Page 1 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

CHAPTER 1

“Tales from the Crypt.”

“Now there’s a spooky thought,” Ian said “Some of those shows frightened me senseless when I was young. So, Pep, does that reference mean you’re too frightened to find out why the mausoleum door is ajar and no one is around?”

“Are you kidding?” I asked, and Ian’s gorgeous grin told me he was doing just that, teasing me, and curiosity had me walking toward the Willow family crypt.

“It’s a perfect setting for the opening of a book,” Ian said as he walked beside me. “The eerie silence, moss gathered on weathered tombstones,” —he gave a quick glance overhead— “dark foreboding clouds, and a creeping mist in the far corner of the cemetery that could devour us at any moment.”

I stopped and looked around the area before my gaze returned to the mausoleum. It suddenly seemed taller and more ominous, ivy clinging to the stone as if keeping it prisoner. The wrought-iron fence encircling it looked equally imprisoning. Though the gate was firmly closed, the door stood ominously ajar. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind about going inside. Only a flicker.

“Let’s go and see what the opening scene reads like,” I said.

Ian grabbed me playfully around the waist and hugged me, “I love your adventurous soul.” His smile turned into light laughter. “Though more so when you’re with me since you can be far too dangerous on your own.”

I went to argue, then realized he was right and was teasing me once again. I wiggled out of his hug, though I would have preferred to stay there, then I took hold of his hand and tugged him along with me. I still found it difficult to believe that Ian and I were a couple. He is a gorgeous romance book cover model, tall and cover-model hunky, and I’m a prepper, skinny, not by choice but by nature, and I am all of five feet four inches, and yet we fit perfectly together but that’s because we have shared interests. We both love old suspense and mystery movies and ditto with old books. And did I mention he’s from Scotland and has a Scottish brogue, not too heavy thankfully since I would not understand a word he said. How we work so well together I don’t know, but I am sure glad we do.

“Cue the thunder.” Ian teased, as we reached the mausoleum.

A crack of thunder rumbled overhead, and we froze.

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” I warned. “We’re bound to find a dead body in there.”

“There are probably several dead bodies in there, Pep. It’s a family mausoleum.”

“I mean a body that doesn’t belong there, wise guy.”

He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “We’ve watched too many suspense films lately. It’s probably just a caretaker or visitor who forgot to lock up. Let’s check it out and then let the cemetery staff know. We may have to leave after that?—”

“But we haven’t visited your Uncle Max’s grave and my Aunt Effie’s grave yet, our reason for coming here in the first place,” I protested.

Ian pointed to a spot on the road that wound through the cemetery.

“Oh, I forgot we got here on your motorcycle.”

His Harley was a sleek beauty, and I had to admit I enjoyed riding on it with him. He even looked the part of a biker in his black leather jacket, though it was mostly for a photo shoot. A famous romance author had commissioned a series of motorcycle club covers, and I loved the temporary tattoos he was sporting for them.

“The sun was shining when we left and there’s no call for rain,” Ian said.

“Except you said cue the thunder,” I reminded.

Ian chuckled. “Ah dinnae have that much power, Pep.”

“We need to rewrite the scene,” I said and proceeded to do just that. “The sun shined brightly as the couple emerged from the mausoleum.”

“And the day turned as beautiful as the woman,” Ian added.

“We’re not writing a romance,” I reminded, his soft smile making my heart thud and darn if that didn’t sound like a scene out of one of the romance books Amy, my best friend since kindergarten, devoured.

“We could,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Who gets to write the love scenes?” I asked playfully.

He grabbed me around the waist and plastered me against him. “We write them together.”

Okay, I admit it, my stomach fluttered with that one.

Ian went to kiss me and stopped, both our eyes narrowing.

---