Page 52 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

“Blame your mom. It stuck in my head.”

He had mentioned his concern enough that I realized it really did trouble him, so I tried to reassure him. “I’ll be careful, and Amy will be with me and the mansion is open to visitors today. So, I’m pretty well protected.”

“Good to hear,” he said, sounding relieved.

I didn’t want to burst that relief but there was something I hadn’t mentioned to him. “I’m taking that skeleton key with me to see if it fits any lock in the mansion.”

And just like that worry sparked in his eyes again.

I tried to reassure him again. “I’m not going to let anyone see it or know that I have it. It remains a secret.”

“Secrets can be dangerous,” Ian warned. “Text me when you arrive, while you’re there, and when you leave.”

I went to laugh until I realized, “You’re serious.”

“And so is the person after the treasure.”

“The historical societydoesn’t have much information on Claire or Ignatius beyond their names appearing on a manifest sheet for a ship sailing from Liverpool, England, to New York harbor. I can’t find anything on them after that until they turn up in Pennsylvania with six-month-old Verbena. Without a maiden name for Claire, it is difficult to track where she came from. The manifest doesn’t even show a profession for Ignatius. It’s no wonder your aunt couldn’t find out anything about the couple. They had to have been commoners and probably left the poverty associated with their social status for a better life in America. Though where they got the money to build the town of Willow and the Willow Mansion is anyone’s guess.

“Ignatius was known for being a shrewd businessman but also for his generosity and kindness, and Claire was as well. She did much to help the less fortunate, starting with free meals for the children who attended school in the one-room schoolhouse that Ignatius had built. A smart move since many children attended so they could at least get a decent meal for the day and the town prospered by having so many educated people.”

“They sound too good to be true,” I said, pulling into a parking spot at the mansion.

“Or something in their past made them generous,” Amy suggested. “I intend to continue digging and hope to find something in the files I see today that might point me in another direction. With old documents found or made public through the years and genealogy so popular, I’m bound to find something somewhere that will reveal the Willow family’s past.”

“Don’t look so happy about it,” I said jokingly, her expression serious.

“It’s not that.” Amy sighed. “The Willow Lake Historical Society has remained far too long in the dark ages. They need to update badly to bring in more revenue. Their website is ancient, they have no marketing plan, do little promo—” Amy shook her head. “And worse, I’ve found evidence that Melvin Waters, the last president, may have embezzled a sizeable amount of money.”

“Wow,” I said, not expecting to hear that. I hooked my arm with hers as we walked to the entrance. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

“Are you kidding? You know how much I enjoy working with my clients on their finances and helping work through problems. It’s just breaking the news to Edna and Doris when it is obvious they and others work so hard to keep the society going.”

I left Amy with the two women in the mansion’s office, something we had agreed upon so that I could search for a lock that would fit the skeleton key and maybe reveal the treasure or at least point to its whereabouts.

I avoided areas where people roamed, though the snippets of conversation I heard proved Amy right about the lack of promotion for the mansion. Many of the visitors mentioned that they hadn’t known the place was here and how much they enjoyed stepping back in history.

Frustrated that I couldn’t find a single chest or door that remotely fit the key, I stood looking at the portrait of the Willow family as if they could provide an answer. Verbena sat happily between her mother and father, holding a cloth doll. She was even prettier than the first time I viewed the portrait, now having time to linger over it. She most likely would have grown into a beautiful woman just like her mother while stealing several good features from her handsome father. My eye caught the pearl choker necklace Claire wore, three strands with a teardrop pearl hanging from it. It was out of place in a town that was just forming. It had to have been costly and where and when did she get it? And where was it now? My glance drifted to the artist’s signature. It was difficult to make out but in a strange way it looked familiar. I was almost certain the last name read Lander. I made a mental note to research the artist.

Search of the second floor didn’t prove any better. I tried a couple of door keyholes and a chest in the library, but no luck. I stood at the top of the impressive staircase when I finished and glanced around. Something was off about this area, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and it frustrated me. I was missing something, but what?

I tucked the skeleton key safely away in one of the pockets of my light blue multi-vest, hearing another tour group about to climb the stairs. I made my way down the Persian carpet that muffled my steps to see several women hurrying away from who I assumed were their husbands, smiling broadly and rushing to hold their phones up to snap photos while the men shook their heads.

I shook my head along with the men, knowing what caught the attention of women young to elderly—Ian.

Sure enough, I was halfway down the grand staircase when I spotted Ian surrounded by a gaggle of women. He patiently took photos with anyone who asked and even signed a book or two that women pulled out of their oversized purses. A couple of female admirers even ran their fingers over the temporary dragon tattoo on his arm which annoyed me. I did not like them touching him.

Possessive, are we?

The idea stung and made me realize that love could go a lot deeper than imagined and make people feel more strongly and do things one would never think of doing. That thought struck a cord and I hurried to look at the Willow family portrait once again, the gaggle of Ian’s fans soon forgotten.

I stared at Ignatius Willow, his one arm hugging his daughter and his other arm around his wife’s waist, keeping both close, not the usual portrait poses of that period. Was he worried that someone might take the two away from him or was he letting everyone know he would never let anything happen to either of them? Or had he done something that had placed them both in danger and remained vigilant that they did not suffer for his error?

I turned, hearing footsteps behind me, excited to see Ian and waited until he got close to whisper, “What if Ignatius was a thief and stole jewels to pay for his way to America and build a future?”

“What got that idea in your head?” he asked, his arm going around my waist and giving me a quick kiss.

I turned, his arm remaining around my waist as we viewed the portrait together. “Look at her necklace. That’s not a necklace a woman who lived in a budding town in America would wear. So, where did it come from? Who did it belong to, and where is it now?”

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