Page 94 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

The passageway grew narrower, the damp stone walls pressing in as Amy and I moved forward. The dim tunnel air carried an unsettling silence, except for our footsteps—and the distant, unmistakable sound of someone else drawing closer behind us.

Amy whispered, “I swear, if that’s a rat with unnaturally large feet, I am going to see that he gets you first.”

I kept my flashlight low and my voice lower. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Amy grabbed my arm. “Faith that your mom will be waiting in the mausoleum to rescue us from all the rats, human and animal.”

“Then let’s pick up the pace and not keep my mom or the rats waiting.”

We hurried forward, my heart thudding in rhythm with our footsteps. The passageway began to slope upward, and the closer we got to the end, the stronger the scent of damp earth and old stone became.

Then, finally, we reached steps that led to a white marble column. Amy and I hurried up the stairs and pushed against the column. It opened slowly and with each strenuous push, an eerie glow began to seep out. When we finally stepped past the opening, it was to see two lanterns, flames flickering inside each and casting soft light on the inside of the Willow Mausoleum.

I barely had time to process our surroundings before a sharp, collective inhale filled the space.

Standing near the three crypts were Professors Anderson and Swatcher, both looking like we had just emerged straight from the underworld.

For a second, we all just stared at each other, a heavy silence hanging between us.

Then my flashlight beam landed on Professor Anderson’s hand.

A bloody knife.

“Professor Anderson with a knife in the mausoleum did it,” Amy said nervously, sounding like she won the game.

Anderson held it up, his face pale. “I—I just found it.”

Swatcher snorted. “Sure you did. And where would that be? Right next to Jones’s body?”

I exchanged a quick look with Amy. Jones. The dead man in the Mercantile.

Anderson’s grip on the knife tightened. “I told you already, I had nothing to do with that.”

Swatcher crossed his arms. “Right. And I suppose you’re just down here to admire the decor?”

“I’m working with the FBI,” Anderson snapped. “And it’s all your fault.”

Amy nudged me. “You got part of that right.”

“I hoped you would figure it out, Pepper,” Anderson muttered.

Swatcher let out a dry laugh. “Please. You think I don’t know a setup when I see one? You killed Jones. And now you’re playing the ‘I found the knife’ game. Classic.”

“I didn’t kill anyone! But you did and you set me up,” Anderson shot back. “You planted gold coins in my carry-on when we were on that treasure hunt in the Florida Keys and the only way for me to prove my innocence was to work with the FBI to prove you guilty.”

“You’re crazy. I did no such thing,” Swatcher said angrily.

“Every place you went with Waters for a treasure hunt a major theft followed somewhere in the area. Were you and Waters working together? Was that how he was able to afford to collect those antiques and art pieces and allowed him to boast about retiring early?”

“What are you talking about?” Swatcher asked, confused. “Waters was as just as interested in the Willow treasure as I was. When he found the secret passageway, we thought we hit the jackpot. He died before we could finish looking for it and before I could get the key from him to get back in here.”

“So, you hired a thug to steal the key?” I asked, knowing my dad wouldn’t be happy hearing that.

“I had no choice. I worried that someone else was after the treasure and I was right,” Swatcher said.

I took a guess. “The vanishing guy in the hospital. You had Jones try to finish him off at Treetop.”

“No, he was just supposed to scare him off,” Swatcher insisted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Anderson was responsible for that incident.”

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