

### Home Is Where the Heart Is

Adventures at Bell Buckle Inn

Book 2

by

Janice Alonso

Copyright © 2017 Janice Alonso

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

First Things First

Just the Imagination?

Do You Believe in Ghosts?

Fall Frolics

The Scavenger Hunt

Ready for Business

How Strange!

A Terrible Storm

Everyone Can Use a Helping Hand

The First Guest

What a Sense of Smell!

Not a Great Idea

Mum's the Word

It's Best to Tell the Truth

Excitement in the Air

Facing the Music

The Ghost Returns

The Big Day Arrives

Time to Take a Second Look

The Confession

Home Is Where the Heart Is

# First Things First

Laurel yipped and pawed at the back door, her needlelike nails clawing wildly against the wooden doorjamb.

Aunt Susan looked up from her crossword puzzle, removed her glasses, and stared at her niece.

Sighing, she said, "Squirt, I mean, Laurel needs to go out." Sometimes Aunt Susan forgot that Winkie had renamed the puppy when Mrs. Lamb had given her to her niece.

"I know," whined Winkie, not taking her eyes off the words in the Nancy Drew mystery book she was reading. "Let me finish this chapter first. I only have one more page to go."

"But Laurel needs to go out _now_ , dear," Aunt Susan insisted.

Winkie rolled her eyes and closed the book. "I can't believe a few more minutes would make a difference," she complained.

Her aunt frowned.

"I'm sorry," apologized Winkie. "It's just that I'm getting to the _really good_ part and—"

"Laurel is only five months old, and she's being so good to let you know when she needs to go outside." Her aunt smiled. "When she's older, she'll be able to wait. She's just a baby now and doesn't understand 'later.'" She put her glasses back on and returned to her puzzle. "But _you_ do." With a firm voice, she continued, "You'll have to finish your book _later_. First things first."

Boy, had Winkie learned the meaning of "first things first" since she'd gotten Laurel. She and her daddy had moved from Knoxville to Bell Buckle three months ago, eight months after her mama had died in an automobile accident. Aunt Susan was her daddy's only living relative. As a matter of fact, she was the _only_ relative they had on either side of the family. Winkie had gotten Laurel after she'd cared for a litter of Labradors while their owners, Mr. and Mrs. Lamb, were away taking care of newborn twin grandsons.

Winkie walked through the kitchen to the back door. She removed Laurel's leash from the hook and then looked down at the puppy. Laurel's large brown eyes gazed up at Winkie and her tail wagged with such enthusiasm that her entire backside gyrated like a hula dancer. Winkie smiled. Laurel _was_ a good puppy, well, most of the time.

Winkie fastened the leash to the collar. "C'mon, girl," she said and opened the door that led to the back porch.

A damp chill hung in the mid October night air. Winkie looked up to the cloudy sky. There was not one star dotting the inky blackness. Even the moon was hidden. The leaves rustled as the wind rose stronger, promising a heavy downpour. Other than the bad weather, it was just another quiet Sunday evening.

"Hurry, Laurel. Make it snappy! You need to be finished before the rain comes," urged Winkie. _And I want to finish my book,_ she thought.

Laurel dragged Winkie toward an area that had once been a flower garden. Broken statues and scraggly bushes were all that remained. But now that winter was approaching, the backyard would have to wait until next spring to get any attention. This area was the last area that needed renovation on the outside of their house.

Her dad, Joseph Hardy, and his sister, Susan, had bought this Victorian house built in the 1800's and were turning it into a bed and breakfast: The Bell Buckle Inn. Since her daddy had been a handyman back in Knoxville, he was doing most of the repair work himself. Her aunt was taking care of the decorating, testing recipes, and creating a website for people to visit and learn about their "home away from home," nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains of North Georgia. As a matter of fact, they already had someone who wanted to be the first guest as soon as they opened their doors for business.

Laurel buried her nose in the high weeds surrounding the boxwood hedges and came up with a pinecone clamped between her teeth. She hunkered down on all fours and began chewing, little bits of dirt clinging to her mouth and whiskers.

"Laurel!" scolded Winkie.

Laurel could sniff out anything. Her nose could pick up even the faintest of smells, and it often landed her in a mess of trouble, like the numerous trash cans she'd overturned when she was looking for extra food in Aunt Susan's kitchen. Chewing had been another problem. While she was much better now, the first two months Winkie had Laurel, she'd destroyed countless pairs of shoes, dishtowels, and rubber toys. For the last month, however, she'd been very good.

A drop of rain splashed on Winkie's arm and interrupted her musings. "We don't have time to dawdle!"

Winkie leaned over and tugged the pinecone away from Laurel's mouth. Then she led Laurel to a patch of particularly scraggly grass. As the puppy sniffed around for just the right spot, Winkie's eyes settled on the house next door: The Old Thatcher Place, named after Mr. and Mrs. Robert Thatcher who had lived in the house during the late eighteen hundreds. While the house had sat vacant for the last twenty years, no one but family members had ever lived there. The Thatcher family had been the one and only owners. Winkie didn't know any of the family, but she'd heard the many mysterious stories floating around about them and the house itself. Now a "For Sale" sign stood forlornly in the front yard of the falling down residence.

Several people had looked at it according to Mrs. Nash, a real estate agent with an office on Main Street. Interested lookers felt the house had a lot of possibilities, but it would be expensive to fix up. Because of its age, some members of the Bell Buckle Historical Society were offering any buyer some help with fixing up the house. As much as the Historical Society board felt it was important to move forward in a direction in which the town of Bell Buckle could grow, they also felt that it was important to preserve the town's past and build its future on it.

Whatever help was offered, Aunt Susan lamented that for the new owners the renovation would have to be a labor of love, as it had been with their Victorian house. While money was important with the restoration, the house would require many hours of plain old sweat from hard labor for its new owners. Great expense and backbreaking work were not an attractive twosome for selling a house.

Laurel strained on the leash and pulled Winkie into a row of azalea bushes. Finally, she squatted.

"Good girl," praised Winkie.

When they walked back to the porch, Winkie looked at the dark windows of the house. _I hope whoever buys the house has children my age,_ thought Winkie. Her old neighborhood had been filled with kids. She sighed. As much as she loved the town of Bell Buckle and the people who lived here, her heart remained in Knoxville. Knoxville would always be home in Winkie's heart.

# Just the Imagination?

"Yip! Yip!" Laurel placed her two front paws next to the pillow and stretched her mouth wide. "Arro-o-o-o-o-f," she bellowed into Winkie's ear.

Winkie lifted her head and opened one eye. Laurel dragged a soggy tongue across her cheek and into her ear.

"Oh, Laurel," Winkie moaned, fanning away Laurel's stinky breath. Her eyes searched for the brightly lit green numbers on the clock. "It's one in the morning! Why couldn't you have done _all_ your business when I took you out before we went to bed?"

Laurel stepped back, sat on her haunches, and cocked her head to one side, whimpering pitifully.

Winkie shifted her weight to sit upright and dangled her legs over the side of the bed. She watched the rain stream down her windowpane. She added, " _And_ it wasn't raining at 10:30 either." Winkie scrunched her eyebrows in an effort to make a stern face to let Laurel know just how unhappy she was about getting up in the middle of the night.

"Arf! Arf!" Laurel's bark became shriller.

"Winkie, dear," Aunt Susan called from two floors below. "Take Laurel out before she piddles on the floor."

"Okay," answered Winkie. Looking squarely into Laurel's dark brown eyes. "Now, you're in _real_ trouble. You've awakened Aunt Susan."

Laurel leaped from the bed, wagged her tail, and ran to get her ball.

"I'm not playing ball now," said Winkie.

Laurel's tail stopped mid-wag and her ears flattened backward.

Winkie padded barefoot across the wooden floor with Laurel close at her heels, the ball still clutched between her teeth. They headed down the three flights of stairs and to the back door. Laurel waited for Winkie to put on her rain jacket and boots and then waited patiently for Winkie to fasten the leash to her collar. Winkie opened the door, and Laurel rushed lickety-split across the back porch to the pine straw area where she did her business.

Winkie found shelter under a canopy of branches from a huge oak, but the wind whipped through the leaves and blew back the hood of her raincoat. Rain fell through the few remaining leaves and drenched her long blonde hair. Streams of water flowed down the back of her raincoat into her boots. She looked across to Laurel who was searching for another spot.

Out of the corner of her eye, Winkie saw a light appear in a room on the second floor of the house next door. She knew that was the bedroom Robert and Carrie Thatcher had slept in when they'd owned the house. The way the eerie glow flickered made the light appear to float across the room, as if it were suspended in midair. Winkie thought it looked like a candle. _But no one was supposed to be living in the house_ , and as far as Winkie knew, _no one had a key except for Mrs. Nash_.

Laurel scampered beside Winkie and shook, droplets spraying from her thick yellow fur and onto her pajama bottoms. But Winkie didn't notice. She was more curious about the light and _who_ was in the house and _why_ they were there. Winkie inched closer toward the Thatcher house backyard, never taking her eyes off the mysterious light.

Suddenly, Laurel jumped up and braced herself against Winkie's shins, pitching her head backward and letting out short, sharp barks. Then she howled an ear-piercing moan that shot through the night's stillness.

"Stop it!" shouted Winkie, pushing the puppy's paws from her legs.

At the sound of Laurel's bark and Winkie's loud voice, the room turned black - the candle snuffed out in an instant.

A jag of lightning sliced through the sky, making the backyard look as if it were daytime. Winkie threw a look toward the house and gasped. Was that a dark form she saw hiding behind the sheer curtains? Or was it just her imagination itching to get her into trouble once again? Then everything around her went black once more as the flash of lightning disappeared. She crept her way into the murky shadow of a nearby tree and waited. Hesitantly she poked her head around the tree and watched the house for several more minutes, but all remained quiet and still.

_Strange,_ thought Winkie, _very strange indeed._

• • • • •

Monday morning Winkie opened her eyes and peered out from her bedroom window over to the trees. Their branches drooped in a soggy heaviness from the overnight rain that had pounded the autumn-colored leaves. But above the soaked trees, a bright buttery sun rose high in the morning sky. Her bedroom was the only room on the fourth floor of their house. The fourth floor was only an attic. Aunt Susan had converted one half of the space into a bedroom for her, and she'd left the other half for storage. Because she was on the top floor, Winkie felt like she lived in a tree house... able to see everything because there were giant windows on three sides.

She rolled to her back and looked at the picture of a field of periwinkles across the room painted by her mama in honor of her real name: Periwinkle... Winkie was just her nickname. As she listened to the gurgling from the gutters she thought about her new life. She felt bad remembering her homesick thoughts from the night before. As much as Winkie missed her old life and especially her mom, God had blessed her with a wonderful new life and lots of friends. A smile crossed her face... and she had Laurel.

It was as if Laurel could read her thoughts. She bounced onto the bed, the mattress sinking under the weight of her rapidly growing body. If Laurel grew up to be like her mother Molly, she'd top one hundred pounds. Awkward legs and a wiggly backside sailed across the quilt and onto Winkie's stomach.

"Stop! Stop!" scolded Winkie as she sat up, but despite herself she began to laugh as sharp puppy teeth nipped at her hands.

"Arf! Arf!" responded Laurel. She rolled to her back and barked louder, begging for Winkie to give her a belly rub.

"Winkie, you need to get a move on, dear," came the voice of Aunt Susan. "You are supposed to be at Lynn Ann's house by 8:00."

Winkie looked at the clock: 7:30! Boy, she did need to hurry. She was meeting up with her friends before school started to plan their class's responsibilities in the Fall Frolics this coming Saturday.

Grabbing her robe, she said, "C'mon, Laurel."

Laurel nipped and snapped as the robe's belt trailed along the floor. Finally snagging the belt's end between her teeth, Laurel shook her head wildly and pulled backwards.

Together they raced down the stairs, and Winkie grabbed the leash on their way out the back door. Once outside Winkie let Laurel sniff around before she made her final choice about where to do her business. Laurel was a good puppy with the sweetest and gentlest temperament in the world, but one thing Winkie had learned quite clearly: Laurel could not be trusted to roam free without anyone watching her. _And_ Laurel took advantage of any opportunity to get free. The last time she got loose, it had taken practically all their neighbors on Blueberry Lane to catch the speedy little Lab.

As Winkie waited for Laurel, a giggle bubbled up from the bottom of her tummy. She looked around their backyard. It might have looked bad in last night's darkness, but in the light of day it was _awful_. They hadn't needed to decorate their house for Halloween; from the outside, it already looked like a place where scary things lived!

Her mind was jarred back to the light from the house next door in the wee hours of last night... talk about scary things! The house certainly looked normal enough this morning. Now that Winkie thought about it, she was sure that what she saw last night had only happened in her imagination.

Winkie decided she wouldn't mention what she thought she'd seen. She'd just gained back her dad's trust from being so forgetful. She didn't want him, or Aunt Susan for that matter, to think now she was seeing things!

# Do You Believe in Ghosts?

Winkie walked up the stairs to the Conways' front door. She brushed a strand of long blond hair behind an ear. Then opening the screen, she lifted the brass doorknocker and tapped lightly. She did not want to wake Lynn Ann's younger brother and sister if they happened to be asleep. Within seconds, Mrs. Conway opened the door.

"Come on in, sweetheart. Lynn Ann is running a wee bit behind." She held her finger and thumb about an inch apart.

Winkie loved Mrs. Conway's Jamaican accent and the way she called everyone "sweetheart." That was her nature. She always saw the good in people and the bright side of every situation. Michael and Astrid, the two-year-old twins, each clung to one of Mrs. Conway's legs. Both were still in their feet pajamas and Astrid had a runny nose. Mrs. Conway placed a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn.

"Sorry, Winkie, I was up off and on all night with the twins." She looked down and sighed, "I'm afraid they're coming down with colds."

Winkie thought to herself that she could have used some extra time in bed this morning as well. After seeing the light last night in the Thatchers' bedroom, she'd been too unsettled to return to sleep.

"Hurry up, Lynn Ann. You don't want to keep Winkie waiting." Mrs. Conway smiled and added. "Or miss out on the plans for the Fall Frolics."

Within minutes, Lynn Ann skipped down the stairs, the ruffles on her purple corduroy skirt flouncing with each bounce. Her hair was parted down the middle and gathered into a puff on each side.

"Hi, Winkie!" Lynn Ann's mouth spread into a wide smile, revealing shiny, sliver braces. A tiny dimple dotted each cheek. Stooping toward the twins, she kissed each one. "I hope you two feel better." Standing up, Lynn Ann said, "Love you, Mummy," and hugged her good-bye.

Just as Lynn Ann and Winkie were turning around, Mrs. Conway called, "Oh, girls, wait!" She reached to the table next to the front door. "I baked some Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Bread for your meeting this morning."

"Tell your teacher I'm making a dozen loaves for the school to sell at the bake sale."

"Mrs. O'Rourke loves everything you make," answered Lynn Ann.

"Thanks," said Winkie.

Winkie could feel the warmth of the freshly baked bread as she took the bag. She leaned in closer and sniffed. "It smells yummy. I hope we can wait until we get to school to unwrap it!"

The girls walked to the sidewalk that led them down Blueberry Lane, toward downtown Bell Buckle. They passed by the Lambs' house, where Mrs. Lamb was watering pots of yellow mums by the front door, and Mr. Lamb was in the grass carving jack-o-lanterns.

"Morning girls!" Mrs. Lamb exclaimed as she waved. "I hear today's the big day that the final plans for the Fall Frolics are being made."

"I'm doing my magic show again this year," said Mr. Lamb. Each year he became Presto the Magician to help raise money for the Bell Buckle Historical Society.

The entire community supported the Fall Frolics. Not only did the Bell Buckle Elementary School organize and run the bake sale, other groups and businesses joined in as well. The Garden Club set up a booth to sell the fall and Christmas wreathes their members made. The City Council sponsored an Apple Pie Competition, with Sheriff Watson and his deputies as the judges. Face painting, water balloon tossing, and horseshoe throwing were just a few of the other activities available. The Bell Buckle High School held hand wrestling bouts, three-legged races, and wheelbarrow competitions. The day began with a 5K Fall Frolics Walk/Run sponsored by all the local churches.

Community choirs and choral groups, bands, and even Lynn Ann's dad's Barbershop Quartet performed throughout the day. Farmer Dan's Fresh Market sold produce, Lionel and Gwen Littlejohn sold preserves, and Myna's Confections concocted special delights for the bake sale. But no one kept the money... all the money that everyone helped to raise went back into the town of Bell Buckle to make it a better place for all to live.

"Thank you, Mr. Lamb," said Lynn Ann.

"Be sure to come by to see Presto when there's a performance." Mr. Lamb made a deep bow as if he were on the stage already. "And don't forget to see Julie's quilts at the Arts and Crafts Exhibition."

Mr. Lamb's wife blushed. "I made one about Bell Buckle's History." Then she added, "What we really need is for someone to write a history of our town. We have a wonderful story and so many blessings!"

Suddenly a voice from behind them called, "Hey, wait up!"

Scarlett Ferguson, a girl with red hair so curly it was almost impossible to tell which end was growing from her head, ran up beside them. A short distance behind her ran Maria Sanchez, a large tote bag bumping against her hip with each stride.

"I _love_ your skirt, Lynn Ann," cooed Maria. Her gaze lowered to Lynn Ann's feet. "And sparkly purple shoes to match. Cool!"

"Thanks," said Lynn Ann, "what's in the bag?"

"We had some extra things left over after we finished decorating our house for Halloween," replied Maria. "Mom told me to bring them for Mrs. O'Rourke to use in our classroom."

The girls walked four abreast, chatting as they hurried down Blueberry Lane into downtown Bell Buckle where they'd pass through Pioneer Square to get to school.

Pioneer Square was the heart of downtown Bell Buckle, and each street around the square was called Main Street, no matter which of the four sides you were on. Main Street became Main Street, north, east, south, and west. Each street corresponded to the appropriate direction. Pioneer Square would be where all the activities for the Fall Frolics would take place. Shops on the surrounding streets opened their doors and sponsored events as well. Myna set up tables where people could eat and buy samples of the recipes from the 1950's Bell Buckle Cookbook. Ernest Decker's Hardware Store even held panning-for-gold demonstrations.

Officer Mary Walker stood in the crosswalk, a bright orange vest covering her chest. This morning she had her long brown hair wound into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

"Good morning, ladies," she greeted.

Winkie laughed. She loved the way Officer Walker called all the girls "ladies" and all the boys "gentlemen."

"Good luck today with your plans for the Fall Frolics," she said, turning her attention to Winkie. "People have always come from miles around for Dahlonega's Gold Rush Days, but our little festival has gained a lot of attention, too." She held up her hand for the girls to wait before crossing the street.

"I can't wait until Saturday," said Winkie.

Officer Walker smiled. "I've already signed up to help direct traffic and Officer Blake has made arrangements to pick up and deliver all the straw on Friday so that the hay rides will be ready early Saturday morning for the big day."

As the girls waited, David Peterson joined them. "Hey, Winkie, has the ghost of Robert Thatcher made his appearance at the house next door yet?" David swore every house in Bell Buckle was haunted. "It's almost Halloween." He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers in Winkie's face. "Woooo... I bet it can get pretty scary up there on the fourth floor all by yourself!"

"Stop it, David!" yelled Scarlett, batting away David's hands. "There's no such thing as ghosts." She looked at Winkie. "He's just trying to scare you."

Winkie set her jaw and glared into David's eyes. "I'm not afraid." Her heart pounded as she tried to appear braver than she felt.

"Not yet maybe, but you just wait." David leaned in and whispered. "People say Mr. Thatcher disappeared on Halloween night and beginning October 13th until Halloween night, a candle light can be seen on the second floor." David came nose-to-nose with Winkie. "Last night at one minute past midnight it was October 13th."

Lynn Ann put an arm around her friend and tugged her backward, away from David's teasing eyes. "Winkie's not afraid. Besides, she's got Laurel for protection."

Maria folded her arms across her chest. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"Me, either!" exclaimed Scarlett.

Winkie straightened up to her full height and puffed out her chest. Her dark brown eyes flashed. "I'm not scared," she declared in an extra firm voice. But after last night, she wasn't so sure how she felt about ghosts.

# Fall Frolics

Winkie studied her new school. It was a two-story red brick building. Bell Buckle Elementary School had started out in 1901 as a one-room schoolhouse. In the 1950's a larger space was needed, so the town had built this one. The original schoolhouse had remained intact and was on the property behind this new one. The Bell Buckle Historical Society had turned their first school into a museum. Many of the Bell Buckle High School students volunteered their time to give tours and talks about the history of the town of Bell Buckle and the surrounding area. That was another thing Winkie loved about Bell Buckle. Everyone was proud of their small town, and they also took great care to preserve and treasure their home and its resources.

Winkie smiled as her mind continued to roam. She still considered this her "new" school... and the town, her bedroom, and the Bell Buckle Inn as _new_. As hard as she tried she felt that Knoxville was still her home, as if she and her dad were just visiting for a while and they'd return to their old life and everything would return to like it was before. She'd never say anything to her dad or Aunt Susan because they'd tried so hard to make everything perfect for her. And, she'd never say anything to her friends and the people of Bell Buckle because they, too, had tried so hard to make her feel at home.

Every night she thanked God for her blessings, no matter how small they might be, and she thanked Him for Bell Buckle and the friends and neighbors she'd met in the last few months. It had not been her choice to move, but as her dad explained, it _was_ her choice to find ways to be happy in their new home.

Winkie, Lynn Ann, Scarlett, Maria, and David climbed the stairs into the school and made their way to their third-grade classroom where Mrs. O'Rourke would be waiting for them. The halls were already lined with fall decorations. Cutouts of jack-o-lanterns, ghosts, trees covered in multi-colored leaves, corn stalks, and apple-filled baskets hung on lockers and bulletin boards.

Dahlonega celebrated Gold Rush Days in October. Winkie had heard of the California Gold Rush, but she'd never known there was one in Georgia until she'd moved to Bell Buckle. Beginning around 1830, four thousand miners were panning gold from Yahoola Creek, and by 1831 there were over six thousand miners between Chestatee and Etowah Rivers. Boomtowns sprang up all around Dahlonega. While Bell Buckle hadn't been officially founded until 1875, many miners had set up camps in the area. News spread about the town's beauty and people began moving here, some building houses. Their Victorian house had been built around 1875 and had served as a boarding house until the early nineteen hundreds.

"Okay, let's take our seats," said Mrs. O'Rourke, clapping her hands to get everyone quiet. "I have signup sheets for all the activities going on this Saturday. Look them over," she said as she handed out the papers, "and write your name under the activity you want to work on. Saturday will be here before you know it!"

Each year on the third weekend of October, Dahlonega held its Gold Rush Days. There was a 5K run, arts/crafts exhibits, a parade, a wheelbarrow race, and lots and lots of good food. With almost 200,000 people attending, Bell Buckle's city council decided ten years ago they'd host an event as well. The town had worked together hard, and as a result the Fall Frolics brought in extra money. Last year over 50,000 people had traveled to see what the Fall Frolics was all about. The Historical Society had used the money to repair the cracks in the brick walkways in Pioneer Square and to refurbish Bell Buckle High School's football stadium.

Mrs. O'Rourke passed out sheets of paper with a list of all the events that would need help.

"I'm going to help on the hay rides again," said David.

"Winkie and I are helping to collect the food for the bake sale on Friday," said Lynn Ann.

"And then we are going to help in the booth by setting up on Saturday morning," added Winkie. "We have to get up really early!"

Maria stood up. "And Scarlett and I are helping at the face painting booth."

"Great!" said their teacher. "And we'll also need you to encourage others to help out that day."

Chattering voices grew louder and louder as the children talked about ideas for the event and about whom they'd ask to help. Soon other students began filing in. The bell rang and everyone settled into his seat. Mrs. O'Rourke clapped her hands once again to get the students' attention.

"Our class's committee met this morning and I'm sure they've told you about some of the exciting events at this year's Fall Frolics." Then she paused as a big smile spread across her face. She leaned in closer and spoke in a voice that sounded as if she were sharing a secret. "But I've saved one announcement. It's a special event that is brand new this year."

"What is it?" asked David. He squirmed in his desk and then sat up on one knee, leaning forward.

"This year, the Bell Buckle Fire Department is sponsoring a scavenger hunt. Children under the age of twelve can sign up as teams of two. On the day of the festival, there will be a variety of things hidden around Pioneer Square and the park. All the items will be in the booths and shops, so no one has to venture outside the area to search for the things on their list. Each team will be given a list at the same time and one hour to find the objects. The first team to find the objects and turn them in will receive a special prize."

"What kind of objects?" asked Billy Barker, David's best friend. Billy wore black-rimmed glasses that were always sliding down his nose. He shoved them back up and said, "Will the things be hard to find?"

"Will we need to bring our own bags to collect the things?" asked Scarlett.

"How are the teams going to be decided?" asked Lynn Ann.

"Hold on! Hold on!" Mrs. O'Rourke held up both hands. "I don't know any more than what I've told you. You'll be able to pick up the information packets this afternoon in the school auditorium. All the rules will be in that packet."

Once again excited voices filled the room.

Mrs. O'Rourke folded her arms. "I know how exciting all this is, but... we do have a math lesson to go over."

Moans and sighs followed.

"No complaining. Get out last night's homework and turn to page fifty-three in your books."

# The Scavenger Hunt

Winkie cast a glance in Lynn Ann's direction and saw that her friend had been staring at her, too. It was almost as if she had felt Lynn Ann's eyes on her. They both looked at the large clock mounted on the classroom wall, sighed, and shook their heads.

Then Winkie nodded and they returned to their seatwork. It was as if they could read each other's minds. They had not been friends for as long as she and Abby, her best friend back home; still, they were very close and certainly Winkie considered Lynn Ann her best friend here in Bell Buckle. Winkie shifted from one hip to the other in her desk, unable to keep her mind off the scavenger hunt. She couldn't wait for the end-of-the-day bell to ring so that they could pick up the Fall Frolics Scavenger Hunt information packet. By the looks in the eyes of the other children, they couldn't wait either.

R-r-r-ring!

The students leaped to their feet and rushed to the door.

Mrs. O'Rourke held up both hands. "Slow down," she cautioned. "There are plenty of packets for everyone. We don't need a madcap dash in the halls." Then she smiled and opened the door. "And good luck to everyone!"

Winkie and Lynn Ann met at the back of the classroom and loaded the books they needed for that night's homework into their backpacks.

"Hurry," urged Lynn Ann. "We don't want to be the last ones to get our packets... just in case they run short."

Winkie agreed and hurriedly stuffed her things into her pack.

By the time they reached the auditorium, there was a long line at the scavenger hunt table. Soon the girls reached the front of the line and got their packets.

"Now we're off to Myna's to get a cookie and hot apple cider while we study the packet," said Winkie.

"Great!" exclaimed Lynn Ann. "I'm glad my mom and your Aunt Susan said it was okay for us to stop by on our way home."

They practically ran all the way to the bakery. By the time they arrived, their breaths came fast and hard.

"Hi, Miss Myna," Winkie puffed as she greeted Myna, the owner of the shop.

"Hi," echoed Lynn Ann.

"What's the big hurry?" Myna asked as she turned up the heat on the kettle of brewing apple cider. Smells of cloves and cinnamon filled the air.

"We're going to read the rules for the Fall Frolics Scavenger Hunt while we eat a cookie and drink some cider," answered Lynn Ann.

"A scavenger hunt?" Myna knew about the new event, but she acted like she didn't have a clue what was going to happen. "I loved scavenger hunts when I was a little girl."

"Yes, it's a new event this year," said Lynn Ann. "May I have a chocolate chip cookie to go with my cider?"

"And an oatmeal raisin for me, please," requested Winkie.

Myna removed a set of tongs from the wall behind the counter and picked up a chocolate chip cookie. She stood. "Are you going to eat your cookies here or take them with you?"

"We're going to eat them on the picnic tables," answered Lynn Ann pointing to the garden just beyond the large window behind the bakeshop.

Unlike the garden behind the Bell Buckle Inn, Myna's garden had been well tended over the years. During the fall, it was filled with beautiful yellow and orange mums, benches with jack-o-lanterns beside them, and bird feeders. The trees were still bright with russet-colored leaves. The many wind chimes tinkled gently against the soft breeze, sending a joyous sound like a fairy orchestra throughout the garden.

Winkie held up a manila envelope. "We can spread out all the papers between us."

"We're going to be a team!" exclaimed Winkie.

"The winning team!" shouted Lynn Ann.

The girls put an arm around each other's shoulders.

"Why are you yelling?" came a voice from behind them. Myna's daughter, Marianne, had walked down the stairs to hear what all the excitement was about. Her skin was the same gingerbread color as her mother's and her dark fudgy eyes held the same sparkle and gleam that Myna's had.

"We're talking about the scavenger hunt," said Winkie.

Marianne's face scrunched up in confusion. She was thirty-one years old, but she had Down Syndrome, a condition where a person grows up physically while the mind remains like that of a child's. "What's a scavenger hunt?"

Myna smiled and looked over to her daughter. "A scavenger hunt is a game where the players have to find things on a list."

"And the team who finds all the things first wins!" added Lynn Ann.

"And there's usually a prize," said Winkie.

Marianne clapped her small, pudgy hands and a large smile spread across her face. "Sounds like fun! I love games!"

Myna handed each girl her cookie wrapped in a large paper napkin. "Go get started on your packets. I'll bring out the cider in a few minutes."

"Thank you," the girls said in unison.

Behind the shop was an area filled with large oak trees and picnic tables. The garden area was filled with outdoor artwork made by Mr. Wiley. Abraham Wiley had retired from the US Postal Service years ago; he had been Bell Buckle's main postman. He knew just about everyone in the town.

After he retired, he went around collecting odds and ends from people's yard sales or in their trash piles. Most of the things were broken. He took them home and created beautiful and often humorous art sculptures. Last week the girls had visited his workshop when Mr. Hardy had gone over to help him rake his leaves. Mr. Wiley's workshop was amazing. He'd shown them a Georgia car tag from 1969 when he'd joined the army.

Lynn Ann and Winkie sat down at the picnic table and placed the envelope between them. The outside read:

Official Fall Frolics Scavenger Hunt Rules

Winkie opened the envelope and fanned out the papers. She picked up page one and read.

"These are the official rules of this year's event. The first team to return with all the items is the winner. The decision of the judges is final."

Winkie paused and took a bite of her cookie. She chewed and then swallowed before she continued.

"Rule Number One: There can be no more than two players to a team. No player may be over twelve years old. All players must have written permission from their parents or guardian."

"That's easy enough," interrupted Lynn Ann. "I know my mom and dad and your dad will let us play." She moved around some of the papers. "Here are the permission forms in the back." She paused and read silently. She looked up to Winkie. "We have to have these forms turned in the day before the scavenger hunt."

Winkie nodded and looked down at the paper once more.

"Rule Number Two: On the day of the event, all players must be present to pick up the list of scavenger hunt items at 1:00. SHARP. NO EXCEPTIONS."

"That's easy enough, too," said Lynn Ann. "We'll already be there helping with the bake sale."

"Rule Number Three: At 1:00 each team will receive a sealed envelope with a list of the five items to be found and a brown bag to put them in. When the announcer blows the whistle, the teams can open the envelopes and begin the hunt. Anyone opening an envelope before the whistle sounds will be disqualified."

Lynn Ann frowned. "I know what 'disqualified' is. It means, 'You're Out!'" She shook her head and stuck out her lower lip. "Last summer in one of our swim team meets, I didn't touch the side of the pool when I was doing the 25-meter back stroke and I got disqualified."

"Well, _we won't_ be disqualified," assured Winkie. "We'll be extra careful to wait for the whistle."

"Just to be on the safe side, maybe you better be in charge of opening the sealed envelope." Lynn Ann folded her arms across her chest. "Sometimes I get too excited over things."

Winkie placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "That's okay. I'll be able to handle that part. You just be as good a detective as you were when we were looking for the thief last summer."

Lynn Ann nodded and felt better about herself.

Winkie began reading once again.

"Rule Number Four: The first team to return with all the items in the bag will be declared the winners."

"And that's going to be us!" said Lynn Ann.

The girls smiled and shook hands.

"Already celebrating your victory?" asked Myna as she placed a cup of cider in front of each girl.

"Not celebrating just yet," said Winkie.

"But hoping!" Lynn Ann crossed her fingers.

# Ready for Business

Joseph Hardy stepped back and looked at the Victorian house. He'd finished putting the final coat of Blueberry Blue on the outside yesterday. And that color against the white trim made it, well, picture perfect! The house had three floors and a small attic, and it had two wide front porches. The bottom porch had a white wooden swing held up by chains. Other than the backyard and the guest rooms on the third floor, the Bell Buckle Inn was ready for business. He backed his way to the middle of Blueberry Lane, held up the camera, and centered the house in the viewfinder, making sure he would have all the house and the front yard for the snapshot. Then he pushed down the button. He took several more shots from different angles.

Most people took pictures with their phones these days, but Mr. Hardy loved taking pictures with a camera. His hobby began when he was a teenager. Over the years, he'd taken classes and read books about the art of photography.

Besides all the rooms for the guests and the gathering rooms on the main floor, Aunt Susan's bedroom was also on the first floor. Mr. Hardy had fixed up the small apartment over the garage, and that was where he stayed. He had also set up a studio with a dark room where he could develop pictures himself. He'd framed some of his best ones to display in the Arts and Crafts Exhibition at the Fall Frolics. The second and third floors had four bedrooms each. Each room was decorated in a different color. Winkie's room was in the attic on the top. He drew in a deep breath and sighed. Although there were those times when he still missed Knoxville, seeing what a lot of hard work had produced in the house made him feel good. He ambled back down the sidewalk, snapped a few more pictures, and then went up the steps and into the house.

"Susan," he called to his sister. "Let's download these pictures and see what they look like."

Winkie stopped playing tug-of-war with Laurel. She looked over to her daddy. "I want to see, too."

The three of them walked in the office. Mr. Hardy removed the photo card from his camera and slid it into the computer. Within minutes, they were looking at the pictures of their new bed and breakfast.

Winkie's dad had taken snapshots of each of the four bedrooms, the parlor, kitchen, dining room, and the breakfast room.

"Joseph, you did a great job!" exclaimed Aunt Susan. "Look how beautiful the sun looks reflecting on the autumn leaves." She smiled. "It's perfect!"

And it did look perfect thought Winkie. Her heart squeezed as she thought about her bedroom... it was the best by far. Aunt Susan had beautifully recreated the bedroom her mama had designed for her before she was even born. But her new room had something her old room hadn't. It had a great view. Each night when she went to sleep she felt like she could reach up and touch the stars. It was like being at the top of a princess castle, and God felt as close to her as He'd ever been... like He was watching especially over her.

"Now that we have the bedrooms on the second floor ready, we can begin to take visitors," said Mr. Hardy.

"The website is ready..." said Aunt Susan.

"Bell Buckle Inn is officially open for business!" exclaimed Winkie.

"I guess we can contact Mr. Smith and let him know his room is ready. I told him I thought we would be ready on Tuesday," said Mr. Hardy.

"You did say that," said Aunt Susan, nodding her head. "And he's already called this morning to say he is arriving tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. We have to make sure his stay is the best!" said Aunt Susan. "Sigmund Smith is a reporter for _The Best Inns in America_. He's new at the magazine and his first article will be about Bell Buckle Inn."

"I think this calls for a big celebration _and_ some apple-cinnamon pie." Aunt Susan smiled. "And I just happened to make one this morning."

While Mr. Hardy got a pad of paper and a pencil, Aunt Susan sliced three pieces of pie and Winkie poured three glasses of cold milk. They settled around the kitchen table.

"Now I need to make a plaque for the front of the house," said Mr. Hardy. He lifted his pencil and began sketching some ideas for a design.

His hand glided across the paper, the pencil moving around in seemingly effortless swirls. He paused, studying what he'd drawn, and then he lay down the pencil. He cocked his head to the left. Then he cocked his head to the right.

Turning the pad around for his daughter and sister to see, Mr. Hardy said, "Well, what do you think?"

There were three pictures. All had the words "Welcome to Bell Buckle Inn," but each design was different.

The first one was a horizontal oval with a small bird perched on the top of the letter "W."

Mr. Hardy tapped the bird. "This is a redbird." He smiled. "But I didn't have my colored pencils with me."

Design number two was a rectangular shape with a rose in each of the four corners.

"Red roses?" asked Winkie.

Her dad nodded.

The last one was shaped like a circle with ivy encircling the lettering.

Winkie and Aunt Susan looked carefully at the three choices.

"This is a difficult choice," said Winkie "I like them all."

"No, it isn't easy," agreed Aunt Susan. She rested her chin on her fist and sighed. "I like them all, but..."

"I think we need time to think about it. Our welcome sign is very important," said Winkie.

"Why don't you make a temporary plaque so that people will see our name out front. In the meantime, maybe something will come up that seems like the right design."

Mr. Hardy nodded. "That's a wonderful idea. And I'll keep doodling to see what else I can come up with." He scooped up his first bite of pie. His eyes widened.

"Susan, I think this is the best pie you've ever made," he said.

"Thank you, dear. It's all those luscious apples that grow in Miss Abigail's Orchard," Aunt Susan said.

They held up their glasses.

"To the Bell Buckle Inn," they said.

"I'll go out to the garage and make a sign to hang on the front gate," said Mr. Hardy. "That way everyone will know we are ready for business."

# How Strange!

"Aunt Susan!" called Winkie as she skipped down the stairs two at a time. "I'm taking Laurel for her afternoon walk."

Hearing her name, Laurel raced in from the parlor where she'd been taking a lazy snooze. She was running so fast her large puppy paws slipped on the wood floor causing her to come to a crashing halt at Winkie's feet.

Aunt Susan walked in from her office and looked over to the grandfather clock standing in the entry. "It's four-thirty now. Just be home by five-thirty. We're eating supper early tonight so I can attend the bake sale meeting—"

"Yip! Yip!" interrupted Laurel and she jumped up on Aunt Susan's thighs.

"Down, girl!" scolded Aunt Susan. She wagged a finger in Laurel's face. "Bad dog!"

Laurel sat back on her haunches, whimpering and flattening her ears.

Aunt Susan peered over her bifocals to Winkie. "You simply _have_ to teach Laurel _not_ to jump up on people."

"I know. I'm sorry," apologized Winkie.

"It's okay. She's a puppy. But..." she paused before continuing, staring intently into her niece's eyes. "It's unacceptable behavior, _and_ she could knock someone down and hurt them." A slight smile crossed her face. "Anyway, as I was saying. Lynn Ann's mom and I are responsible for the bake sale and we're getting our volunteers together tonight to make final plans."

"Yip! Yip!" barked Laurel once more.

"Laurel!" shouted Winkie.

"Go," said Aunt Susan using her hands to shoo them on their way. "She's just excited about her walk." She held up a finger. "Remember, be home by five-thirty."

Winkie snapped the leash onto Laurel's collar. "Let's go."

The twosome bounded out the front door, across the porch, and down the steps toward the sidewalk.

"Winkie!" called Lynn Ann. She was sitting under the large maple tree in the Conways' front yard. Closing her book, she yelled, "Are you taking Laurel for a walk?"

Winkie nodded. "Wanna come with us?"

"Sure. Let me put my book in the house," replied Lynn Ann.

Winkie was glad to have Lynn Ann join her. She'd been wanting to tell her about the glow from the candle she'd seen last night when she'd taken Laurel out. Lynn Ann met them at the curb and then they made their way down Blueberry Lane.

"Lynn Ann," she began. "I want to tell you something, but please don't tell anyone else."

Laurel stopped to sniff a row of boxwood hedges.

"Winkie, I'd never tell a soul," Lynn Ann said. "You're my best friend now. I promise I'll take what you say to the grave.'"

Winkie nodded. "Well, it's not anything bad... it's just that people may think I'm crazy." She exhaled. "You remember when David asked me this morning if the ghost had made an appearance at the house next door to me?"

Lynn Ann's eyes widened. "Did you see Robert Thatcher's ghost?"

Now Winkie's eyes widened. "You mean there _really_ is a ghost?"

Laurel began pulling on the leash for them to continue the walk.

"Have you seen it?" asked Winkie.

"No, but let me tell you what I know before you tell me what you saw," said Lynn Ann.

Winkie nodded as Laurel tugged them along.

"In the summer of 1883, Robert and Carrie Thatcher moved into that house. He was a silversmith. His workshop was in a small shed at the back of their property," began Lynn Ann.

Winkie swallowed hard. "I've seen it... it's nothing but a shack now."

Her friend nodded. "I've seen it, too. It's spooky!" She hugged her shoulders and shivered. "Carrie was pregnant with their first child... actually it turned out to be their only child. Anyway, the story goes on to say that just before dark on Halloween night 1883, Mr. Thatcher said he needed to go to his workshop to get something he'd been working on for his wife."

Laurel stopped again, this time to dig a hole in Mrs. Lamb's front flowerbed.

"Stop it, Laurel! Bad girl!" scolded Winkie. She leaned over and replaced the dirt, stomping the ground with her foot. "Come on," she said and the girls resumed their walk.

"He was making something for his wife?" asked Winkie.

Lynn Ann nodded. "Yes, you see, October 31st was Carrie Thatcher's birthday. Well, it got later and later and darker and darker. When her husband didn't return, she lit a candle and walked down to his shop to look for him."

"What did she find?" asked Winkie.

"A silver frame." Lynn Ann shook her head. "He'd engraved Carrie's initials - CST - and the date October 31, 1883 on the side. Her husband had made the frame for her. She was a painter, mostly painting landscapes and portraits."

"Sounds beautiful," said Winkie. "And he never returned?"

"Never... it was like he just disappeared into thin air."

"Where's the frame?" asked Winkie. "Does anyone know what she put in it?"

"Mrs. Thatcher kept it..." Lynn Ann's voice softened, "She placed a portrait she'd painted of her husband in it."

"What happened next?" croaked Winkie.

Lynn Ann shook her head. "She stayed in the house, had the baby, a little boy, but she never remarried."

"Go on," urged Winkie.

"Carrie and her little boy, Jackson, lived in the house. He grew up and moved away, but she stayed there until she died."

"When was that?" asked Winkie.

Lynn Ann thought for a minute. "In the 1940's. Her son had two children, Steve and Jewel. Jewel came to stay with Carrie when she got really sick and stayed with her until her grandmother died."

Winkie waited and when Lynn Ann didn't continue, she prodded, "What happened to the house?"

Lynn Ann shrugged. "Jewel never married and decided to make Bell Buckle her home, living in her family's home until 1995. When she died, the family just closed the house. No one has lived in it since." She held her hands out, palms opened upward. "No one's lived there since and the house just keeps getting more and more run down."

"No one's _ever_ lived there since 1995?"

" _No one_." Lynn Ann sighed. "Carrie's grandson Steve had three children, two girls and a boy, but none of them wanted to move to Bell Buckle. Jewel's nephew visited every summer until she died. Like I said, the house has just sat vacant. No one had the money or cared to fix it up."

"How sad. It really is a pretty house." Winkie paused a minute, questions whirling around in her head. "How do you know all this?"

"I heard Mrs. Nash telling my dad. She says the house has been tied up in court. The family can't agree on what to do with it. They all want to sell it, but the great grandson who wants to buy it doesn't have..."

Winkie nodded. "Let me guess, he doesn't have enough money."

Suddenly the bells on St. Michael's Catholic Church sounded five rings.

"We need to head back now. I have to be home by five-thirty," said Winkie. "Your mom and Aunt Susan have a meeting tonight so we're eating supper early."

"I know," answered Lynn Ann. "I'm helping dad babysit the twins." She placed a hand on Winkie's shoulder. "But now tell me what _you_ saw last night."

The girls turned around and made their way back down Blueberry Lane. As they walked, Winkie told Lynn Ann about the odd goings-on from the night before.

When they got to the Thatcher house, Carol Nash was standing at the front door. She turned around and smiled.

"Hi, girls. You excited about the Fall Frolics?" she asked.

Both nodded their heads.

"We're going to enter as a team for the scavenger hunt," said Winkie.

"Well, good luck." Mrs. Nash turned to lock the door, taking the lock box from the doorknob. "How strange," she said. Slowly she turned back around and faced Winkie and Lynn Ann. "The key I've had for the house in this lockbox is still here." She rubbed her chin with her hand. "And I have the only key to the lockbox, and yet..."

"Yet what?" said Lynn Ann as they walked over to Mrs. Nash.

"It's looks like some things were moved around upstairs, in Carrie's old bedroom... perhaps," mused Mrs. Nash.

When they got to the top of the steps, Winkie croaked. "What kind of things."

"I thought someone might have moved the candle holder." Mrs. Nash laughed softly.

Lynn Ann just stared, mouth open but saying nothing.

Mrs. Nash shrugged her shoulders. "I think I'm just tired."

Winkie and Lynn Ann exchanged glances. _How strange indeed!_

# A Terrible Storm

CR-R-R-R-R-RASH!

Winkie bolted straight up in bed. Laurel leaped to attention; the hair on her neck and back stood straight up.

"You okay up there, Winkie?" screamed Aunt Susan as she raced up the stairs.

"We're fine!" yelled Winkie as she ran to meet her aunt; Laurel followed at her heels barking wildly.

Suddenly there was a loud pounding at the back door.

"Susan! Winkie! Are you all right?" It was Mr. Hardy's voice and his fists banging against the back door.

Aunt Susan and Winkie, with Laurel close behind and still barking, ran into the kitchen and unlocked the door.

"We're fine," assured Aunt Susan, her breath coming hard and her chest moving in and out rapidly.

"What happened?" asked Winkie. "I was asleep and that loud noise woke me up!"

"From what I can see, one of those large tree branches fell on top of the house," said Mr. Hardy. "Let's check the inside of the house first to see if we can see anywhere a limb may have crashed inside the house."

They all flew up the stairs, each taking a room to search.

"Oh, no!" It was Aunt Susan's voice. "In here, in the blue room."

Winkie and her dad raced into the bedroom. The top of a pine tree had broken off and slammed through the bay window and onto the bed. Water, mud, and pine needles lay everywhere. The carpet, curtains, and bedspread were a disaster! The small wooden chair next to the desk was smashed into pieces.

Tears streamed down Aunt Susan's face. "I can't believe this. I worked all weekend to get this room ready for Mr. Smith. He said he'd be here around eleven tomorrow. The blue room is the largest and prettiest room we have."

Rain was still blowing through. Twigs had landed on the chairs and water stood in puddles on the wood floor.

"We'll get it cleaned up," said Winkie. She wrapped her arms around her aunt's waist. "We have three other rooms he can stay in. It won't be what we planned, but we'll still make Mr. Smith feel at home while he's here."

Aunt Susan patted Winkie's back and leaned downward to kiss the top of her head. "I'm sure everything will turn out fine," she said aloud, but in her heart, she wasn't so sure.

"Yes," Mr. Hardy agreed. "I'll go get some boards to put up and keep out the rain."

"All that money and time we've spent..." Aunt Susan stopped. She hugged Winkie and her brother. "But you're right. These are just things. We are safe and that's what's important." She sent up a prayer of thanksgiving - truly grateful they were not injured.

When he had finished repairing the window, Mr. Hardy said, "I'll go outside now and see if there's more damage."

When they got to the kitchen, he looked out the window. "Looks like the rain has eased off." He looked down at Laurel. "Come on, girl. I may as well take you out since we're all up anyway."

About fifteen minutes later Mr. Hardy returned with a soggy Laurel on the end of the leash. "Looks as if we did have several large branches fall out front. Thankfully we had nothing hit any place else on the house, but it did knock down a section of the fencing and there is debris everywhere... blocking the sidewalk and the driveway."

Laurel shook, spraying Aunt Susan.

"Winkie, go clean up Laurel and then try to get some sleep." Turning to her brother, she continued, "Will you be able to get everything cleaned up in the morning? Mr. Smith is arriving tomorrow and I _do_ want everything to be perfect." She wrung her hands. "I can't believe this. I hope no one in town was injured."

Mr. Hardy placed an arm around his sister. "Everything will be fine." He walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. "It's too dark to do anything now." Sighing, he let the curtains fall shut. "There's bound to be people worse off than we are. I'll make some calls tomorrow to see if we can help anyone."

By the time she crawled in bed, Winkie was wide-awake. She turned to her left side, and then she turned to her right side. Then she flopped to her back. She just couldn't sleep. Finally, she kicked back the covers and grabbed her pillow. She walked over to the window facing the Thatcher house and stared. Laurel walked over and curled up beside her. Winkie stroked the top of her puppy's head. It was still damp from her night outing.

Then in a flash, there it was... the light of a candle.

"Oh, my gosh!" she whispered. Rubbing her eyes with both knuckles, Winkie looked once more.

Yes, it was definitely there... or so she thought. Maybe it was just a reflection from the street lamp.

Winkie continued to watch until her vision blurred. Then just as quickly as it had appeared... the light disappeared!

# Everyone Can Use a Helping Hand

It was a sleepy household that woke up Tuesday morning. Evidently, Winkie hadn't been the only one unable to return to her slumber. Aunt Susan and Mr. Hardy were at the kitchen table hunched over their mugs of coffee, their eyes bleary and their hair jutting out at odd angles. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, thin ribbons of light sliding through the trees.

"You can go back to bed if you want, dear..." said Aunt Susan. "No school today. The power on that side of town was knocked out in last night's storm."

As happy as Winkie was to have a day off from school, she wasn't happy for the reason. Her aunt and dad had labored so hard to prepare for this day - the day that the Bell Buckle Inn would host its first guest.

"I'm not going back to bed." Winkie smiled and walked over to the kitchen table, standing between her aunt and dad. "I want to use my free day to help you."

Aunt Susan placed a hand over Winkie's hand. "Thank you. We'll need all the help we can get." Then she winked. "Run upstairs and get dressed. I have a pan of biscuits in the oven and a jar of Mrs. Littlejohn's blackberry preserves in the refrigerator!"

After breakfast, while Aunt Susan continued to prepare a new room for Mr. Smith and to begin clearing out the damaged things in the blue room, Winkie helped her dad clean up outside.

Winkie walked with her dad to the street. Mr. Hardy turned to face their house. The damage was much worse than it had appeared in the wee, dark hours of the early dawn.

Mr. Hardy clapped his hands together. "Well, we better get started. First, we'll clear the driveway and sidewalk," he said. "That will at least give Mr. Smith a place to park and a path to walk on when he arrives."

Winkie began dragging small branches, pinecones, and clumps of leaves to the alley behind the back of the house.

"Once we get everything clean, I'll make a list of what needs to be repaired." He shook his head. "This could take all day. I've never seen such a mess in all my life."

Mr. Hardy's lips tugged downward and for a minute, Winkie thought he might cry. She began working faster.

"Hey, Joseph!" came a voice from across the street. It was Lynn Ann's dad, Junior Conway. "He strode across Blueberry Lane into their front yard, his heavy boots clunking with each step. "Looks like you could use an extra set of hands," he said.

Relief spread across Mr. Hardy's face. "Boy, could I!" he exclaimed. "I could use several extra sets of hands.

"Good," said Mr. Conway. "Then you won't mind that I called in some re-enforcements."

Winkie's dad scrunched up his face.

"My church's men's breakfast group will be joining us," explained Mr. Conway. "Truth is, when they heard about the damage here last night, they all insisted they come over to help." He smiled. "So, I didn't really do anything but say 'yes.'"

"B-but didn't they have damage, too?" asked Mr. Hardy.

"Some did. But no one but _you_ is opening for his first day of business today." Mr. Conway slapped Winkie's dad on his shoulder. "It's not just you and Susan who are excited about the Bell Buckle Inn... we're all excited for you... and _proud_ that you're part of our family now."

Winkie's heart squeezed. Bell Buckle was filled not only with good people, but also with people who cared for each other's well-being.

And true to his statement, within a half an hour the front and back of Bell Buckle Inn was filled with people clearing away the debris and cramming it into bags. A couple of men with pickup trucks hauled everything into the rear flatbeds and drove their loads away to a dump.

Other neighbors repaired the fence and still others were inside helping Aunt Susan prepare the second floor for Smith's arrival.

And true to _his_ word, Mr. Sigmund Smith pulled up in his car at precisely 11:00. Except for the blue room, everything at Bell Buckle Inn was in tiptop shape for the reporter from _The_ _Best Inns in America_ magazine!

Winkie looked around her as people worked feverishly to help get Bell Buckle Inn ready, all putting aside their needs for the moment. She looked upwards and sent two prayers. First, she said a prayer of thanksgiving: she thanked God for all the generous friends they had in Bell Buckle and that no one had been hurt in last night's storm. Second, Winkie prayed that Mr. Sigmund Smith would love their inn and the town as much as she did!

# The First Guest

Winkie helped Mr. Smith settle into the green room, the room he would now be using since the storm had destroyed the blue room.

"I'm really sorry about all this," apologized Aunt Susan, wringing her hands.

"No need to worry," said Mr. Smith as he placed his suitcase on the luggage stand at the foot of the oversized, four-poster bed.

Mr. Smith was quite dapper in his dress and overall appearance. He wore dark brown corduroy pants and a pale, yellow sweater. Even his suitcase looked like it could be in one of those fancy travel catalogs, one of those catalogs whose models looked as if they had been around the world many times and had seen everything there was to see.

"Things would have been a lot worse if it hadn't been for the help of our neighbors." Aunt Susan shook her head. "A _lot_ worse."

Winkie marveled at how many families had showed up to help them prepare for their first day of business. Mr. Tucker had brought down hot coffee and cocoa. Myna supplied all kinds of pastries. She even brought the new doggie treats she was introducing at the Fall Frolics Bake Sale. Laurel had been her first taster. And if Laurel's reaction meant anything, Myna's Doggie Doodads were sure to be a hit. Their aroma alone made Winkie almost tempted to try one for herself.

"The green room is much smaller and it doesn't have as lovely a view. The blue room looks out onto the front of the house and Blueberry Lane. I'm afraid in this room you'll only be able to look out onto our bleak backyard." A weak smile formed. "Although this room does have French doors that lead onto a small porch with a stairway down to the garden area."

"Or where the garden will be come next spring," apologized Mr. Hardy. "Nothing but a mess of mud and leaves now."

"No problem. This room will be perfect for me," said Mr. Smith nodding. His eyes scanned every nook and cranny of the room, acting as though he wasn't paying attention to one word Aunt Susan and her brother were saying. He turned his head and met their gaze. "I'm not much of a late owl. Once I turn in for the night, you won't see me again until morning." He paused before adding, "Although I _am_ an early riser. I hope that won't be a problem."

"Oh, no problem at all," assured Aunt Susan. "Just tell me what time you think you'll be up and I'll have coffee ready in the urn."

"Sometimes I take an early morning walk before my coffee." A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I'll try not to disturb you."

"Oh, you won't bother us," reassured Aunt Susan. She walked over to a small desk and slid out the top drawer. She removed a key and extended it to Mr. Smith. "Just in case, here's the key to the front door. You may want to go in and out that way... to avoid the mess."

Winkie couldn't help but stare as her aunt continued to talk. Mr. Smith was rather, well, cute. And he was a lot younger than she'd thought he would be. "Sigmund" sounded like a name for an old man. He looked to be around twenty-five. He had blond hair and the most unusually colored eyes. They were blue - yet they almost appeared to be violet in the sunlight.

Suddenly Winkie noticed that Mr. Smith was watching her stare at him. Blushing, she gushed, "Your eyes are beautiful." Realizing how silly she sounded, she tried once more as she stammered. "I mean, w-what an unusual color."

"Thank you." Now Mr. Smith blushed. Then he smiled, a dimple appearing in each cheek. "Get them from my father's side of the family."

Aunt Susan touched her niece's shoulder. "Winkie, c'mon, let's give Mr. Smith time to get settled."

As they got to the door, Aunt Susan turned around, "Please let me know if there's anything else you might need."

• • • • •

That afternoon Lynn Ann and Winkie sat on the curb in front of the Conways' house, staring directly ahead at the Thatcher place.

"Well, it _does_ look haunted," said Lynn Ann as she cocked her head from one side to the other.

Winkie took in the peeling paint on the front steps leading up to a small front porch. Even the fall wreath Mrs. Nash had placed on the front door did little to bring any cheer or to make the house look more welcoming. She sighed.

Mrs. Nash's car was parked in front of the house. She'd gone inside to meet Dwight Henderson, the local roofer. While the neighbors had come to help get the Bell Buckle Inn ready for business, one of the helpers had noticed that a tree had fallen on the backside of the Thatcher house.

Soon Mrs. Nash and Mr. Henderson emerged from the house, and he got into his van and drove away.

Winkie and Lynn Ann crossed the street to Mrs. Nash.

"Is everything going to be all right?" asked Lynn Ann.

Mrs. Nash gave a sad smile. "Not all right, but the damage could have been a lot worse." She shook her head. "Dwight patched it up as best as he could so no more debris can come into the house, but he can't get any materials until Thursday because the only road into Bell Buckle is closed."

"Closed?" asked Winkie.

Mrs. Nash nodded. "A huge tree fell across the highway during last night's storm and there's no way to go around it. So, Sherriff Watson has put up road blocks."

Lynn Ann and Winkie remained quiet, not knowing what to say to make Mrs. Nash feel better.

"Well," she began, "whatever the house may have been worth, the price will certainly be much less now."

Curious and wanting to make sure Lynn Ann had heard correctly, Winkie asked, "Who owns the house and why has it been empty for so long?

"It's been tied up in court." Mrs. Nash replied. "The family owns it, but they can't agree on what to do with it."

"What do you mean?" questioned Lynn Ann.

"Most of the members want to sell it so they don't have to keep paying taxes on it, but one member wants to keep it and fix it up."

"And it would be very expensive," said Winkie.

"Yes, _very_ expensive," repeated Mrs. Nash. "Claire Thatcher's great grandson wants to move in and renovate it. I've never met the family, but supposedly he has a big heart and a small wallet and can't afford to pay the rest of the family the money to buy it."

"Does he have any children?" asked Winkie.

Mrs. Nash shook her head "no." "He isn't even married," said Mrs. Nash. Letting out a huge sigh, she continued, "I just hope we can sell this place soon. It has so much to offer, but besides being an eyesore, it is now becoming a safety hazard being well beyond repair each day it sits here. Then it'll not only be an eyesore, it'll be a _dangerous_ eyesore. If that happens, we'll have no choice but to tear down the house and sell the property as a vacant lot."

Lynn Ann and Winkie watched as Mrs. Nash got into her car and drove away.

"And I guess, being haunted wouldn't make anyone want to buy it either," added Winkie.

"It certainly wouldn't," agreed Lynn Ann.

Winkie crossed her fingers, "Let's hope the family will let Claire Thatcher's great grandson buy the house for a very low price."

Lynn Ann agreed. "It would be too sad to destroy this house and only have an empty lot to look at."

"Even a new house could never take the place of this one. It has a history. It has a story to tell," said Winkie.

"And it has a ghost," added Lynn Ann.

# What a Sense of Smell!

Late that afternoon Winkie and Laurel walked with Aunt Susan to Myna's bakeshop. All the volunteers for the bake sale were meeting to divide the responsibilities, sign up for shifts to work in the booth, and work out any last-minute details that might pop up.

"Over here!" Lynn Ann's voice rang out above the chattering voices.

Lynn Ann sat at a card table beside her mother who was writing down all the things people were donating.

Winkie led Laurel to the table. "Boy, you sure have a long list!" said Winkie as she gazed down to the opened notebook.

"Mrs. Littlejohn is donating two dozen jars of homemade preserves," said Lynn Ann. "I hope we get to buy at least one."

"I'm going to - " began Winkie but Laurel jerked her away from their conversation and pulled her toward Marianne. Laurel's nose pointed upward and sniffed her way down to the large pocket on the front of her apron. Marianne giggled as Laurel rooted around inside the pocket trying to place her snout inside.

"Stop it!" scolded Winkie.

It was too late. Laurel jumped and knocked Marianne over. Doggie treats spilled from the pocket onto the floor. Myna's Doggie Doodads tumbled in all directions.

"Oh, I am _so sorry_ ," apologized Winkie. Turning to Laurel, she continued, "Bad dog!"

Paying no attention, Laurel gobbled up all the treats lying around and ate her way to Marianne's apron pocket. She began licking her face. Marianne giggled again. "It's okay," she said between licks, "Laurel just wanted these goodies."

Winkie helped Marianne to her feet.

"It's not okay," said Winkie. "Laurel has to learn not to jump up on people. Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

"I'm sure." Marianne stood and brushed her pants where Laurel had left dirty footprints. "But now I have to get more of Mama's doggie treats to hand out."

Winkie squatted down to Laurel's level and held her boxy head in both hands. "Bad dog, Laurel. No jumping."

Laurel barked and thumped her tail against the floor.

Aunt Susan frowned in their direction. She slid her glasses down her nose, her steel-gray eyes staring directly into Winkie's eyes. "Dear, I think you should take Laurel home now. And while you're there, your dad could use some help. There was so much damage from the storm, he hasn't had time to rest for one minute."

Winkie stood and turned to walk out of the shop.

"And also, while you're there, see if Mr. Smith needs anything," added Aunt Susan. "We did get a lot of help, but there's much left to do in the green room."

Winkie nodded and dragged an unwilling Laurel away from Marianne, who was emerging from the kitchen with her apron pocket filled with more Doggie Doodads.

Winkie and Laurel headed the short distance toward home. While there was still light, the sun was sliding behind the mountain and the temperature was dropping. Thank goodness, the rain had stopped, but a heaviness remained in the air and wet leaves clung to the sidewalks and streets. A chilly wind blew across the back of Winkie's neck. She drew her sweater tighter around her shoulders.

As they walked, lampposts flickered to life and shed a warm glow down Blueberry Lane. Fall wreathes decorated doorways, jack-o'-lanterns grinned mischievously, and yellow and gold mums stood boldly in front yards. When she and Laurel arrived at their house, her dad was in the front yard replacing the Welcome sign that had blown off during the storm.

"Need any help, Dad?" called Winkie.

"I sure do." He removed his phone from his front pocket and looked at the time. "It's almost supper time. Let's eat first and then I have a project you can help me with."

"Aunt Susan said we should check in with Mr. Smith," said Winkie.

Her dad nodded. "Susan left us roasted chicken to make sandwiches and a bowl of potato salad. Why don't you knock on his door to see if he wants to join us."

Winkie entered the house though the front door, unclipped Laurel's leash, and draped it across the back of a chair. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down the hall to the green room and rapped on the door.

A few seconds later, Mr. Smith opened the door. A broad grin crossed his face.

"Well, hi there, Winkie," he said.

Winkie returned the smile. "Have you found everything you needed?"

"I sure have. Everything is perfect."

"Aunt Susan is at a meeting for the Fall Frolics, but she made us chicken and potato salad if you'd like to join us."

"I think I might just do that," he said. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be right down."

Winkie walked down the stairs and set the table while her dad placed the chicken, potato salad, and some rolls on the table.

"Certainly looks yummy!" said their guest as he entered the kitchen.

Mr. Hardy turned around. "I'm glad you could join us, Mr. Smith."

Mr. Smith held up two hands and shook his head. "Please call me Sigmund."

"And you can call me Joseph." He extended an arm. "Take a seat. What would you like to drink?"

"Water is fine," answered Mr. Smith. "I appreciate you inviting me. I know supper isn't normally included. But I've had a long day and staying in sounded like the perfect evening when Winkie asked me to join you."

"It isn't much," apologized Mr. Hardy, "although Susan did bake a batch of brownies for us."

"Looks wonderful." Mr. Smith prepared a sandwich from the chicken.

"Aunt Susan is at a meeting planning for the bake sale on Saturday," said Winkie as she munched on her sandwich.

"Yes, I want to hear all about it. That's part of the reason I wanted to come early." Mr. Smith wiped his mouth with a napkin and sipped his water. He leaned back. "Dahlonega's Gold Rush Days gets so much publicity, but not many people know much about Bell Buckle's Fall Frolics." He smiled. "Plus, I get the honor of being your first guest." He removed a pencil and a pad of paper from his back jeans' pocket. "From my research, I understand that the gold rush started about 1828 in this county. And from 1831 to 1836 around ten thousand prospectors were panning for gold."

"That sounds about right," said Mr. Hardy. "Boom towns, like Dahlonega, popped up wherever miners found gold."

"We learned in school that people began settling in and around Bell Buckle at that time, too," added Winkie.

Winkie and her dad told him everything they could think of while Mr. Smith took careful notes and stopped to ask them questions.

Winkie began clearing the dishes from the table.

"Would you like some brownies and coffee or milk?" asked Mr. Hardy.

"Coffee, please. Would you mind if I took them up to my room?" Mr. Smith stifled a yawn. "I hope the coffee isn't decaf. I'd like to stay awake a few more hours and get these notes sorted out."

"No problem," assured Mr. Hardy. "I'll bring everything upstairs as soon as the coffee's ready."

# Not a Great Idea

Winkie and her dad stood in the garden area behind Bell Buckle Inn.

Mr. Hardy shook his head. "As if the backyard wasn't in terrible enough shape already," he spread his arms outward. "Last night's storm really heaped on a lot more trash."

The floodlights from the back porch shed light on the rubble. Winkie had to admit, she didn't think this area could look any worse - but it did! The winds had strewn branches, twigs, and even the next-door-neighbor's garbage everywhere. The rain had mixed with the Georgia red clay, making a russet-colored, squishy, goo that oozed onto the brick pathway. Slippery wet leaves stuck atop the slimy mud.

"Not only is it ugly out here," began Mr. Hardy, "but now it's very dangerous. Someone could slip and get hurt bad back here."

"Like Mr. Smith," said Winkie.

"Like anybody, but _especially_ Mr. Smith." Mr. Hardy shook his head. "All we need is for our first guest to get injured during his stay with us."

Winkie had to agree. "I'll clean this up for you, Dad."

"Thanks, Winkie," Her dad replied. "It's too dark now. It can wait until you get home from school tomorrow afternoon."

"You can count on me," said Winkie. "I think I'll take Laurel on a short walk out front instead of bringing her back here tonight."

"Good idea," said Mr. Hardy. "I don't think Susan would like muddy paw prints on her freshly-mopped floors." He paused. "Speaking of which - "

"I know, I know," said Winkie. "I'll come in through the front door and take off my shoes _before_ I come back inside."

Her dad smiled. "I'll just haul a couple of these large limbs down to the alley before I turn in for the night."

Winkie returned indoors and clipped Laurel's leash to her collar.

"Let's go, girl!"

Laurel trotted behind Winkie out the front door and down the front steps. Just as they turned to head up Blueberry Lane, Lynn Ann called from her front porch.

"I was just going to call you to see if I could come over." She held up a small brown bag. "Marianne sent some Doggie Doodads for Laurel." Lynn Ann raced across the street and joined Laurel and Winkie on their walk.

"I'm surprised Marianne would want to send Laurel anything after she knocked her down," scoffed Winkie.

As Lynn Ann approached, Laurel immediately lifted her nose and sniffed... and then leaped high for the bag.

"Down, Laurel," shouted Winkie. "Boy, she really loves those things!"

Lynn Ann held the bag high as they continued on their way. They had walked only a few feet when they found themselves in front of the Thatcher house. Their feet came to a halt and their eyes turned to the house.

"It makes me sad to look at the house," said Lynn Ann, the corners of her mouth tugging downward. "All the place really needs is for someone to fix it up. It really is a pretty house... just a little rundown."

"A little?" Winkie scrunched her eyebrows.

"Okay," admitted Lynn Ann. "A lot."

"I'm afraid it might be beyond hope," corrected Winkie. "Dad said it's going to be a full-time project and a very expensive one as well." Winkie felt sad, too. "And now that it's even more of a disaster, I'm afraid no one will want to have anything to do with it."

Lynn Ann's shoulders slumped. "And all this talk of ghosts and floating lights upstairs isn't going to help."

"That's for sure," agreed Winkie.

"I don't believe it's haunted." Lynn Ann folded her arms across her chest. "Those are just rumors. You know how stories get started and seem to just grow and grow, gaining a lot of made up stuff to what was true."

"I don't believe it either." Winkie's voice quivered. "But I did see that light... not once, but twice!"

"And if it were anyone but you telling me this, I wouldn't believe it for a minute." Lynn Ann placed her hand on her friend's shoulder. "But I do believe you saw something."

Laurel began inching her way to the brown bag. Lynn Ann raised it above her head. "No, Laurel," she said firmly. She looked directly into Winkie's eyes. "There's got to be a reasonable explanation."

"I've got a _great_ idea!" Winkie's blue eyes widened and danced with excitement as she grabbed Lynn Ann's free hand. "Let's go in the backyard and look around."

Lynn Ann shifted from one foot to the other, her brow creasing in worry. "I don't know..." She removed her hand from Winkie's and inched away from the Thatcher house. "It's awfully dark back there."

"We'll be fine," encouraged Winkie. "We'll only stay for a few minutes." She gazed down to Laurel. "Besides, we have a guard dog."

At that moment, Laurel emerged from the bushes with a pinecone, her tail wagging.

Winkie's face fell. "Well, she may not be not much of a guard dog, but she'll help us if we need her."

Lynn Ann still didn't look convinced.

"Look, I'll go first and you can stay close behind me. We'll see if anything looks unusual," said Winkie.

"The whole place looks unusual, Winkie," whispered Lynn Ann.

"You know what I mean," said Winkie. "We'll see if anything looks out of place."

"Everything's out of place, Winkie," croaked Lynn Ann. "We just had a terrible storm."

Winkie turned around and grabbed her friend's hand once again, holding on firmly. "C'mon. We'll be fine," encouraged Winkie. "Let's go."

Slowly the girls made their way to the back of the Thatcher house. It was dark like Lynn Ann had thought, but the light from Winkie's porch floodlights spilled over into the Thatcher back area. While Mrs. Nash had made a good effort to make the house presentable inside and out, if possible, this yard looked worse than Bell Buckle Inn's backyard.

The trees were overgrown, branches draping mournfully to the ground. Weeds grew in every open space and between the huge cracks in the sidewalk and patio.

The girls lifted their heads and looked where the tree had crashed into the roof. The tree had been removed, and a large black plastic tarp covered the gaping hole.

"Thank goodness there's not supposed to be any more rain for a while," said Winkie. "This house can't take anymore."

Hesitantly the girls edged toward the patio, up its stone steps, and crept toward the row of windows on the backside of the house. When they got to the French doors, they pressed their faces against the glass panes. Using her fingers, Lynn Ann wiped an area clean and peered into the house.

"Wow," exclaimed Winkie. "Would you look at that!"

Someone, probably Mrs. Nash, had left a couple of the floor lamps turned on. They could see everything in the living room.

Lynn Ann gulped. "It sure does look spooky."

"That's because sheets are draped across all the furniture... and all the wallpaper is falling off the walls." Winkie turned around and looked behind them. "Let's go down and check out Mr. Thatcher's blacksmith workshop." She pointed to a small ramshackle structure at the far end of the property.

Winkie started to walk forward and her foot slid. Lynn Ann grabbed her upper arm to steady her friend.

"Be careful," cautioned Lynn Ann. "It's muddy back here."

Winkie nodded and ventured forward one small step at a time.

Winkie, Lynn Ann, and Laurel stole their way through the mud and leaves and across the weedy back area at the end of the property. The farther they walked from the main house, the dimmer the floodlight's shine grew and the darker their surroundings became. Soon all they could make out was the image of a small wooden shack that had once been the blacksmith shop. The windows were broken and vines entwined and snarled over the roof and snaked down the sides.

WHO-O-O-O-O

"What was that?" shrieked Lynn Ann.

"Just an owl. There's nothing to be afraid of," said Winkie calmly, although inside her stomach was doing flip-flips!

"We should go back," said Lynn Ann.

"We're this close... let's just take one quick peek," begged Winkie.

"Oh-oh... all right... but just one very quick peek!" Lynn Ann set her jaw. "Then I'm outta here!" She jerked her thumb in the other direction.

"Here, hold Laurel," said Winkie handing over the leash.

While Lynn Ann and Laurel remained a few yards away, Winkie approached the door.

"Sure is a funny looking door," said Winkie when she had arrived at the entryway.

"It's called a Dutch door." Lynn Ann explained. "The door has two parts so that you can open the top half while the bottom half stays closed. People way back used to leave the upper door open to get fresh air and to keep out animals by leaving the bottom half shut."

"Well, that would work great for a blacksmith shop," said Winkie. "I bet it got pretty hot in there when the fire was going."

Winkie spied a wooden crate at the side of the porch. The crate was the kind people used to pack fruit such as peaches and apples. She walked over to it, bent down, and began shoving it toward the door.

"What are you doing?" asked Lynn Ann.

Winkie grunted. "I'm going to stand on this to see if I can see anything inside the shack."

Lynn Ann swallowed hard. "I don't know about that."

Winkie waved her hand. "I'll be fine. The trouble with _you_ is that you worry too much."

"The trouble with _you_ is that you don't worry enough," mumbled Lynn Ann.

"That's what makes us such a great team!" chirruped Winkie.

Lynn Ann rolled her eyes. "I guess."

Lynn Ann watched as the crate wobbled. "Ple-e-ease be careful," she cautioned. "Just remember it takes _two_ to make a team."

Finally, Winkie found a steady place on the crate. She placed her hand on the top half of the door and gave it a gentle push.

C-R-R-R-E-E-E-E-A-K....

Lynn Ann squeezed her eyes closed. "Tell me what you see."

"I can't see anything... it's too dark."

"Let's go," pleaded Lynn Ann.

"Just give me a few more minutes." Winkie's mind whirled. "Maybe if I just pushed a little harder I could see more."

"I don't think this is a very good idea," whined Lynn Ann.

Laurel whimpered.

"And I think Laurel agrees," said Lynn Ann.

"Maybe if I move this crate a little closer here I can lean in and see what's inside," huffed Winkie.

Lynn Ann squeezed her eyes tighter. She could hear the scraping of the wooden crate across the creaky wooden porch. She listened as Winkie talked.

"Oh, that's much better -"

Those were the last words Lynn Ann heard before Winkie screamed.

Lynn Ann felt something bump against her head. She dropped Laurel's leash and waved her arms frantically around her head. "Bats!" she wailed as Winkie bolted by.

Lynn Ann broke into a run, but her feet flew in two separate directions and she fell face first into the grass and mud.

Laurel yipped and ran across Lynn Ann to the spilled bag of doggie treats. Quick as lightning, the little Lab was on top of Lynn Ann munching away on the treats. She paused momentarily to drag a soggy tongue across the back of Lynn Ann's neck. Lynn Ann rolled over and pushed Laurel away. "Stop, Laurel! Stop it." Laurel licked inside Lynn Ann's mouth.

"Help!" Lynn Ann spit out a doggie treat crumb.

"Laurel!" yelled Winkie as she ran back to Lynn Ann's side. Pulling on an arm, she panted, "C'mon."

"What about the doggie treats?" asked Lynn Ann as she regained her balance.

"Leave them," said Winkie.

Lynn Ann darted in front of Winkie and Laurel and off they sped.

Just as their boots crunched over the treats, Winkie's feet skid and she and Laurel sailed forward into Lynn Ann. Both girls crashed to the ground as Laurel's leash wrapped around their legs.

Winkie looked up, but before she could utter a word, Lynn Ann slapped a hand over her mouth and pointed to the second floor. Winkie immediately saw what Lynn Ann was showing her. There in the bedroom was the light.

"I'm outta here!" said Lynn Ann raising herself to her hands and knees.

Lynn Ann, Winkie, and Laurel barreled from the backyard as fast as they could. They didn't stop until they were back on the sidewalk in front of the Thatchers' house.

They stood and stared at the house, as it now seemed to loom over them.

"I saw it, too!" said Lynn Ann.

"What are we going to do?" asked Winkie, her chest moving quickly in and out.

"We need to tell our parents."

"And Mrs. Nash," said Winkie.

Lynn Ann looked down at her clothes. "My dress is ruined!"

"I'm sorry," said Winkie, hanging her head.

"It's not your fault." Lynn Ann sighed. "I didn't have to go with you."

"But you did because you're my friend and you believe in me," said Winkie. "Thanks."

Lynn Ann's face brightened. "Well, we may be closer to finding out about Robert Thatcher's ghost."

"You're right."

Lynn Ann tightened her lips, "And we know something else."

Winkie cocked her head to one side. "What's that?'

" _This_ was not a _great_ idea!"

# Mum's the Word

The next day at school Winkie met up with Lynn Ann at lunch. They'd not had a chance to talk about their disastrous adventure from the night before. They made their way through the lunch line, carried their trays to a long table, and found an area at the far end to themselves.

Lynn Ann picked up her pizza, picked off the olives, and then took a bite. "You think we might get rabies?" she asked between chews.

"You've been searching the Internet again, haven't you?" Winkie unwrapped the straw and poked it into the milk carton. "First of all, we don't even know if those things were bats. And second, whatever they were, they didn't _bite_ us. They just flew passed us, kind of brushing our temples."

"Huh-uh," said Lynn Ann frowning. "I think I could feel little teeth."

"Where?" asked Winkie.

Lynn Ann pointed to a spot next to her ear. Winkie leaned in closer and inspected the spot.

"I don't see anything."

Lynn Ann remained silent. "Maybe you're looking in the wrong spot. Look again." She leaned the side of her head closer to Winkie.

"Nope. Nothing." Winkie shook her head no. "Could have been anything. Probably spider webs." Winkie sipped her milk.

"Last time I checked, spider webs don't fly and bump into your head," grumbled Lynn Ann.

Lynn Ann munched on her apple while Winkie broke apart her grilled cheese sandwich and dunked one of the halves into her tomato soup. Side-by-side they sat thinking about the horror of the night before. Bats or not, it had all been quite terrifying.

"Want to trade half of your apple for half of my orange?" asked Winkie.

Lynn Ann nodded. "Here. Did you remember to bring your permission slip for the scavenger hunt?"

"It's in my backpack in the classroom. Could you turn it in for me?" asked Winkie. "I need to go home and clean up the back yard right after school today."

"Sure. Need some help? Maybe we can talk more about the ghost."

"And we need to tell our parents what we saw," said Winkie. Last night the girls had just told their parents they'd slipped in the mud. They'd wanted to wait until this afternoon and tell them all together about the ghost.

• • • • •

Winkie had been picking up twigs and leaves for what seemed like hours. While the sky was a clear blue looking as though a storm had never existed, the garden area still remained a mess. Even the three small pots of bright yellow mums that Mrs. Nash had bought to "perk up" the back area of the Thatcher house had blown into their yard. Dirt and mum petals were smashed into the silt-covered pathway.

Leaning over, Winkie gathered up all the mum petals and tossed them into the trash bag.

"Sorry I took so long," said Lynn Ann. Sweat dotted her brow. "The lady from the fire department forgot to have someone at the school today to take permission slips. David and I had to wait until they sent someone over."

"Couldn't you just leave them with somebody else?" asked Winkie. She handed Lynn Ann a rake. "Here."

Her friend took the rake. "No way. Everything is _very by-the-book,_ " Lynn Ann said drawing out each word. "When we do get the packet, we'll need to follow all the rules if we plan to win."

"That'll be the easy part." Winkie moved to another section of the yard to clear it. "Beating David will be the challenge. I figure he'll be our biggest competition." She stood and stretched her back. "Did you find out who his partner is going to be?"

"Who else?" Lynn Ann pursed her lips and sighed. "Billy Barker."

"Billy Barker!" Winkie exclaimed. "They are the fastest runners in the school."

Lynn Ann stopped her raking and placed a hand on her hip. 'Well, we may not be the fastest runners but we are more clever than they are."

"We did learn our multiplication tables before them," said Winkie. "Even if it was only by one day."

"But we still beat them."

Winkie wasn't convinced. "But they'll be able to run everywhere faster than we will."

Lynn Ann smiled. "I did find out two more things when Mrs. Pace came over to get the permission slips. David asked her how we could keep teams from following each other to get the items on the lists."

"Mrs. Pace told David that was a very good question. No one will be able to follow another team because each team will have a different list of things to get."

"But what if some of the things are harder to find?" protested Winkie.

"Mrs. Pace said that the Fire Department has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure all the lists are equal. Four of the items will be easy to find, but one will be very difficult. _But_ everything can be found on Pioneer Square."

"What is the second thing you learned about the scavenger hunt?" asked Winkie.

"I found out what the prizes are," said Lynn Ann.

"Well?"

"Each member of the team gets a fifty-dollar bill."

Winkie's eyes grew big. "Fifty dollars! That's a lot of money."

"It sure it," agreed Lynn Ann. "And we're going to win it!"

"And with what I've got saved up already, I'll be able to buy an electronic reader."

"You've been saving all summer," said Lynn Ann. "When do you think you'll have enough money?"

"By Thanksgiving." Winkie crossed her fingers. "I hope." But if she and Lynn Ann won the scavenger hunt, she'd have more than enough, plus some left over to buy eBooks.

• • • • •

Winkie and her dad sat in the living room with Lynn Ann and her parents.

"That was a foolish thing you girls did," said Mr. Hardy, looking into each girl's eyes.

"Not just because the backyard was dark and filled with storm debris," said Mrs. Conway. "The Thatcher house is very old and in terrible shape. A lot of the wood is rotten. You're lucky to have only come away with dirty clothes."

Lynn Ann and Winkie lowered their heads, not saying a word. Lynn Ann picked at her thumbnail while Winkle jiggled a foot.

"And," added Mr. Conway. "That house doesn't belong you. You were trespassing."

"Do you know what 'trespassing' means?" asked Mr. Hardy.

"It means going on someone's property without permission," said Lynn Ann softly.

"We're sorry," apologized Winkie, lifting her head. "We didn't mean any harm."

Mrs. Conway smiled. "I'm sure you didn't."

"So, all's forgiven and no one was hurt." Mr. Hardy slapped his thighs and stood.

"We have something else to tell you," said Lynn Ann.

"We saw a light in the upstairs bedroom," said Winkie.

Before the adults could say anything, Lynn Ann blurted out, "And Winkie's seen it twice before!"

Suddenly everyone was talking at one time.

"Wait, everybody!" Mr. Conway held up both hands. "Let Winkie talk."

Winkie told everyone about the light on Sunday night when she took Laurel out to go to the bathroom. And then she told them about the second time she saw it.

"There's got to be a reasonable explanation," said Mr. Conway.

"I'll call Carol Nash tomorrow and tell her what's happened," said Mr. Hardy. "I certainly don't believe in ghosts."

"Me either, Joseph," grumbled Mr. Conway.

"I saw the light, too," said Mrs. Conway quietly. "Sunday night."

Everyone stared at Lynn Ann's mom.

"What?" exclaimed Mr. Conway. "You never said a word to me."

"That was the night the twins were so sick. I was up all night with them and was so tired." She sighed. "I just thought I was seeing things."

"But the nursery is on the front of our house," Lynn Ann pointed out. "The Thatchers' bedroom is on the back of the house."

"How could you have possibly seen the light?" questioned Winkie.

"Easy. I didn't see a light in the bedroom." Mrs. Conway's face was serious. "The light I saw was in the living room - on the front of the house."

Mr. Hardy looked at the clock. "It's 8:30. I think we should call Carol now. Not wait until tomorrow."

Mr. Hardy took out his phone and called Carol Nash. After he finished telling their story, he kept on saying words such as "sure," "I understand," and "no problem."

When he was finished, Winkie asked, "Well?"

"She wants all of us to meet her tomorrow at the Thatcher house as soon as school is over," explained Mr. Hardy. "She's also going to have Sheriff Watson join us."

"Sheriff Watson?" asked Lynn Ann.

Mr. Hardy nodded. "Well, just in case it isn't a ghost, that means there's been an intruder. Besides, he might notice things we wouldn't."

"That makes sense," said Lynn Ann's mom.

They all agreed.

"In the meantime," said Mr. Hardy, his face growing stern. "She asked us not to repeat a word of this to anyone."

# It's Best to Tell the Truth

As soon as Winkie got home from school on Thursday afternoon, she and her dad walked over to the Thatcher house. They'd kept their promise to not tell anyone about the mysterious light.

When they arrived, Mrs. Nash, Sheriff Angus Watson, and Lynn Ann and her family were waiting for them outside, making a small semicircle in the front yard. Mrs. Nash walked up the steps to the front door, slowly slid in the key, and then stepped aside for Sheriff Watson to enter first. All the others trailed behind him.

Just like in the room they had seen the night before, Mrs. Nash had tried hard to make the house as cheerful as possible for the Open House on Saturday. While there were vases filled with fresh flowers scattered about the room, a thick, musty odor hung in the air.

"Acho-o-o-o!" Lynn Ann buried her mouth in her elbow. "Sorry, guess I'm allergic to something."

"You're allergic to a lot of things, sweetheart," said Mrs. Conway. "I guess we can add mold and mildew to your list."

Lynn Ann sniffed as she followed the group into the living room.

Sheriff Watson turned to face Mrs. Conway. "Now tell me, exactly what you saw Sunday night."

"It was more like early Monday morning - maybe around 2:00."

"I saw the light in the bedroom at 1:00!" exclaimed Winkie.

Mr. Hardy placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Let Lynn Ann's mom tell her story."

Sheriff Watson held up his hand. "No, Joseph, it's okay. It's time for everyone who's seen anything to speak up."

Mrs. Conway's eyes cast downward. "I'm sorry, but I was so tired from being up all night with the twins, I just marked it up to exhaustion."

"And I thought it was my imagination playing tricks on me," added Winkie.

"I don't blame either of you, but now's the time for us to put our heads together and see if we can get to the bottom of this strange light." Sheriff Watson sighed. "I don't believe in ghosts, but I _do_ believe some people like to play high jinx around Halloween."

"Start from the beginning, honey," encouraged Lynn Ann's dad.

"You remember Sunday night, Junior. If it wasn't Astrid awake and crying, it was Michael." Mrs. Conway cleared her throat. "I'd just gotten them both quieted down. I noticed the lamppost's light was shining through the nursery window. I thought if I closed the curtains it would make it darker inside their room and perhaps they'd sleep better."

Mrs. Conway paused and looked around the room.

"Go on," said Sheriff Watson.

"When I went to the window... that's when I saw the light... I guess it would have been this room we're in now."

"Where exactly was the light?" asked Mrs. Nash.

Mrs. Conway rubbed her temples with her fingers. "I-I-I don't think I can remember."

"Try, honey," said Mr. Conway. "Take your time."

Mrs. Conway closed her eyes, trying to remember the image from Sunday night. She opened her eyes and pointed to the far side of the room.

Everyone's eyes looked in that direction.

Sheriff Watson walked to the area where she was pointing. He stopped and turned to face Mrs. Conway. "About here?"

She nodded.

The sheriff was standing next to a high roll top desk.

"That's one of the few original pieces of furniture from when Robert and Carrie lived here," said Mrs. Nash.

Sheriff Watson ran a hand over the desk. "It's not in very good shape," he said. "Lots of scratches."

"I'm afraid nothing about this house is in very good shape." Mrs. Nash's shoulders slumped. "I found the desk in the blacksmith shop at the back of the property."

Lynn Ann frowned. "I know where that is. That's where I saw the light... with Winkie... last night."

"Maybe there's something in the desk that will give us a clue," suggested Winkie.

"I'm afraid there's nothing in there that would be of help," said Mrs. Nash. "I looked through everything when I cleaned out the desk before I moved it inside."

"What did you do with everything you found?" asked Mr. Conway.

"I loaded everything into a box," answered Mrs. Nash. "I thought the family... or whoever bought the house might be interested." Mrs. Nash began to cry. "But after the tree fell through the roof, no one is going to want this house."

"Carol, I want to see that box," said Sheriff Watson. "There might be a clue in there. Could be something to help us get to the bottom of this mystery. Who knows unless we look?"

"The box is back in my office," said Mrs. Nash. "You want to go over there now?"

Winkie's eyes lit up. "Let's go!" she exclaimed.

"Wait a minute," cautioned Mr. Hardy. "Angus may want to go through everything first."

"Sorry, Winkie," said the sheriff. "Your daddy's right. I need to go over everything myself." He turned to Mrs. Nash. "Carol, why don't I follow you to your place and then take the box back to my office."

Winkie's heart sank, but she understood.

"Before I do that," continued Sheriff Watson. "Let's go upstairs and see where you little ladies saw the light."

"Please be careful," said Mrs. Nash. "I cleaned up as best as I could, but there may still be some broken glass from where the tree crashed through the roof."

Once more everyone followed Sheriff Watson, making a single file line as they mounted the stairs to the second floor. They made their way down a narrow hall and then entered the Thatchers' bedroom.

Winkie couldn't believe her eyes. If she'd thought the blue room at the Bell Buckle Inn was a disaster from the night the storm struck, then this bedroom looked like total devastation!

Above their heads, in the ceiling was a huge hole that opened into the attic. The roof of the attic had another big hole with a black plastic sheet covering it. Below her on the floor, someone had cleared away all the twigs and leaves that had blown in, and all the rainwater had been swept away. However, mud stains remained on the carpet, bedspread, draperies, and chairs.

Once again Mrs. Nash's eyes filled with tears. "I took down the 'For Sale' sign yesterday and this morning I removed all the flyers about the Open House I've posted for the last week."

Mrs. Conway placed her arms around her friend. "Surely, there's something we can do, Carol."

Mrs. Nash shook her head no. "Thank you, but this is it. Even if we could try to make it look presentable by Saturday, it still just looks too awful!"

"Let's make this quick," interrupted Sheriff Watson.

"There's not much to tell," began Winkie. "I took Laurel out on the night Mrs. Conway saw the light. I saw what looked like a candlelight moving across the room. Then I saw it again on Monday night. The night of the huge storm."

"And we both saw it again last night," added Lynn Ann.

Sheriff Watson walked around the room, rubbing his chin with his hand. He looked inside the closet, and then he walked over to the window and looked out.

Finally, he turned around and faced everyone. "Let me go through the desk things by myself tonight and have a closer look." His face became more serious. "In the meantime, don't say a word to anybody. Remember, mum's still the word."

# Excitement in the Air

Friday morning was abuzz with pre Fall Frolics activities. Teachers, students, parents... the whole town of Bell Buckle pitched in to make the event a success. Mrs. O'Rourke's classroom was no exception.

"We only have a half day of school today," shouted Billy. "Hooray!"

David nodded his head. "And we get to use that time helping set up the booths."

"Settle down," said Mrs. O'Rourke as she handed out note cards to the students. "These cards have the area you'll be helping in this morning.

Winkie took a note card from her teacher's hand. "Bake Sale!" she exclaimed.

Lynn Ann took a card. "Me, too!"

The class got in line behind Mrs. O'Rourke and she led them to the auditorium where everyone was gathering.

"Look," said Winkie pointing to a big orange balloon on the far side of the room. "There's the bake sale section."

"C'mon, let's go," said Lynn Ann.

"Morning girls," greeted Mrs. Ito. She was in charge of checking in all the baked goods being dropped off. She extended a piece of paper and a pencil. "One of you can mark off the names of people as they bring in their items. The other one can put the things on the table over there."

"Which job do you want?" Winkie asked Lynn Ann.

"I think I'd like to check people off the list. But we can switch later," answered Lynn Ann.

Winkie nodded.

"We're running out of room because everyone's been so generous. But, Winkie," said Mrs. Ito, "try to keep things in groups... cookies, breads, cakes." She placed a hand on Winkie's shoulder. "But if things get too hectic, don't worry about it. We can sort them out later. I'm going to see if I can find a couple more tables for us."

The girls worked diligently all morning. It was a never-ending stream of people bringing in things they'd prepared for tomorrow's festivities.

When they were alone, Lynn Ann whispered. "Have you heard anything from Sheriff Watson?"

Winkie shook her head no. Then she leaned in a little closer and added, "I'm just dying to know what was in that old roll top desk."

"We almost _died_ the other night..." scoffed Lynn Ann.

"Died of fright is more like it," corrected Winkie. "Maybe after we eat lunch we can wander down and visit the Sheriff's office."

"I thought you had to go home and take Laurel out for her walk."

Winkie snapped fingers. "You're right! I'd forgotten about that."

"Girls." It was Mrs. Ito. "I've found another table. When it gets here, would you mind moving some of these platters?"

"Of course we will," said Lynn Ann.

Mrs. Ito looked at the clock. "The high school helpers will be here at noon. You girls can leave then." She pointed across the room. "They're serving free lunches to all the volunteers. I heard Mrs. Barber made some of her special pimento cheese." She winked and leaned in closer. "You might want to get over there early before they run out."

Winkie smiled. "Thanks for the heads up! I love her pimento cheese."

"Everyone does," said Lynn Ann.

• • • • •

After they ate, Winkie and Lynn Ann raced to Bell Buckle Inn. They went to the laundry room, but the gate was opened.

"Laurel!" called out Winkie. She waited but didn't hear a bark.

"Laurel!" yelled Winkie again.

"I wonder where she is," said Lynn Ann walking with Winkie to the laundry room. "She usually barks when you call her name."

Winkie nodded. "Even before I call her name... when she hears the door open." Winkie yelled louder. "This _is_ odd."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Winkie. "She's not in here!"

"I hope she's okay," yelled Lynn Ann. "I'll look around down here and you go see if she's in your room."

Lynn Ann searched the main level while Winkie ran upstairs to the fourth floor.

Winkie looked throughout her room. She looked under the bed, in the bathroom, and in the closet. No Laurel. She walked to the railing at the top of the landing. She could see Lynn Ann standing in the foyer below. She shook her head.

"Now I am worried," said Winkie. "She's never done this before. Maybe she got out the door and ran away."

Lynn Ann walked up to the second floor where the guest rooms were. "Let's finish searching the house before we jump to conclusions."

Winkie walked down to meet her friend.

"Look!" Lynn Ann's eyes lit up and she pointed. "The door to Mr. Smith's room is open."

"Oh, I hope Laurel hasn't bothered anything in there." Winkie walked hesitantly down the hall. The door had been scratched, yes... by little puppy claws, and it now stood wide open.

"Oh, no!" screamed Winkie.

"Laurel!" Lynn Ann's hands flew over her mouth.

Winkie's shoulders slumped, then her heart pumped and her face grew red. "Bad dog!"

Laurel sat in the middle of the bed with one of Mr. Smith's shoes between her front paws. She had chewed the sole and top until it was ragged.

Winkie grabbed the shoe Laurel had in her mouth and pulled. Laurel pulled back. She arched up, playing tug-of-war with Winkie. She slipped the shoe away from Winkie's grasp and then raced from the room.

"What are you going to do?" asked Lynn Ann.

Winkie thought quickly. "You smooth out the bed cover and clear up all the mess. I'm going after Laurel and get that shoe!"

Lynn Ann's head bobbed up and down. "Got it!"

Winkie took the stairs two at a leap and chased Laurel through the kitchen, into Aunt Susan's office, and into the den where she darted behind the sofa.

"Caught you!" exclaimed Winkie.

Realizing she was cornered and had no way to escape, Laurel dropped Mr. Smith's shoe and whimpered. Winkie picked up the shoe. It had been covered in dirt. He must have walked up the back stairs to his room after his morning walk.

Lynn Ann came up beside her and looked at the little puppy cowering behind the sofa. "Oh, Laurel, you're in trouble now."

Winkie gulped. "We're _both_ in trouble."

"What are you going to do?"

"For now, hide the shoe," sighed Winkie. "Until I work up the courage to tell Dad and Aunt Susan."

# Facing the Music

Aunt Susan shook her head as she looked at the shoe cradled in Winkie's lap. Mr. Hardy stared straight ahead, his jaw set tightly. Neither one had said a word.

Winkie broke the silence. "I'm so sorry." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You already said that." Mr. Hardy's voice was harsh. It was a tone Winkie seldom heard. "It's going to take a lot more than being sorry to fix this problem."

"Oh, Joseph, it's not Winkie's fault," said Aunt Susan. "Winkie left before I did this morning. And," she paused for a second and then continued. "Well, I guess I was in such a dither to get to school to the set up for Fall Frolics, I forgot to put Laurel in the laundry room."

Winkie's dad looked at his sister. "Laurel is Winkie's responsibility, not yours, Susan."

"Dad's right," said Winkie. "I'm supposed to make sure she's taken care of in the morning."

"Honey, you didn't know I was leaving so soon. We always give her free reign of the house when someone's at home."

"I'll buy Mr. Smith a new pair of shoes," offered Winkie.

Aunt Susan nodded. "Yes... yes, you will dear, but I'm afraid the shoes are the least of our worries. Shoes can be replaced. A first impression and a good reputation aren't so easy to mend."

"Susan's right. We have a lot of mending to do with Mr. Smith." He walked over and placed an arm around Winkie. "I'm not happy about this, but we're a family and we will stand together."

Aunt Susan stood and walked over to them. "And we all own Bell Buckle Inn, so it's up to us to restore its reputation and make sure Mr. Smith's final impression is better than his first one."

A very sad Laurel sat at Winkie's feet. While she couldn't understand their words, Laurel knew she'd done something wrong... _very wrong_. Her head hung low and her tail tucked underneath her legs.

"Laurel can't be trusted out of sight until she is older. She's young and still does puppy things." Mr. Hardy walked closer to the little Lab and stared down. "She is a good dog, but not a very well trained one right now, and while she is Winkie's responsibility we all have to teach her how to behave."

"I promise I'm going to be better," said Winkie, her lower lip beginning to tremble.

"That means no more jumping or knocking people over and no more chewing on things," said her dad.

"And no more running in the house," added Aunt Susan. "Running is only for the outdoors."

"No matter how good or sweet a dog can be, no one, including its owners, like an ill-mannered pet," Mr. Hardy said firmly.

"I'll tell Mr. Smith," said Winkie.

"We'll break the news to Mr. Smith together," said Aunt Susan.

"And pray that he'll be understanding and give the Bell Buckle Inn a second chance," said Mr. Hardy.

• • • • •

After making sure that Laurel was securely gated into the laundry room, Winkie, Aunt Susan, and Mr. Hardy headed back to help set up for the next day's celebration. As her dad walked to the basketball court area to make sure they had all the equipment needed for the three-legged race, the ring toss, and all the other contests being held there, Winkie and her aunt returned to the bake sale booth. It was unbelievable! People were still bringing in donations.

"Winkie, over here!" shouted Lynn Ann from a few feet away. She ran up to her friend. "What happened?" She twisted the tail of her T-shirt between her fingers. "Were they mad? What's going to happen to Laurel?"

"They weren't happy; that's for sure. But for now, it's okay." Her face fell. "We still have to tell Mr. Smith. And I have to give him the money I've been saving for a tablet to pay for his shoes."

"I hope he takes it well and won't hold it against Bell Buckle Inn."

Winkie crossed her fingers. "Let's hope and pray!"

"Girls." It was Mrs. Ito. Chocolate icing stuck in her hair, and her eyes looked tired. "I'm so glad you're back. Could you go help Myna and Marianne at the cookie table?"

No sooner than the words were out of her mouth, a loud crash sounded. Everyone looked across the room. It was Mr. Smith. He lay sprawled across the floor. Several people rushed over to him, including Winkie and Lynn Ann.

"Are you all right?" asked Mrs. O'Rourke as she extended a hand to help him up.

Looking a little embarrassed, he smiled. "I'm sure I'm okay." He stood and brushed off his pants. "See, my jeans are as clean as a whistle. I guess I got so engrossed in the Historical Society's scrapbook about the history of Bell Buckle, I wasn't looking where I was going and stumbled over that trash can."

Sure enough, the book he'd been looking at was opened on the floor next to a big metal trashcan that was now turned over with paper cups and plates spilling from it. People began picking up the trash.

"No, no. I can do that," he said in a soft voice. "Please, let me clean it up."

"You're sure you are all right?" asked Mrs. O'Rourke once more.

"Really, I'm fine," Mr. Smith reassured her.

Winkie continued to stare at Mr. Smith. Those eyes were so captivating.

"Uh, Winkie," urged Lynn Ann. "We can go." She tugged Winkie's elbow. "Now."

Mr. Smith smiled at Winkie. She could feel her cheeks redden and then she brushed Lynn Ann's hand away. "I'm coming."

Once they were out of Mr. Smith's hearing range, Lynn Ann chided, "Well, you sure looked goofy."

"He's just so cute." Then Winkie's face grew solemn. "And I have to tell him about his shoes."

"Let's go," said Lynn Ann. "Sheriff Watson and his wife are carrying a huge box over to the cookie table."

"I hope it's filled with Mrs. Watson's Oatmeal Butterscotch Cookies," said Winkie.

"Hi, Lynn Ann," said Mrs. Watson. "And Winkie." Then she turned to her husband. "Put the cookies over there please, Angus."

The sheriff nodded and placed the box on the floor beside the table. "This okay ladies?" he asked.

They nodded. "Perfect," said Lynn Ann. "We're here to help sort the cookies."

Sheriff Watson pushed back the rim of his hat. "You're going to be here all night if you're going to have these cookies sorted by morning." He chuckled. "By the way, Winkie, if you'll go get Susan's car keys, you can come with me and we'll put those things I found in the roll top desk in the trunk of her car. You still want to look through them?"

Winkie nodded and left to get the keys. She couldn't wait to see what secrets the old desk might hold.

# The Ghost Returns

Winkie was exhausted when she returned home from setting up the last-minute details for the Fall Frolics. _And_ , they'd all need to get up extra early in the morning to be there when the first visitors began arriving. _And_ , she needed to take Laurel out for a short walk before she went to bed. Thirty minutes later, Winkle had on her pajamas and was snuggled under her quilt with Laurel, already asleep beside her.

Hours later, a cold nose nudging her check and a soft whimpering near her ear awoke Winkie.

"Laurel," she groaned. "Not again." Winkie rolled over and looked at her clock. "It's after midnight," she complained.

Laurel whimpered a little louder.

"Okay, okay," said Winkie pulling on her robe. "Let's go."

Together they walked quietly down the stairs, careful not to disturb anyone who was lucky enough to be asleep. Winkie pulled on her tennis shoes and snapped the leash on Laurel's collar. Then they went out the back door.

Laurel sniffed around, pausing here and stopping for a few seconds there. Laurel pulled her in the direction of the Thatcher place. Even though she didn't believe now that there had been a ghost, she was more worried that someone was up to no good in the house. She looked up to the bedroom, but all was dark. Then her eyes moved downward and she saw the light! This time it was moving across the living room where Mrs. Conway had seen it.

Winkie screamed. Laurel barked and the light went out. She ran into the house and called, "Aunt Susan! Call Sheriff Watson. The light is in the house again!"

"What's going on?" It was her dad. He was in his stripped pajamas and his glasses rested at an angle on his face.

"Winkie saw the light," explained Aunt Susan.

Mr. Hardy turned around and started out the rear door.

"NO!" shouted Winkie. "What if there's someone dangerous in there?"

"Winkie's right. I've called Angus and he's on his way," said Aunt Susan.

Soon Blueberry Lane was aglow from the blue lights on top of the Sheriff's car and the flashlights his officers carried. Mrs. Nash was there with keys to the house. She unlocked the door so the officers could go inside and investigate.

"What happened?" asked Mr. Conway.

"I saw the light again," said Winkie.

More and more people assembled, but when the search was completed, there was nothing to tell.

"Did someone break in?" asked Mrs. Conway.

Sheriff Watson shook his head no. "I didn't find any sign of a forced entry - no broken windows, no smashed locks." Shrugging his shoulders, he continued, "The other officers and I searched the entire house and it looks like nothing was disturbed except for the red candle in the living room. It had been used."

"Are you taking the candle holder back for fingerprints?" asked one of the neighbors.

Sheriff Watson sighed. "Officer Walker dusted for fingerprints on the brass holder, and..."

"And?" asked Lynn Ann.

"There were no fingerprints to lift off," said Officer Walker.

"No prints?" whispered Mrs. Nash. "And no _forced entry_? She let out a short gasp and her voice quavered. "But I have the only key."

"But I saw the light moving across the room," insisted Winkie.

"I told you it was a ghost," said David Peterson barging to the front of the crowd. "It's the ghost of Robert Thatcher come back to find his wife!

# The Big Day Arrives

The next day all that anyone could talk about was the haunted house on Blueberry Lane.

"I feel so bad for Mrs. Nash," said Mrs. Conway. "People have been walking by the Thatcher house all morning."

Aunt Susan sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid there's been a steady stream of gawkers all morning." A small smile formed on her lips. "I spoke with Joseph a little while ago and he said all our flyers for Bell Buckle Inn are gone."

"Well, maybe you'll get some free publicity from this local scandal," said Mrs. Conway.

"That's _not_ the kind of publicity we wanted," said Aunt Susan.

Winkie thought about the sign they were working on for Bell Buckle Inn. "We're working on a Welcome sign to go out front. Maybe one with a bird or a flower."

"Maybe we could have a ghost with his arms waving above his head." Aunt Susan laughed, lifting her arms and wiggling her fingers, but the smile slid off and she shook her head, lowering her hands to her lap. "If it weren't so sad, it would be kind of funny."

"It's ridiculous is what it is."

They looked up to see Carol Nash. She looked exhausted. "People want to see the house all right. But they're not interested in _buying_ it; they just want to have their picture made standing in front of it." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Sheriff Watson finally had to put a road block up and assign an officer to keep people out."

"I'm sorry," said Winkie.

Mrs. Nash put a hand on Winkie's shoulder. "It's certainly not your fault." She wiped her eyes. "And it's not the end of the world. I do feel bad for the family. Maybe the family members who didn't want to sell the house will get their wish." She looked at the bake sale table. "I can't believe how much you've sold!"

"We've almost doubled our sales from last year," said Mrs. Conway. "When Jed Stevens came around to pick up our cash, he said that all the booths are doing better than they did last year."

Winkie turned to Lynn Ann. "Who's Jed Stevens?"

"He runs the Bell Buckle bank and he's the one who goes around and collects the cash and takes it to the bank's safety box. He also counts the money and credit card receipts."

"Attention: The Fall Frolics Scavenger Hunt will begin in one hour. All participants must be on time," came a voice from the loud speaker close by their booth.

Aunt Susan looked at Winkie, "Remember you need to run by the house and take care of Laurel before you and Lynn Ann go to the hunt."

"I'd better leave now," said Winkie. "I need to eat lunch, too."

• • • • •

Winkie walked into the foyer of her house.

"Arf! Arf!" Laurel greeted from the laundry room.

"I'm coming."

Winkie hurried Laurel along on her walk, and then took her back to the laundry room. She checked the clock. Winkie had left early from the festival because she wanted to make sure she was on time for the scavenger hunt, but there was a more important reason. She'd written Mr. Smith a note and put it in an envelope with some money. In the note she'd explained again how sorry she was about Laurel chewing his shoe. If he needed more money, she'd give it to him as soon as she saved up more.

When her dad, Aunt Susan, and she had explained what happened to Mr. Smith, he couldn't have been nicer and more understanding. He even told Winkie they were his old tennis shoes and she did not need to buy him new ones. Winkie insisted. But as nice as he'd been, she didn't want to face him again. So, she'd written the note and was going to put it on his nightstand now while he was at the Fall Frolics.

Winkie went to her room, got the envelope, and took it to the second floor. She knocked lightly on the door, just to make sure he wasn't there. When no one answered, she eased her way in. Walking over to place her note and money on the nightstand, her foot became entangled on something jutting from under the bed. When she landed on the floor, she noticed what made her fall: a pair of Mr. Smith's jeans.

"Oh, no," thought Winkie to herself. "These must have gotten shoved under here by mistake."

Knowing he was leaving first thing in the morning, Winkie didn't want him to leave them behind. She reached beneath the bed and pulled them out. Winkie couldn't believe her eyes. These were the jeans he'd worn yesterday when he fell on the trashcan. She'd remembered him brushing them off and saying they were clean... only now they were not clean: red wax dripped down the front of them!

New thoughts swirled in Winkie's head, but right now she needed to get to the scavenger hunt. First, she'd talk to Lynn Ann and retrace the events of the last week. Then, they needed to talk to Sheriff Watson.

• • • • •

Lynn Ann was frantically searching the crowd for Winkie.

"Here I am!" Winkie panted.

"Where have you been?" scolded Lynn Ann.

Winkie told her friend what she had found.

"I can't believe it," said Lynn Ann. "Mr. Smith seems so nice."

"I know," agreed Winkie. "But he's leaving in the morning so we have to tell Sheriff Watson this afternoon."

"What about the jeans?" asked Lynn Ann. "What if Mr. Smith destroys the evidence?"

Winkie smiled. "I hid them under my bed."

Lynn Ann shook her head. "I just don't get it."

"I know he's the one who's been haunting the Thatcher house, I just want to find out why."

Lynn Ann nudged Winkie. "They're handing out the packets."

"How can you be so sure he's the one?" asked Lynn Ann.

"I've gone over all the little things and they add up to Mr. Smith," replied Winkie.

"Like what?" asked Lynn Ann.

Before she could answer, a woman in a Fall Frolics T-shirt held out a box filled with envelopes. "Pick one," she said as she extended the box toward the girls.

Lynn Ann closed her eyes and reached in the box, removing an envelope from the bottom of the pile.

"Wait until the announcer gives the signal for you to open your envelope," warned the woman, "if you open it before the sound of the bell, you'll be disqualified."

Lynn Ann quickly handed the envelope to Winkie. "Here, you can do it!"

Winkie nodded as she took the envelope. "I'll explain about the clues later."

"Contestants," came a voice over the loud speaker. "Hold your envelopes above your heads."

Winkie stretched her arm high.

"On your mark," the man said.

Lynn Ann and Winkie exchanged nervous glances.

"Get set..."

Lynn Ann shifted from foot to foot.

"Go!"

Winkie jerked her arm down, ripping into the envelope as fast as she could as she and Lynn Ann raced away from the other contestants. When they'd reached a safe distance from the others, Winkie pulled out their sheet of items.

She read, "To earn your prize you need to bring back the following items before anyone else: a napkin from Tucker's Coffee Den, a bookmark from the Old Bell Buckle School, a piece of straw from the hay ride wagon, a square of yellow gingham from the Quilting Booth, and a 1969 Georgia car license plate."

"Mr. Wiley!" both girls yelled in unison. They remembered seeing the tag the day they'd visited his shop.

"I'll get the napkin from Mr. Tucker's shop, the bookmark from the Historical Society booth, and the yellow gingham from the quilt booth," said Lynn Ann.

"I'll go to Mr. Wiley's art display and get the tag and then swing by the hay ride wagons to get the straw,' said Winkie.

"Meet you at the scavenger hunt booth as soon as I finish!" exclaimed Lynn Ann as she ran off to Tucker's Coffee Den.

Winkie could not believe their good fortune. Of all the packets to select, they'd drawn the one with the hard-to-find-secret-item that they'd seen earlier in the week in Mr. Wiley's workshop.

Hard work and keen investigative skills were very important for detectives, but old-fashioned good luck can never be beaten! They'd been lucky with the Georgia car tag and they'd been lucky with Mr. Smith's jeans. And as soon as they collected their first-place prize money from the scavenger hunt, they'd tell Sheriff Watson their suspicions about the Thatcher House ghost.

# Time to Take a Second Look

Just as they'd expected, they were the first team to return with all the items on the list, winning Winkie and Lynn Ann first place in the scavenger hunt. There'd been a short ceremony where they'd stood in front of the crowd as their names were announced. Ms. Jones, the mayor of Bell Buckle, presented each girl with a fifty-dollar bill.

"Do you think you'll have to pay for Mr. Smith's shoes now that we've discovered he is the one who's been haunting the Thatcher House?" asked Lynn Ann.

"Well, we don't know for sure yet that he's the one, but once we lay out our evidence for Sheriff Watson, he can make that decision," said Winkie. "Let's go home to get our evidence and go through the bag of things from the roll top desk."

Half an hour later, Winkie and Lynn Ann walked through the doors of the Sheriff's building and found Sheriff Watson sitting behind his desk waiting for them.

"So, you think you've got the case of the Thatcher House solved?" he said. "If it were anybody but you two girls, I would not be so willing to listen."

"Angus says you're the best detectives in Bell Buckle," said Mrs. Nash.

"I think we might be the only detectives in Bell Buckle," answered Lynn Ann.

"Guess that makes us the best then," exclaimed Winkie.

Sheriff Watson looked at the clock on the wall. "I've got a thirty-minute break before I need to be back for the apple pie competition. I'm one of the judges." He looked from Winkie to Lynn Ann. "You think you can make your case in that time?"

Both girls nodded.

Winkie placed a large bag on Sheriff Watson's desk. She took a deep breath and took a step backward. "Sheriff Watson, Lynn Ann and I have three clues that we have discovered since Mr. Smith got here. We think each one will prove that he has not been honest with us from the start." Winkie looked to Lynn Ann.

Sheriff Watson and Mrs. Nash's eyes moved toward her as well.

"You see," Lynn Ann began, "if you remember, Mr. Smith arrived at 11:00 on Tuesday morning."

"Isn't that when he said he was coming?" asked Mrs. Nash.

Lynn Ann nodded. "He did, but we had that terrible storm the night before that blew down all those trees."

"Like the one that went through our roof at Bell Buckle Inn," added Winkie.

"And the one that basically destroyed the Thatcher House." Mrs. Nash's eyes brimmed with tears.

"And everyone came to help us clean up the inn for our first guest," said Winkie. "Everyone wanted to make sure we'd be ready for business." Even now her heart squeezed with the memory of the townspeople's generosity.

" _And_ ," interrupted Lynn Ann. "Mr. Smith arrived at exactly 11:00 like he said he would when Winkie's Aunt Susan talked to him."

Sheriff Watson rubbed his chin with his hand. "That doesn't seem to make him our ghost."

"Except," continued Winkie, "when Mr. Henderson was working on the roof at the Thatcher House, he told Mrs. Nash he couldn't finish because the only road to Bell Buckle was blocked by a tree that had fallen during the night."

"That's true," said Mrs. Nash. "I remember Dwight telling me himself that very day when he was over there."

"That is strange," admitted Sheriff Watson. He thought for a minute. "But maybe the tree didn't fall until after he'd passed through. We don't know for sure when the tree fell." He picked up a pen and began writing. "But that's easy enough to check out. I'll call the Department of Transportation and ask them first thing after the Fall Frolics is over."

"Still," cautioned Mrs. Nash. "He may have stayed in a hotel overnight. Did anyone ask him if he came through that morning?"

Winkie's shoulders slumped. "No, I guess I hadn't thought of that." Her face suddenly brightened. "But if he did come in early, that would still mean he'd been here for the time the ghost first disappeared."

"That was early Monday morning when my mama and Winkie saw the candle in the house," said Lynn Ann.

"Our second clue is that Laurel chewed up his shoes," said Winkie.

Sheriff Watson laughed. "Well, Laurel has quite the reputation for chewing up shoes," he said.

Winkie's face turned a light shade of red. "You're right... but it's been a long time." She squared her shoulders.

Lynn Ann took a step forward to defend Laurel. "A _very_ long time!"

"Mr. Smith put his shoes by the back door inside his room each time he returned from his walks, but it wasn't until Thursday that Laurel chewed his shoe."

"What is your point?" asked Mrs. Nash.

"She didn't chew his shoes until after Lynn Ann and I were at the Thatcher House on Wednesday night," explained Winkie.

"And I spilled the Doggie Doodads and we walked over them, crunching them all over the place!" interrupted Lynn Ann.

"And I saved his shoes and found pieces of the treats on the bottoms." She removed the shoes from her bag. See." She handed the shoes to Sheriff Watson. "That's why she chewed them... she smelled the Doggie Doodads and tried to eat the crumbs off."

"Then why didn't she try to eat them off your shoes as well? Didn't you get them on your shoes, too?" questioned Sheriff Watson.

Winkie nodded. "I did get them on my shoes... along with lots of mud, so I put my shoes in the garage so they wouldn't track up the house. I washed them the next day."

"That does prove he was at the Thatcher House," said Sheriff Watson, his voice sounding more interested in Winkie's clues.

"And with all that mud and mess in the Thatcher house, no one would ever notice one more set of footprints," said Mrs. Nash.

"Anything else?' asked Sheriff Watson.

Lynn Ann nodded. "Show them the jeans."

Winkie pulled out the pair of jeans. "When I was putting the money I owed Mr. Smith for his shoes in his room, I found these."

Sheriff Watson took the jeans and looked closely at them. He traced his finger along the wax. "Look, Carol." He passed the jeans to her.

"From the red candle?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so," he replied.

"But why?" asked Mrs. Nash. "Why would he want people to think the house was haunted?"

"We think we know the answer," said Lynn Ann.

Winkie removed the last item from her bag. She brought out the small portrait Carrie Thatcher had painted of her young husband.

"I found this in the bag with the things you gave me from in the roll top desk," said Winkie. "See, I just couldn't believe Mr. Smith would pretend to be a ghost... he's just too nice. So, after the scavenger hunt, I went back to my house to look at what you'd brought."

"Oh, my gosh... Mr. Smith looks like Robert Thatcher!" exclaimed Mrs. Nash.

"It's the eyes," said Lynn Ann. "They are the exact same color."

"We think Mr. Smith is actually Robert Thatcher... Robert and Carrie's great grandson."

"He's the one family member who doesn't want to sell the house," said Mrs. Nash, her voice barely above a whisper.

# The Confession

Later that evening, in the parlor of the Bell Buckle Inn, Sheriff Watson presented the evidence.

Mr. Smith sat with his shoulders slumped and looked at those gathered around him: Sheriff Watson, Carol Nash, Aunt Susan, Winkie, and Mr. Hardy.

"It's true," he sighed. His lips tugged downward. "I'm not Sigmund Smith. I'm Robert Thatcher, Robert and Carrie's great grandson. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

"Other than scaring people, you really didn't hurt anyone," said Aunt Susan.

"He hurt his family," said Mr. Hardy. "You tried to keep them from selling the house."

"But it's _his_ house, too," said Winkie. She felt kind of sorry for him.

"I just wanted to try to slow down the sale of the house until I could save enough money to buy it," he pleaded.

"You didn't tell the truth," said Mr. Hardy.

"You're right," agreed Robert Thatcher. He looked up at the Sheriff. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Can't really charge you with anything," said Sheriff Watson. "It is partly his house, so he wasn't trespassing..."

"He had his own key," said Mrs. Nash." That's how he got in. So, he didn't break in."

"I got the idea about the ghost of my great grandfather from stories my Aunt Jewel used to tell me when I was young. I thought I'd renew the town lore of the appearance of old Robert Thatcher, so I drove up here late Sunday afternoon."

"Where was your car?" asked Winkie.

I parked it about a mile out of town in an abandoned barn. Then I waited until dark and walked to the house. That was Sunday night."

"After midnight was the I first time I saw the ghost," said Winkie.

"The thirteenth... that's when the ghost was supposed to make his appearance," confirmed Mr. Thatcher. Then he lowered his face, "I'm sorry to have scared you, Winkie."

"And you stayed in the house until Monday night?" asked Mrs. Nash.

"I know all the secret places and passages in that house. Remember I stayed in that house every summer while my Aunt Jewel was alive." Mr. Thatcher sighed. "I left right in the middle of Monday night."

"In the storm?" asked Aunt Susan.

He nodded. "I wanted to do anything to try and buy that house," he said, his voice quavering. "It's my home."

"So that's how you got through the road block - you were already here," said Mr. Hardy.

Mrs. Nash's voice softened. "And as wrong as you are for the choices you made and the things you did to trick people, I can understand why you did what you did."

Robert Thatcher had tears in his eyes. "I love that house. I can't bear to lose it. And yet, I can't afford it. I've made a mess of any chances of the house ever being sold."

"It's a mess alright," agreed Mr. Hardy.

"Yes, it is a mess, _but_ ," corrected Mrs. Nash. "The storm is what has damaged the house, not Mr. Smith... er, uh, Mr. Thatcher. Regardless, we're not likely to sell it now."

Aunt Susan got a funny look on her face. "I may have a solution."

• • • • •

Sunday morning the Bell Buckle Historical Society held a special meeting at the old Bell Buckle School. Aunt Susan rapped her gavel on the podium and called the meeting to order.

"First, I want to thank all of you for coming to this last-minute meeting. I promise I will have you out in plenty of time for church."

All the members of the board were in attendance as well as Sheriff Watson, Winkie, Robert Thatcher, and Lynn Ann and her family.

"The way news travels in this town, I'm sure you all already know that the ghost of Robert Thatcher actually turned out to _be_ Robert Thatcher - Robert and Carrie's great grandson."

At the mention of his name, Mr. Thatcher hung his head, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. He was just too ashamed.

"Mr. Stevens has tallied up our sales from yesterday, and it looks as if we have at least doubled what we were hoping to make from this year's Fall Frolics." A smile spread across Aunt Susan's face.

Cheerful voices and a thunderous applause exploded in the room.

Aunt Susan held up her hands for everyone to quiet down. "Everything we wanted to do with this money _and_ our wish list if we made extra money has been more than taken care of - with a significant amount left over." She paused. "Which brings me to the reason for this special meeting. In the spirit of the generosity that God has bestowed on our town, I propose that the Historical Society loan Mr. Thatcher this money so that he can buy the house." Looking around the room, she continued, "By the head nods and the looks on everyone's faces, I'd say you are all in agreement."

Mrs. Nash broke in. "I can get an estimate of what the house is worth tomorrow. I'm sure it will be quite reasonable considering the state it's in."

"I don't know what to say." Mr. Thatcher's voice quivered. "It's... it's, just too kind."

Mrs. Nash smiled. "And it will be a blessing to our town as well. What a great addition you'll make to Bell Buckle!"

"In addition to repaying the loan, Robert has agreed to write a book about our town and its history," said Mrs. Conway. "We've been looking for a historian for some time now, but frankly no one has the time or energy to take on the project."

"I'll write a book this town will be proud of!" exclaimed Mr. Thatcher.

"Now, let's make it official," began Mrs. Nash holding up a piece of paper. "If you'll give me a hundred dollars' deposit and sign this paper, I'll consider this a contract on the house."

Mr. Thatcher's face fell, his shoulders slumping once more. "I don't have a hundred dollars." He looked to Winkie's dad. "I'm putting all my expenses at the Bell Buckle Inn on my credit card."

Winkie and Lynn Ann exchanged glances and nodded. They knew what they had to do, what they _wanted_ to do. The girls stood and walked over to Mrs. Nash, extending the fifty-dollar bills they'd won in the scavenger hunt.

"We want to give Mr. Thatcher our money for the deposit," said Winkie.

Once again, everyone in the room exploded. People walked over to Mr. Thatcher telling him they would be there for him, for whatever he needed.

Tears streamed down his face. For a minute, he couldn't find the words he wanted. Then he stood and walked to the front of the room, taking Aunt Susan's place at the podium.

"This is honestly the best town with people with the biggest hearts I've ever known. Ever since I left here twenty years ago, all I've ever wanted to do is come back... to come back home."

# Home Is Where the Heart Is

Robert Thatcher went to church with Winkie and her family after the meeting, and then they came back to the inn for him to collect his belongings. They walked him to his car, and he placed his suitcase in the trunk. Then he turned and faced them.

"You'll never know how much this means to me," he said. "Ever since I was seven, all I've ever wanted is to move back to Bell Buckle."

"When do you think you'll return?" asked Winkie.

"Sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I hope," he replied.

"So, you really work for _The Best American Inns_ magazine?" said Mr. Hardy.

A wide grin spread across the young man's face. "That part is true... and this is my first assignment."

"That's really exciting... a writer living next door to Bell Buckle Inn," said Winkie.

"The Historical Society is so lucky to have you writing the story of our town," said Aunt Susan.

"I'm the lucky one," corrected Mr. Thatcher. "I can earn my living doing what I love most - writing... for the magazine and for Bell Buckle. And I can do it living in my family's home."

He took a step forward and looked down at Winkie. "And when I return, I want to hire your detective services."

Winkie's eyes widened. " _My detective services? Why_?"

"You see, even as a young boy when I came to visit Aunt Jewel, I always wondered what happened to my great granddaddy."

"Didn't your aunt know anything?" asked Mr. Hardy.

Mr. Thatcher shook his head. "She never had a clue. So, while I'm writing Bell Buckle's History, maybe I can find out more about my own history." He smiled. "So, you see, Winkie, I'm really going to need your help."

He climbed into his car and backed out of the driveway. Winkie watched until his car disappeared down Blueberry Lane.

• • • • •

Aunt Susan and Winkie watched as Mr. Hardy adjusted the sign.

"How about here?" he asked.

"Too high," said Winkie.

"Needs to go a little bit to the right," added Aunt Susan.

Laurel barked and raced to root out a pinecone from under the bushes. She settled down in a thicket of straw and chewed, her tail thumping.

Mr. Hardy moved the sign down lower and a smidge to the right. "Now?" he asked again.

"A little lower," said Winkie.

"Stop!" yelled Aunt Susan. She folded her arms across her chest. "Perfect."

Mr. Hardy hammered a long nail into the top of the gate. Then he hung the red heart-shaped plaque on the nail, adjusting it so that it hung straight. The heart had ivy encircling the edges and in the middle was:

Welcome to Bell Buckle Inn

in

The Town with the Biggest Heart

And Winkie knew in _her heart_ that she was now at home.

The End

Read more Adventures at Bell Buckle Inn: <https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/21762>

Love God. Love Others. is a series for kindergarten through second grade children: <https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/25019>

To learn more about Janice Alonso and her work, please visit and like her Facebook page: <https://www.facebook.com/JaniceAlonsoauthor/>

