Part 2 (1/2)

”I'm afraid I was gypped,” she said. ”This isn't as good as the sample.”

”It's fragrant, anyway,” Nancy remarked as Bess held the bottle under her friend's nose.

Then George sniffed at the bottle. ”Take my advice and throw it away.”

”And waste all my money?” Bess recorked the bottle. ”No. I'll keep it.”

The road no longer offered the monotonous scenery it had on the other side of Fisher's Cove. Instead it ran lazily along moors carpeted with low-growing juniper, and at points the rocks split into colorful ma.s.ses over which the sea's filmy spray leaped playfully.

”We're not far from Candleton now,” Nancy declared as cliffs loomed in the distance.

The car rounded a sharp bend, and the girls caught their first glimpse of White Cap Bay. Never before had they seen such a stretch of beautiful water. Once only a fis.h.i.+ng town, the little village of Candleton was now a fas.h.i.+onable summer resort with gleaming white cottages and fine hotels.

Mrs. Chantrey's attractive home stood some distance from the beach, just beyond the business section of the town. Nancy pulled to a stop in front of the house.

A woman about fifty opened the door, and smilingly said that she was June Barber and lived with Mrs. Chantrey. She helped the girls carry their luggage to the guest room, and explained that her friend was at the tearoom. Mrs. Chantrey had left word that the visitors were to make themselves at home.

”Has my father arrived?” Nancy asked.

”Not yet,” June replied.

”I guess he was delayed,” said Nancy, hoping that nothing was wrong.

”Let's go down to the tearoom,” George suggested.

The girls quickly changed their clothes and set out, taking a short cut that led directly to the beach. Wandering slowly along the waterfront, they saw many old-time fishermen's houses which had been converted into artists' studios. Men and women sat in the dazzling sunlight, sketching the boats which lay at anchor in the bay.

”What can the mystery be that's disturbing Candleton?” Nancy mused. ”Everything seems very peaceful here.”

”Yes, it does,” Bess agreed.

Presently the girls saw Mrs. Chantrey's tearoom, the Salsandee Shop. Bright-colored umbrellas dotted its outdoor dining area and garden. Every chair was taken.

”What a clever name Salsandee is!” Bess observed, after Nancy explained the tearoom specialized in salads and sandwiches. ”What does the 'dee' stand for?”

”I don't know. We'll have to ask Mrs. Chantrey.”

The girls went inside. They were delighted by the cozy decor and the beautiful flower candles on the tables. The room was just as crowded as the garden.

A hara.s.sed waitress moved swiftly about, trying to take a dozen orders. Nervous and confused, she showed her annoyance as Nancy stopped her to inquire for Mrs. Chantrey.

”She's in the kitchen,” the girl replied, ”but please don't bother her now unless it's important. Two of our girls failed to show up today, and we're nearly frantic trying to serve everyone.”

”Why don't we pitch in and help?” Nancy suggested to her friends. ”We've waited on tables before! ”

”It would be fun!” agreed George.

In the kitchen, they found their hostess frantically making dozens of salads. Mrs. Chantrey, a woman in her mid-forties, was ordinarily a serene and well-groomed person. Now a wisp of gray hair tumbled down over one eye, and a splotch of salad dressing stained her ap.r.o.n.

”h.e.l.lo,” Nancy said cheerfully. ”Do you need any help?”