Page 10 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

“Easy, buddy, I’m not going to hurt you or your owner,” Stone said in a way of an apology. “Now, gorgeous, how about telling me how to get rid of this disgusting sink?”

“Google it,” my dad said. “Now gather your knives and be on your way.”

“Stone nodded. “I will be returning to the cemetery to visit my relative’s grave.

“The name?” my dad asked.

Stone’s smile turned smug as he pointed to the top of the mausoleum where the name had been carved. “Willow.”

“How dowe take his word for it?” I asked Amy as I parked the truck in front of Yesterday’s Treasures. Amy and I discussed the situation on the short ride here and the question haunted me. “That Stone fellow could have spotted the name Willow on the mausoleum and used it to his advantage. When his real reason for being there might have something to do with the motorcycle boot wearing guy that Ian and I found. And you said yourself that you thought it was strange that he just happened to show up the day after the body vanished.”

“Good points all of them,” Amy agreed. “But he’s not exactly someone you should be talking to. MCs are not known for their kindness or their good looks for that matter.”

“Then why do you read MC romances?”

“The thrill of a pure fantasy,” Amy said with a dramatic sigh.

“I bet you’re living that fantasy now with Beau tattooed up for the biker photo shoot Ian’s been commissioned to do.”

Amy pressed her hand to her heart as she and I, along with Mo, walked up the steps to the shop located in an old Victorian-style house. “Be still my heart. Beau has brought my fantasy to life, wearing the MC outfit when he visits me after a photo shoot.”

“Visits?” I laughed. “He spends more time at your house than the lodge.”

I was glad Amy was enjoying her relationship with Beau. She had carried an unrequited and unspoken love for my middle brother Thomas since she was young. I was glad she was finally allowing herself to look past it and see it was nothing more than a bit of hero worship for being a good friend when she needed one. And Beau was helping her do just that.

Mo parked himself on the porch to enjoy the spring day and no doubt to receive adulations from friends and strangers alike before they ventured into the shop.

“Behave,” I warned him, opening the door to the shop.

Kate welcomed us with a smile, her long reddish blonde hair falling loose from whatever antique combs she had used to secure the stubborn strands that fell and framed her attractive face perfectly.

“So glad to see you both. Amy, I scooped up a box of romance novels from a garage sale the other day if you’d like to go through them. I haven’t had a chance to open the box yet, so I have no idea what books it contains.”

“I’d love to,” Amy said with the glee of a child on Christmas morning.

“Could you divide them into piles for me, contemporary, historical—” Kate laughed. “You know the various romance sub-genres better than I do.”

“No worries. I’ll get it done for you.”

“And I’d like to purchase one of those books on the history of Willow Lake,” I said, reminding Amy of why we were there.

“You can skim it while I see to the romances,” Amy said.

Kate gave a nod to a small table near the staircase. “Grab one. The box of romance books is in the romance room. Relax and take your time. I appreciate the help. If you find any keepers, they’re on the house.”

That got Amy even more excited to dig into the box of romances.

Amy and I headed up to the second floor. The romance room contained old romance novels and a spattering of new romances, romance DVDs, and Kate had recently added old perfume bottles and evening bags from a bygone era.

“I love how Kate keeps adding to the rooms to give them their own style,” Amy said and nearly screeched with delight when she spotted a sizeable box.

“We can’t be here all day,” I warned.

“You can go when you want to. I’ll find a ride home,” Amy said and rushed to the box that you would think was loaded with gold.

I shook my head, reminding her of our plans, “Lunch.”

She turned a pleading grin on me. “An hour, no more.”

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