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know local folks, you really should drop by the Coffee Shop. People come and go all day long, and a lot of folks stop in almost every day.” She grimaced. “Although most of them are in a significantly older age bracket than you are.”
    Maxwell nodded. “That won’t bother me. I find older people fascinating. Even when I was small, I preferred the company of adults. I suppose that’s a result of being an only child.”
    The pair took a short tour of Acorn Hill’s main streets and shops. Jane stopped at the Good Apple Bakery and introduced him to Clarissa Cottrell, who was just beginning to clean up from her early morning baking spree.
    “Clarissa makes amazing pastries,” she told him.
    Maxwell smiled. “Tomorrow I shall have to sample your baked goods,” he said. “Today I have already promised to meet for pie at the Coffee Shop.”
    “That doesn’t offend me, young man,” Clarissa said briskly. “I’m as crazy about June’s pie as everyone else in this town.”
    Walking south across Acorn Avenue from Hill Street, Jane directed her guest down Berry Lane. She pointed out Time for Tea, owned by Wilhelm Wood, before moving on to Nine Lives Bookstore. Viola Reed, the proprietress, popped up from behind the counter when the bell over the shop door signaled their entrance.
    “Hello, Jane,” she said jovially. “How are you today?”
    “I’m fine, thank you,” Jane replied. “Viola, I’d like to introduce you to one of our guests, Maxwell Vandermitton. Maxwell, Viola Reed, the owner of Nine Lives. If you need anything to read while you’re in town, Viola is your woman.”
    Maxwell smiled charmingly. “It’s truly a pleasure,” he told her. “Ever since I was quite young, my favorite pastime has been reading. My father used to get quite angry with me for disappearing when it was time for my riding or tennis lessons. He never did figure out that I was right under his nose in the coat closet, reading with a flashlight.”
    Viola laughed. “Ah, a man after my own heart. There’s something delicious about reading when one knows there are odious tasks to be done.”
    “Exactly.” Maxwell beamed.
    “Jane, I’m glad you’re here,” Viola said. “That Eastern European cookbook you ordered has finally come in.”
    “Wonderful! I am dying to try some of the recipes. The book got excellent reviews in The Innkeeper’s Journal .”
    “I expect to be provided with samples of your culinary efforts,” Viola pronounced.
    Jane grinned. “I’ll add you to the official guinea pig list.”
    Maxwell threw Jane a puzzled glance. “The guinea pig list?” His eyes widened as he looked askance at the book Jane was holding. “There are recipes using guinea pigs in that book?”
    Jane began to laugh. She actually could see him backing away. “No, no. I only meant that I would let Viola sample my test batches.”
    “Oh. Yes. Of course.” Maxwell’s face reddened.
    Jane turned back to Viola and changed the topic. “Ronald told me Sylvia has the flu.”
    “Yes, I heard,” Viola responded. “Florence told Nancy Colwin, and when I went to the bakery to pick up a muffin this morning, Clarissa told me. I’m planning to take Sylvia chicken and stuffing tomorrow.”
    After another few minutes of conversation, Jane concluded her purchase and accompanied Maxwell to the door. They barely had turned the corner onto Chapel Road when Maxwell said, “How did Clarissa know about your friend Sylvia? I thought Viola said the first person, Florence, told somebody named Nancy…?”
    “Florence Simpson,” Jane told him. “Ronald’s wife. Florence told Nancy Colwin. And Nancy bakes for Clarissa at the Good Apple.”
    “Ah! Mystery solved.” They were approaching the intersection with Hill Street now. “News surely does travel fast in Acorn Hill. I must admit, I find this passing of information simply fascinating.”
    “I suppose it is,” Jane admitted, “as long as you aren’t the one being talked about.”
    He