“Did you get the invitation?” asked Bess, unable to contain herself. “You did! You got it! Nancy, it’s the party of the year, and we’re invited!”

“What are we invited to?”

I tore open the envelope addressed to me. The invitation inside was printed in gold ink on thick, cream-colored paper; I had to tilt the paper at just the right angle in order to catch enough light to read it by.

Please accept this invitation to a Celebration of the Arts next Saturday evening, March 18, at the Strickland mansion on Regent’s Hill Road, at six o’clock. Suitable dress politely requested. This is a one-time-only event. It will not be repeated.

Regent’s Hill Road winds along the ridge on the north side of town. It’s mostly hiking trails and horse farms out there. I didn’t know much about the Strickland mansion, just that it was the home of a wealthy but reclusive widow who’d had something to do with the arts in River Heights years ago. Now, all of a sudden, I was being invited to a grand party at that very mansion.

Before I had time to wonder about the reason for the invitation, Bess said, “So, our hostess is pretty eccentric. Nobody’s allowed to use her first name. She only answers to “Duchess” because her husband’s name was Duke. That’s just according to rumor, though. She hasn’t been seen in town for ten years, not since her husband died.”

“So why would she break her silence now?”

“No idea, but I’ll tell you one thing. That mansion must have the best view in all of River Heights. And I, for one, intend to savor that view. Maybe strike a few poses for the photographers, show off my fabulous gown … Remember that sculpture class I took last summer? With that cute TA?”

“Oh, the infamous Sven Svenstein? You wouldn’t stop talking about him after he gave you that book on female performance artists.”

“I’m going to ask him to be my date. What about you, my gumshoe friend?”

“I’m definitely going, mystery or not!”

“That’s all I wanted to hear. You go back to bed now, Nancy. I’ll see you later at the Slay Gallery opening. I have to hang up so I can start making my vision board. I haven’t even settled on a color palette. …”

Of course, once you’ve been out to the mailbox early in the morning and received a mysterious invitation, it can be very hard to fall asleep again. I gave up on returning to my dream of the haunted castle and wandered downstairs to the kitchen, where I found Hannah making coffee and whistling a merry tune.

“Wow, look who’s up early! Are you hungry? I can make French toast. …”

“Oh, yes please!” I exclaimed. Hannah’s French toast is heavenly, topped with a cloud of her homemade whipped cream and strawberries. Lately she’d been adding extra toppings like cinnamon and shaved Mexican chocolate, even a little chili powder. I loved her classic French toast, but her creative new flavors made my mouth water!