to work on this project. But I returned it this afternoon—it’s all yours now.”
Nancy squinted at Eric’s wobbly translation of the Braille document. It was the second page of Emmaline’s letter to Marisa. “Where’s page one?”
“Page one deals with the matter of Emmaline’s checkbook and her unfounded accusations against me. I incinerated it,” Eric said. “But page two is very interesting. Read it out loud. I want Marisa to hear it—after all, it is for her.”
Nancy took a deep breath. “ ‘Marisa, you are no longer blind to my faults,’ ” she read. “ ‘You know about my past. This is not the legacy I wanted to leave you. A defective gene has passed from generation to generation in this family, causing blindness. Some were spared—you and I were not. Thankfully, you escaped a far worse affliction, which is the greed I inherited from my forefathers. Edward Taper was willing to do anything for money. So, I’m sorry to say, was I. A valuable family heirloom has been handed down from Edward. Now, Marisa, it will be yours. Do with it what you will. I know you will use it for a worthwhile purpose. And in case prying eyes read this letter, please study the remainder closely. My secretary will furnish you with the aforementioned treasure. I’ve hidden it in a safe place. And remember—a stitch in time saves nine. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Love always, Grandmother.’ ”
Marisa’s face was frozen.
“What do you think?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know,” Marisa said. “I mean, I don’t understand.”
“I understand one thing.” Nancy turned to Eric. “You broke into the inn to look for Emmaline’s treasure. ‘Money doesn’t grow on trees’—that’s why you hacked at the oak tree outside. And Bess’s sewing machine . . .”
“Right, right,” Eric said. “ ‘A stitch in time.’ ” Eric took a step toward Nancy. “That’s the easy part, Nancy. Unfortunately, there was no treasure in the tree, there was no treasure in the sewing machine—there was no treasure anywhere.”
Eric pointed the gun at Nancy’s head. “Where’s the treasure, Nancy? And if you don’t know—you’re going to die.”
15
Nancy’s Legacy
Nancy took a deep breath. “May I read the letter again?” she asked Eric.
“Don’t stall,” Eric said. He held up the letter and let Nancy take a quick look.
“ ‘My secretary will furnish you with the aforementioned treasure,’ ” Nancy repeated. “Emmaline didn’t have a secretary, did she?”
“I was the closest thing she had to a secretary,” Eric said. “Obviously, I don’t know anything about the treasure. Weren’t you paying attention? If this is the best you can do—”
“As I was saying,” Nancy interrupted, “Emmaline didn’t have a secretary working for her. A secretary is also another name for a piece of furniture—a desk, like the one Emmaline has in the study.”
“Which matches Bess’s sewing machine,” Marisa added. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Eric kept his gun trained on Nancy and Marisa as he backed out of the foyer. “Don’t try anything funny. I’ll be right back.”
As Eric’s footsteps faded, Marisa pushed Misty toward Nancy. “Hold out your hands,” she whispered.
Nancy thrust her bound hands toward the dog. Misty sank her teeth into the thick rope. Within seconds, she had chewed all the way through. Nancy moved her feet from underneath the chair, and Misty went to work on the rope that bound her ankles together.
“The desk is locked!” Eric called from the study. “Where’s the key?”
“It’s at my apartment!” Marisa shouted back. Eric stormed back into the room. Nancy quickly hid her hands in the folds of her sweater and stuck her feet under the chair. Misty had almost chewed through the rope around her ankles.
“Are you lying to me?” Eric asked. “Because if you don’t have the key, I’m going to break the lock. You don’t want me to do that, do you?”
With a mighty tug, Nancy freed her ankles.
Eric looked down. “Hey!” he shouted when he saw the loose ropes. He stepped toward Nancy, waving the gun.
Misty let out a terrifying bark and leaped at Eric. The gun flew from his hand. Misty pinned him against the wall, her paws on his shoulders and her teeth inches from his throat.
Nancy scrambled to her feet. While Misty held Eric against the wall, Nancy picked up the loose ropes from the floor. They were still long enough to be used on Eric. Misty let Nancy close enough to tie the ropes first around Eric’s wrists, then his ankles.
When Eric was securely tied, Nancy scooped up the gun, went into the kitchen, and called the police. Through the kitchen window, she saw a black sports car partially hidden in the bushes behind the inn. That must be Eric’s car, she thought. It was the car that had nearly run her over outside Marisa’s apartment.
Nancy grabbed a knife from the kitchen, then hurried into the living room and used it to cut through the ropes binding Marisa. With Misty’s help, Marisa and Nancy took Eric into the study. Marisa offered Misty a treat from the can on Penny’s desk. Misty refused to take it. Her eyes were fixed on Eric. If he twitched his finger, she snapped at him.
Marisa shuffled through Penny’s desk and found a tiny key. “Voilà.” She handed it to Nancy.
“The key to the secretary?” Nancy asked.
Marisa nodded. “Yes. I don’t ordinarily lie,” she told Eric, “but under the circumstances, I felt it was justified.”
Nancy jiggled the key in the lock of the secretary. The glass doors covering the shelves on top of the desk rattled. Finally, the lock turned. Nancy pulled down the desktop. It became an uncluttered, flat surface for writing. Pigeonholes and drawers were at the back of the desk.
