LITMIR.BIZ

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to be microfilmed at the end of the year. You’re welcome to help yourself, just put them back the way you found them, okay?”

      Pulling out a stack, Lucy thumbed through the old newspapers until she found the July 9 issue. Her eye immediately fell on the dramatic page one photo of the old movie theater, which had gone up in flames on Sunday, July 5, providing a fiery climax to the holiday weekend.

      Ted’s story emphasized the heroism of the firefighters, who had managed to save much of the grand old movie palace. Winchester College had been planning to restore the gilded walls, red plush seats, and ceiling murals to create a performing arts center.

      “We’re grateful to the wonderful volunteer firefighters,” said College President Gerald Asquith. “This terrible fire has delayed the restoration project, but we plan to go forward as soon as additional funds are raised.”

      There was no suggestion that the fire had been deliberately set. Everyone Ted interviewed agreed the fire was an unfortunate tragedy, probably due to a faulty electrical connection, or perhaps a holiday firework that landed on the wood-shingled roof.

      Flipping through the papers, Lucy soon found the story about the second fire. BARN BURNS, blared the headline of the August 28 issue, nearly two months after the first fire. This time, firemen were unable to save the building.

      “The structure was fully involved when we arrived,” Fire Chief Stanley Pulaski was quoted as saying. “A decision was made not to put any of our personnel at risk, our objective was simply to confine the fire and let it burn itself out.”

      In other words, thought Lucy, they watched it burn. Again, there was no hint that the fire might have been deliberately set. Spontaneous combustion of new hay was given as the likely cause.

      The third fire occurred only a month later, in late September. Fortunately, when the old powder house went up in flames it was quickly discovered, and the antique building, which dated from the Revolutionary War was saved. As Barney suggested, this fire was blamed on youthful vandals.

      “I want to make one thing absolutely clear,” warned Police Chief Oswald Crowley. “This sort of destructive behavior will not be tolerated in Tinker’s Cove.”

      His warning went unheeded, thought Lucy, grimly noting that the Homestead burned barely three weeks later. This time there was no doubt that the fire was set. ARSON CLAIMS LIFE! declared the headline of the most recent issue. The headline was printed above a stark photo of the Homestead chimney, all that was left after the fire.

      The story went on to say that fire officials were now taking a second look at the earlier fires, which seemed in retrospect to be the handiwork of the same deranged individual. “We’re determined to catch this perpetrator before he takes any more lives,” proclaimed Chief Pulaski.

      A related story chronicled the amazing feats of Sparky, the accelerant-sniffing dog. “He’s not just my pet,” his handler was quoted as saying. “He’s my partner.”

      As she replaced the papers in a neat pile, Lucy recited the dates of the fires. July 5. August 28. September 26: October 19. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to the fires, except for the fact that they were coming closer together.

      Leaving the workroom, Lucy wandered over to the nonfiction section. There, among the self-help books she found a thick volume on abnormal psychology. A glance at the index revealed an entire chapter devoted to “Pyromania and Related Disorders.”

      Bitsy smiled brightly as Lucy approached the desk.

      “That’s really heavy reading,” she joked, taking the hefty volume. “Sure I can’t interest you in something lighter? We have some brand new mysteries.”

      “I don’t have much time to read anymore with the baby. I’m just doing a bit of research.”

      “We have some excellent material on postpartum depression,” offered Bitsy, determined to be helpful.

      “I’m fine, really,” said Lucy. “Just curious about something.”

      Bitsy couldn’t resist. “Curiosity killed the cat. Now, why do people say that? Curiosity is wonderful, isn’t it?”

      “Sometimes. Sometimes it gets you in trouble.” Lucy took the book and tucked it under her arm. She knew from experience that asking questions could be dangerous.

      Not this time, she thought, as she left the library and headed for Sue’s house. She was determined to find out who was setting the fires, but, she promised herself, she was going to be careful. Very careful.

      Besides, she didn’t really have enough time to get into too much trouble. Before she started investigating, she had to bake some cupcakes. How many had she promised Sue? Two dozen?

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      “Twelve dozen? I said I’d bake twelve dozen cupcakes? I must have been out of my mind.” Lucy was sitting at the huge scrubbed pine harvest table in Sue’s kitchen. Sue was always re-modeling her kitchen—it had gone from cluttered country to fifties kitsch and now had a definite English accent. A plate rack hung near the sink, a Welsh cupboard hugged one wall, and a cobalt blue Aga stove was her pride and joy.

      “You were kind of distracted,” admitted Sue. “Forget it. Two dozen will be fine.”

      “Oh, no,” said Lucy. “I’ll manage.” She knew she owed Sue a favor for taking care of Zoe, and she wanted to even the score as soon as possible. “Did the baby give you much trouble?”

      “No. She’s a little angel,” said Sue. “She fussed a little bit when she realized I wasn’t her mommy, she tried the bottle and didn’t like it, and gave up and went to sleep. It’s a shame to wake her—want some lunch?”

      “Sure,” said Lucy.

      “I’ve got some leftover Cornish pasties.”

      “Sounds great,” said Lucy, who hadn’t the faintest idea what a Cornish pasty was, but was always hungry.

      “That was terrible about Monica, wasn’t it?” said Sue, popping the meat pies into the microwave.

      “I’m still having trouble believing it really happened,” admitted Lucy. “What was she doing at the house this time of year, anyway? She only came in the summer.” Lucy looked away, staring out the window.

      “She had kids, didn’t she?”

      “All grown up, thank goodness.” Lucy’s voice quavered, and Sue quickly changed the subject.

      “I called the Body Shop. They do have child care, and we can take one free class to try it out. Whaddya say we go over after lunch?”

      “Today?”

      “Sure,” said Sue, slipping a steaming plate in front of Lucy. “These things are full of carbohydrates and fat grams and I don’t know what all. Positively deadly.”

      “Delicious,” said Lucy, savoring a mouthful.

      An hour later, with Zoe safely installed in the child care center at the Body Shop, Lucy was calculating her chances of surviving the “Basic Body” class.

      “Now that’s five, and four, and only three more,” said the perky blond instructor. They had been at this for forty-five minutes and Vicki had never stopped smiling, never stopped bouncing. Lucy had never seen anyone so completely fit—even Vicki’s ponytail was perfectly conditioned. “Okay, now it’s time to cool down. Take a deep breath. In, hold it, and out. That’s right. Doesn’t that feel good?”

      Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror that covered the wall. No doubt about it, she definitely needed this. She had borrowed an old leotard from Sue, and the tight spandex revealed a doughy stomach, flabby arms and thighs. Even her face was puffy. How had this happened? She used to have so much energy, she used to run miles every week. Now, it was all she could do to get up the stairs. And truth be told, she was still wearing her maternity clothes because her old

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