I set the sheet aside and picked up the next issue. This one was three sheets of paper, and the heading labeled it as The Thane Chronicles and denoted it as volume one, issue one. There was a date and a brief reprise of pertinent information from the initial sheet, followed by the subscription information. There was no mention of a cost for subscribing.

There were three short articles. One was a plot summary of Spellwood Mansion, and I skipped that. Next came a brief piece on the setting for the series. Mrs. Taylor speculated that the books were set in the author’s native Mississippi, though she admitted there were no direct references to the state, only consistently vague acknowledgments that Veronica and her guardian lived in the American South. The final article discussed the clothing in the series. Laura would find that interesting. I didn’t particularly, and I put the pages aside.

The issues grew longer as I moved down through the stack. Aunt Dottie, being the organized person she was, had kept them in chronological order. The publication pattern of the newsletter—as we librarians would call it—was irregular to begin with. There was an eighteen-month gap between the first two issues, and a fifteen-month lapse between number two and number three. After the fifth issue the pattern was more regular with two issues a year, usually spring and fall.

With issue number six, Mrs. Taylor offered content written by other Veronica fans and experts. I didn’t recognize any of the names but wondered if eventually I would encounter contributions by Gordon Betts or Della Duffy. I only skimmed most of the content, but one short article I read completely discussed Veronica’s injuries through the course of thirty-six adventures. She was knocked out seventeen times, got drugged eight times, was tied up in eleven books, and imprisoned eighteen times—once even in a trunk. The writer observed wryly that Veronica was a neurological marvel because she never suffered any cognitive impairment from all those bangs on the head and the drugging with unknown substances.

After an hour I had examined eleven issues without a hint of a clue—at least one that I recognized—relevant to Carrie Taylor’s murder. The newsletters might not end up having anything to do with the solution to the crime, but I felt I had to be thorough and examine every one in the box.

Before I started on the twelfth issue, I needed caffeine to pep up my brain cells. I retrieved a can of diet soda from the fridge and happened to glance at the clock. I felt my stomach rumble as I noted that it was almost eleven thirty. Breakfast seemed a long time ago. I might as well break for lunch.