“Do you think she’ll like this?” Bess Marvin held up a toy hamburger and squeaked it at her cousin, George Fayne. “The package says it has authentic meat flavor.”
George made a face. “If I were a dog, I think I’d rather have a steak—a real one.”
“I have a steak in here, too.” Bess leaned over and rummaged through the large canvas bag at her feet. She pulled out a plastic steak, a rubber newspaper, a rawhide shoe, a tennis ball, and a library book.
George read the book’s title. “Raising a Well-Adjusted Puppy. Will two dozen toys make her well-adjusted?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten past the first chapter—‘Choosing Your Puppy,’ ” Bess admitted.
“Well, read fast,” their friend Nancy Drew said from the driver’s seat of her blue Mustang. “I don’t want any housebreaking accidents in my car.”
“I also brought paper towels,” Bess said. “Just in case.”
Nancy rounded a curve and turned onto a road nearly hidden by leafy, golden maples. “Do you get to choose your puppy?” she asked Bess. “Or did the Guiding Eyes already assign you one?”
“They’ve assigned one to me—a female golden retriever named Casey.” Bess sighed. “I guess I shouldn’t say ‘mine.’ ”
“I think you’re doing a wonderful thing, Bess.” Nancy glanced at her friend in the rearview mirror. “Caring for a puppy until she’s old enough to be trained as a guide dog for the blind.”
Bess twirled a strand of long, blond hair around her finger. “I hope I don’t get too attached.”
“How long will you have her?” George asked.
“Fifteen months,” Bess replied. “Then she goes to guide dog school. If she passes, she’ll become a guide to someone who is blind. But if she flunks, I’ll get a chance to adopt her permanently.”
Nancy inched the car up a steep incline. “Where do I turn, Bess?”
Bess peered out the window. “There’s a hidden entrance, I think—wait—over there!”
Nancy hit the brakes hard, then skillfully guided the car around a hairpin turn.
“Sorry,” Bess said. “I’ve only been to Candlelight Inn once.”
“No wonder it went out of business,” George said. “Nobody could ever find the place.”
A few minutes later, Nancy parked the car along the side of a steep driveway lined with apple trees. Branches bent with green fruit dangled a few inches above the car’s hood.
Nancy, Bess, and George crunched through fallen leaves as they climbed the hill to the old Candlelight Inn. Black shutters framed the windows of the three-story gray stone building with two crumbling brick chimneys.
Brown leaves swirled around them, and a chilling gust of wind raised goose bumps on Nancy’s arms. A lacy curtain in one of the second-floor windows swayed slightly. Was someone watching them? Nancy wondered.
Bess looked at her watch. “We’re a little early. The breeders aren’t bringing the puppies until two o’clock.”
The front door opened, and a girl whom Nancy judged to be about eight years old sprinted down the hill toward them.
“Bess!” the girl called. Her light brown pony-tail flew out behind her. “I saw you through the window. Is Casey here?”
“Not yet,” Bess said. “Nancy and George, do you remember my neighbor, Amber Marshall?”
Nancy smiled at Amber. “Of course. It’s nice to see you again.”
“You, too.” Amber jumped up and down. “I’m so excited. I can’t wait to meet the puppies!”
“Bess is counting on you to help her with Casey,” George said. “She’s only read the first chapter of her dog-raising book.”
“Don’t worry, Bess. I’ve read three books,” Amber said. “I’ll help you.”
“Good,” Bess said, “because I’m not sure I can handle this responsibility all by myself. By the way,” she added, “where’s your brother?”
“He and Marisa are inside,” Amber said. “Come on. Do you want a tour?”
“Sure,” Bess said.
Nancy, Bess, and George followed Amber up the hill to the inn. The front door creaked loudly as Amber pushed it open. From the second floor came a pounding noise.
“Devon!” Amber called. “Bess is here.”
The pounding sound stopped abruptly. Nancy squinted into the dimly lit, windowless hallway as Amber’s older brother, Devon, walked down the stairs, a hammer in his hand.
“Devon, you remember my cousin, George, and our friend Nancy Drew,” Bess said.
“Hi.” Devon set down the hammer. “I’d shake your hands, but I’ve hammered my thumb about ten times, and it’s throbbing.”
“What are you working on?” Bess asked.
“I was trying to do a quick patch job on a loose floorboard.” Devon rolled his eyes. “I might be able to design a building, but don’t ask me to help build or fix it.”
“Devon is studying architecture at Westmoor University,” Bess explained to Nancy and George.
