Free 04 Once Upon a Thriller by Carolyn Keene Page A

roller.
    I typed the same words in the note: STOP PRESSING YOUR LUCK. IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU’LL GET OUT OF TOWN NOW.
    I ripped out the paper, inspected the T s, and almost started crying, but from relief: This wasn’t the same typewriter used to write the note sent to me. I’d been so worried that someone had snuck into my room. But maybe, just maybe, if I found the typewriter that was used for the letter, I would find out who was behind the crimes.
    The next morning I was already on my second cup of tea, reading my article in the River Heights Bugle , when Ned arrived at the diner. He listened closely while I filled him in on everything that had happened—everything I hadn’t written about in the article, that is—over the last few days.
    â€œSo you’ve talked to Paige, Lacey, Alice Ann, and Mr. Tate. It could be any of them, Nancy,” Ned said.
    It was great seeing Ned. And great to be able to bounce theories off him. After we talked, we both were in agreement about two things: We didn’t think Lacey was the culprit. And in order to find who was, we had to find the broken typewriter.
    I figured we’d swing by Paige’s Pages first, and then stop at the Cheshire Cat Inn. Both seemed to be likely spots for an antique typewriter. But the bookstore was dark and the web of police tape still decorated the front door. I cupped my hands around my face to block out the bright sunlight and peered inside, but the store looked deserted. I realized I didn’t know how to reach Paige other than by stopping by the shop, but then I remembered Alice Ann. Maybe she would be able to tell me where to find the bookstore owner.
    â€œNothing?” Ned asked as I backed away from the darkened window.
    â€œNope,” I replied, shaking my head. “Let’s walk up the street to the Cheshire Cat Inn. Wait till you see this place.”

    When we entered the inn, Alice Ann was front and center behind the receptionist’s desk, chatting with someone on the phone. When she saw me come in, her face lit up. She gestured that she would be just a moment, and I nodded before Ned and I ducked into the gift shop.
    â€œWow, she sure has a thing for cats,” Ned remarked as he took in the array of cat-shaped knickknacks crammed into the tiny space.
    â€œMm-hmm,” I replied absently as I surveyed the space for typewriters. Antiques and old-looking memorabilia were everywhere. My eyes took in a shelf of antique scissors (strange items for an inn gift shop, I thought) and old-fashioned writing devices like fountain pens and quills. In addition to the spinner rack of paperbacks that housed all of Lacey O’Brien’s books, there was a shelf of dusty old dictionaries, encyclopedias, and Avondale High School yearbooks. But there was no typewriter.
    â€œNancy!” a voice cried out behind me, and I turned to see Alice. Shockingly, she grabbed me and gave me a friendly hug.
    â€œOh!” I exclaimed. “Hi, Alice. Good morning.”
    She laughed. “I hope you had a restful night. I was looking for you this morning, but you were out bright and early. But now I can thank you in person.”
    â€œThank me?” I asked, genuinely perplexed. “For what?”
    â€œEver since your article was published in the River Heights Bugle this morning, my phone has been ringing off the hook,” Alice replied, a huge grin on her face. “We’ve had a tough summer at the inn, and it’s been hard to book rooms. But it seems that people all over the county are curious about Avondale and Moon Lake since your story came out. We’re completely booked for the next three weekends, and I imagine we’ll be full for the rest of the summer by the end of the day. It seems people want to make a weekend trip to Avondale so they can retrace the steps of the copycat criminal. And relax by the lake, of course.”
    â€œThat’s a little disturbing,”