Free The Mystery at Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene

garden tools,” she mused. Then suddenly she noticed a pad of notepaper lying on a bench. Nancy picked it up and turned the pages, which contained various notations for the gardeners. One item, on the third page and in a different kind of printing from the other instructions, read: “Prune blue pipes near grove.”
    “ ‘Blue pipes,’ ” thought Nancy, as she tore out the sheet. “Now what does that mean? Could it possibly be a code message? Or a signal? I’ll ask the gardeners.”
    She left the shed, and began to look for the men. The only man in sight was Gil, who was cutting the lawn with a power mower. She went up, and attracting his attention, asked him, “Can you tell me what ‘blue pipes’ are?”
    “Never heard of ’em,” Gil replied laconically.
    “One more question,” Nancy said. “Would you have any idea who used one of the inn’s canoes yesterday afternoon?”
    For a moment Gil’s eyes narrowed. Then he brusquely replied No; he had not been near the dock all day. “Mr. John asked me the same thing. Well, I got work to do,” he muttered, and quickly resumed his mowing.
    Nancy walked meditatively toward the inn. “If Gil doesn’t know what ‘blue pipes’ are, that message might well be a code phrase.”
    It occurred to her that perhaps Mr. Daly would be able to explain the term. Nancy went inside and found the elderly gentleman in his office, going over receipts. He looked up as she knocked and entered.
    “Good morning, Nancy. Sorry I missed meeting your father.”
    Mr. Daly admitted that he had been wearied by his all-night vigil, and had gone to his room to rest. Nancy smiled understandingly and told him briefly of Lieutenant Brice’s investigation.
    Mr. Daly looked grave. “If all this danger continues, I’m going to insist that Emily and Dick sell the inn. A nice young couple shouldn’t start marriage under such circumstances.”
    “I agree. But the person responsible for the trouble here must be caught.”
    “You’re right, Nancy,” Mr. Daly said, “I mustn’t lose hope so easily.”
    The young sleuth then asked, “Mr. Daly, can you tell me what ‘blue pipes’ are?”
    Mr. Daly chuckled. “Of course—my favorite subject matter is ‘blue pipes’—or lilacs.”
    “You mean that ‘blue pipes’ are lilacs?” Nancy inquired with interest.
    “Yes. The ancient name of the lilac was Blue Pipe Tree, a reminder of the time when pipes were made of its wood. See here.”
    Mr. Daly reached into a drawer of his desk and handed Nancy a half-finished tobacco pipe. “Carving is my hobby. I’m making this pipe from the wood of a fallen tree limb right here at Lilac Inn.”
    “Why, it’s beautiful!” Nancy held up the pipe, admiring the delicate stem.
    At that moment Jean Holmes passed the office. She paused and looked in. Nancy greeted her, but the waitress barely answered. Her eyes were riveted on the pipe in Nancy’s hand.
    “Isn’t this a handsome piece, Jean?” Nancy said pleasantly. “Mr. Daly made it.”
    “Oh, very.” Jean nodded and hastened on into the dining room.
    To Nancy it seemed that the waitress had acted almost frightened. Why?
    Mr. Daly seemed not to have noticed. He went on to tell Nancy some interesting facts about lilacs. The old-fashioned, lavender-colored blossom and its white companion, so well known in America, originally came from Bulgaria, Hungary, and Rumania. But the double lilacs of pink, red, and purple, like those in the grove, were developed by horticulturists.
    “The French developed the Lucie Baltet variety—the same as the stolen tree,” Mr. Daly said sadly. “Many beautiful lilacs are named after famous French people, such as Joan of Arc.”
    “You’re certainly an expert on every aspect of lilacs,” Nancy complimented him as Mr. Daly paused.
    Modestly, Mr. Daly admitted he had studied the subject intensively. He himself had planted most of the lilacs at the inn.
    “They are considered a flower of mysterious power in the West