Page 89 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

I wrinkle my nose. “What do you think it meant by three o’clock?”

Maddock scratches his temple. “Maybe something is hidden behind the three on the clockface or—” He points ahead of us. “Twelve.” Then, to the left, and says, “Nine.”

“Behind me would be six, like when the other guys on the fire crew say ‘Watch your six,’ meaning always look out behind you.”

“Then three.” I point to where it would be if we were looking at the clock face.

We peer at the brick wall on the right. Carved into the wood that braced the crossbeam for the old bell, I notice a shape and trace my finger over what looks like a rotund oval ... with legs, hooves, and wings. “Is that a pig?”

“A flying pig,” Maddock says, brushing away the dirt and dust.

Thinking of the baseboard at the chateau and my discovery, I poke its plump belly with my finger but nothing happens.

Maddock traces his finger in a circle around the pig, revealing an inlaid disk. It indents like a piano key, like where the Christmas decorations were hidden in the chateau.

“I like the way you’re thinking,” I say.

He turns it and reveals an opening. Inside sits a vintage metal cookie tin.

I realize I’m holding my breath.

He says, “I’m guessing these are stale. But it’s pretty heavy.”

I brush off the lid and read the words printed on the top. “Time Capsule. Hogwash Holler 1922.”

Our gazes meet at this discovery.

He says, “That’s over a hundred years ago.”

“Wow. Should we open it?”

“Maybe not up here.” He shifts his weight and the rotten wood makes a questionable noise that suggests it would give way if we decided to jump up and down with excitement.

“Yeah, this seems dangerous.”

“So is time. It can slip past without you even realizing it.” He cups my cheek, gazing affectionately into my eyes.

My gaze lifts to his.

And our lips press together for a kiss that’s like a treasure hunt all its own because I keep discovering new things I adore about this man.

Maddock

Back at the restaurant, with the slatted blinds closed, Honey carefully picks through the contents of the metal time capsule tin while I film for posterity. There are postage stamps, theater ticket stubs, a candy bar wrapper, some sepia-toned photos of Hogwash Holler, several peacock feathers, a root beer bottle cap, a little carved wooden flying pig, newspaper clippings, and a few other items. When she reaches the bottom, she pulls out a piece of paper.

“Is it a note?” I ask.

Honey shakes her head. “It’s a stock certificate.”

“For livestock?”

She inhales sharply as her eyes scan the old paper before her gaze snaps to mine. “No, like the stock market. It’s original shares in General Electric.”

My eyes widen and a chill brushes across my skin as I read the information. “I don’t know much about the stock market, but, um, I imagine this is worth a lot of money. Like millions.”

Our eyes meet once more and we leap into a hug, screaming like we just won the lottery.

When we both calm and catch our breaths, Honey says, “Do you have any idea what this means for Hogwash?”

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