Rene’s laughter chimed like bells in the empty space. “Sounds like you met Finn Sterling.”
Finn.As if he should be swimming in that lake. “Does he own the place?”
“He oversees the house and estate.” Rene pulled a tablet from her apron skirt, its blue gingham matching the curtains and seat cushions. “I hope he didn’t flex his authority.”
“He scared the living daylights out of me.” If daylights were really alive.
“I think he rather enjoys terrifying the tourists.”
“He’s good at it.” But at least someone, no matter how disturbing, cared for the property. While she hadn’t looked back, Harper suspectedthat he’d watched her awkward climb over the gate, probably waiting on the porch until her truck disappeared down the lane.
Rene tapped her pencil on the table. “Do you want the house special? I’ll give it to you for our lunch price.”
“What’s the special?”
“Corned beef on rye with swiss and the best kraut in central PA.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Honestly...” Even though they were alone in the dining room, Rene lowered her voice as if the walls might be listening. “I think Finn wanders around that place like he can still find out what happened to Mrs. Belle.”
“What do you think happened to her?” Harper asked.
“No idea, but from what I’ve heard about the woman, it’s probably quite a story.”
A story.That word and its many possibilities tumbled around in her head.
The bell chimed again, and Rene rushed across the room to seat a small family.
Harper pulled out her phone and placed it by the silverware. Perhaps Via Belle was just a distraction from her own reality, falling back to times much simpler and sweeter with her mom, but something about the novelist’s story kept beckoning Harper forward.
And now Sissie had asked her to call. On one hand, she was thrilled to connect, but what was she supposed to say? Remember me, the woman who botched her pitch and almost burned down the Cantor mansion? Of course, Sissie remembered. And while Harper appreciated the woman’s encouragement, she had no ready story idea to pitch beyond Miles and two other scripts waiting for Evan’s review. After what happened at his estate, he would probably burn her work anyway.
The front door opened repeatedly like a jack-in-the-box, springing hungry diners into the café. As Rene juggled tables, orders, and an endlesssupply of drinks, Harper slippedLady of the Lakeout of the shopping bag and studied the cover. If the biography contained anything remarkable, others would know what happened to Mrs. Belle, but she still wanted to read everything she could about the author’s story. It was a connecting point, she’d readily admit, to her mom’s story, but the question also gnawed at her: how could someone so well-known simply disappear?
Rene swung a plated Reuben over Harper’s shoulder and placed it on the table, continuing their discussion from fifteen minutes past. “Some say that Mrs. Belle’s second husband convinced her to leave Catawba after he returned home from the war.”
Harper jumped at the interruption, quickly bridging her way back to reality. “Which war?”
“The second big one,” she said. “Other people think he murdered her.”
“What?” The word spewed out of her mouth along with a half swig of water.
“Rumors have rooted and grown over the years.” Rene tapped her pencil eraser on the biography’s byline. “Eli Lamb. Now, that’s a familiar name around here.”
“Who is he?”
“The principal at our K-12 school when I was a kid. After he died, they renamed the school Elijah Lamb. Have you met Ingrid yet?”
“No, but she had a potful of stew waiting for me when I arrived.”
“Ingrid was Eli’s wife.”
“Any idea why he decided to write a biography about Via Belle?”
“I could guess,” she said. “In fact—”
A bell dinged, this time from the kitchen, and Rene was gone in a flash. Then a second chime came from Harper’s phone with the flash of a text.
