Page 37 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

“You know him too well, Mom,” I said.

My mom continued to chuckle. “I know all of you better than you know yourselves.”

I didn’t even try debating that one.

We placed our lunch orders before I asked, “So, what kind of treasure rumors are we talking about?”

“And why haven’t we ever heard about them?” Amy chimed in.

“It was way before you girls were born. It all started when a good-sized ruby was found during the restoration of the Willow Mansion.,” my mom explained. “Rumors started spreading, and then some local news reporter wrote an article suggesting the ruby was part of a dowry that Ignatius Willow had started for his daughter that included a family heirloom, a diamond and pearl necklace. No proof was ever found of that but once a rumor gets started it grows and once it does there is no stopping it. Soon treasure hunters descended on the place, most believing a dowry had been buried with Verbena. It took a while but thanks to Effie’s efforts the rumor got squashed and laid to rest. A few stragglers persisted for a while, then died off completely. I don’t see how after all these years the rumor started up again.”

“The necklace was mentioned briefly in the book The History of Willow Lake,” Amy said.

“Which, if I remember correctly, was only published about six months ago,” I said.

“That made it into the book?” my mom asked, scrunching her brow. “The Willow Lake Historical Society had final approval on the book, and I don’t recall reading that in the final edit.”

“The author was Professor Pierce Anderson, maybe he slipped it in,” I said, recalling the name.

My mom shook her head. “I doubt that very much. Pierce is a history professor at the local community college and a stickler for accuracy. He went over all the historical society’s files and the Willow family church files and found nothing concerning a dowry, though the necklace does exist. Claire Willow is wearing it in the family portrait. I’m going to have to look into this.”

“Didn’t you read the book after it was published?” Amy asked.

“I glanced through it. Having read it endless times before publication, I didn’t see any reason to read it again, and the few pages I did read were as I recalled them.”

“Does the Willow Lake Historical Society get any money from the sale of the book?” Amy asked.

“A very small percentage. Pierce was commissioned by a small publishing company to write books on local towns, Willow Lake being one of them,” my mom explained. “Though the historical society is looking into publishing some books on our own.”

“The Willow Lake Historical Society should consider having a book written on the Willow family and the restoration of the mansion,” Amy said. “You could sell it at the mansion’s store and make it available online.”

My mom smiled. “You are definitely going to be an asset to the historical society, Amy.”

“I wish I had taken an interest in it sooner,” Amy said.

“You weren’t ready then. You are now,” my mom assured her. “I am so pleased the place will be in such good hands in the future.”

“What about the guy who snatched your purse?” I asked, recalling the other promise I made to my dad to find out what I could from my mom about her assailant, though I was curious myself to see if she recalled more.

“I know from your dad that the police question people at a crime scene right away before they lose recall of the incident, but I find time allows me to think and remember more precisely. The man wore a dark hoody, but what men nowadays don’t wear them? And a dark mask that covered all but his eyes. He certainly didn’t want to be identified or perhaps he was known to me.”

“A possibility,” I said, then turned quiet so she would continue.

“He wore black boots.” She wiggled her fingers at Amy. “I know there must be a notepad and pen in that cavernous satchel purse of yours.”

Amy laughed. “I do carry a lot with me.” She dug around in her bag and pulled out a notepad and pen and handed them to my mom.

“Motorcycle boots,” Amy and I said in unison when she turned the pad around to show us her quick drawing.

She turned to another blank page and started drawing again.

I was always amazed at watching my mom draw. She had a natural talent. I inherited some of it but nowhere near the talent my mom possessed.

“Wow,” Amy and I once again said in unison, staring at a drawing of the head of a guy in a hoody with a mask covering all but his eyes, intense eyes.

I felt Mo’s tail wag against my leg and looked to see my dad headed our way.

Zelda, the owner of Star Diner, had a mug filled with coffee on the table before he reached us.

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