After Tilly sat down, I asked, “Could you tell me a bit more about your series?”
“Sure. The books feature a fourteen-year-old boy named Danny who was orphaned as a young child and doesn’t know what happened to his parents. So he travels around the country trying to find them and gets caught up in a host of adventures. It’s also a fantasy, because he meets odd characters along the way, like elves and people who fly and talking mountain lions. Each book is set in a different place. The one I’m working on now, the fourth book, takes place in South Dakota. Danny joins up with a wolf pack that communicates in a special language. And for some reason, which is yet to be revealed, Danny can understand them.”
As Tilly spoke, her enthusiasm for the project was evident. However, she appeared somewhat distracted and was continuously looking over her shoulder throughout her narrative. There was something familiar about her, and I had the sense that I knew her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place her.
“Have we met before?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I was at the book festival over the weekend, so you may have seen me there.”
I didn’t recall encountering her at the town hall, but parts of the weekend were a blur, so it was possible. There was definitely something memorable about Tilly—I felt like I’d looked into her eyes before. And despite her friendliness, those dark eyes unsettled me.
When the waitress returned to our table, Tilly ordered a salad while Flora chose an apple cobbler for dessert. I decided to have a Baileys mousse pie with a coffee.
“What are you still doing in town?” Flora asked Tilly. “I thought you were heading back right after the festival.”
“I spent a few days with my friend, Ginny Callaway, the metal sculptor. I’ve known her since high school and we’ve been catching up. Plus, I’ve been exploring the town in depth, thinking I might set one of Danny’s adventures here. I’m finding inspiration in Inspiration Valley.” She chuckled and pulled out of her bag a spiral-bound notebook with a hot pink cover, fanning its pages. “See, I’ve been taking notes and have a loose outline for the book already.” She suddenly turned her head toward the door, her shoulders rigid.
At that moment, the waitress brought our food. My Baileys mousse pie was sky-high, with a mound of cream on top. If I finished it, I’d probably have to undo the top button of my skirt, but I dug into the treat anyway. It was chocolaty smooth, with a hint of alcoholic creaminess. Well worth that top button!
Tilly nibbled at her salad anxiously and then leaned forward. “Do you consider this town safe?” she asked.
Flora looked puzzled. “Of course. I’ve lived here most of my life, and I think it’s the safest place in the world.”
“But there was that murder at the festival,” Tilly countered. “And I get this feeling…” She shot a nervous look over her shoulder again.
I touched her hand. “Tilly, the police are pretty certain that Melissa’s murder is related to either her personal or professional life back in New York. It probably had nothing to do with Inspiration Valley.”
“But I get the sense that someone is watching me here.” She began to shred her napkin. “I know it sounds crazy, and I never actually see anyone, but it feels like I’m being followed.”
I was suddenly struck by a thought. “Did you know Melissa Plume? Did you two ever meet?”
She shook her head. “I’d never even heard of her before she was murdered.”
Flora pulled out her credit card and waved it at the waitress. “You’re probably feeling spooked because of the murder. It spooked me, too. You’re safe in this town. And put away your wallets. This lunch is on me.”
“Thank you, Flora. That’s kind of you. Oh, I’d better get going,” Tilly said, checking her watch. “Sorry to rush off, but the next train leaves in ten minutes, and if I cut out the back I’ll just catch it.” She picked up her valise and went through the gated exit bordering the grassy field that led to the station.
“Is she usually that high-strung?” I asked Flora as I watched Tilly hurry toward the train station.
Flora shook her head. “Not in my experience. She’s always been a calm, easygoing person.”
“Well, something out of the ordinary is going on with her,” I commented, noticing she’d left her pink notebook on the table. Perhaps some of Althea was rubbing off on me, because I was filled with a sense of dread that Tilly’s anxiety was not unfounded.
Chapter 10