Page 89 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

Lord Benedict died only a month after Sarah fled, and her brothers blamed his death on her betrayal. Enraged, they worked to erase any trace of their sister from the family records. But their fury grew when they discovered she had taken her dowry with her. Desperate to secure their own futures, they scrambled to marry wealthy wives, hoping to restore the family’s dwindling fortune. The Mumfords did everything in their power to bury the scandal, and for a time, it seemed they had succeeded.

I flipped the page, eager for more.

It was sheer luck, a photo of the Willow family portrait I had with me, and Max’s help that led me to the truth. A friend of Max’s from England had invited us to dinner, and as we talked, the conversation drifted to my research. Max encouraged me to show them the photo, and I did. Most admired it, but one elderly man—Neil—stared at it too long. I saw it in his face. He knew something.

I leaned forward, completely absorbed.

Later, when I managed to speak with Neil alone, I asked him outright if he recognized the people in the photo. He smiled and said, “I believe my grandfather knew them, Lady Sarah Mumford and Shamas O’Rourke. He always prayed that she and Shamas got away safely and had a good life.”

I could picture the moment—Aunt Effie pressing for answers, Neil caught between nostalgia and secrecy.

Neil told me that his grandfather had worked at Mumford Castle and had told him about his time there. He had been frail, often teased, but a fellow named Shamas had defended him. In gratitude, Neil’s grandfather had helped him and Sarah escape. Shamas had spent months digging a tunnel from a secluded part of the castle to the nearby forest, ensuring that no one would see Sarah flee. The night she ran, Neil’s grandfather was waiting at the tunnel’s exit. He guided her to where Shamas waited, ensuring their safe passage. Lady Sarah had pressed a pouch of coins into his hand, a gift that had changed his grandfather’s life, allowing him to leave the castle and build a future of his own. He had never forgotten the couple, and he had spoke often about them, wondering what became of them. I recognized the woman since a portrait of her hangs in Mumford Castle now open to visitors.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Neil told me that some secrets are better left buried. That the moment Ignatius and Claire boarded that ship, Shamas and Sarah ceased to exist. I agreed at the time, but as the years passed, I found myself wondering if someday, their love story should be told. That decision, Pepper, I leave to you. Tell their story or keep their secret.

A lump formed in my throat.

Neil shared even more, and you’ll find those conversations recorded in these pages. Naturally, I visited Mumford Castle and found out as much as I could about the family and Shamas and Sarah as well which you’ll also find among these pages. I have no doubt you’ll dig even deeper. I never found Sarah’s dowry, but I did find a key and left it for you. Perhaps it unlocks more than we know. It is a mystery I trust you will solve. And when you do, I know you’ll ensure Willow Lake benefits from it—just as Ignatius and Claire would have wanted.

And, my dearest Pepper, I hope you find a love as strong and enduring as Shamas and Sarah’s and mine and Max’s since by now you have no doubt discovered the truth about us.

All my love,

Aunt Effie

I stared at my aunt’s lovely handwriting, the letters flowing so beautifully together that they drew me in, making the bittersweet love story all the more entrancing. After sitting there, letting the weight of Ignatius and Claire’s secret settle over me, I turned my attention to the rest of the journal. There was more—possibly enough to uncover even deeper truths about the couple, to piece together a fuller picture, and maybe even find a clue leading to Sarah’s lost dowry.

And I knew exactly who would love to dig into it.

I called Amy, and she was at my place in no time.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she read the journal. When she finally looked up, she smiled wistfully. “Their story would make a beautiful romance novel.”

I sighed. “But do I reveal the truth or keep their story a secret as they did for their entire lives?” The decision weighed heavily on me.

Amy considered that for a moment. “I think you should take time to think on it. In the meantime, searching for Sarah’s dowry seems like a good next step. Even if you find only a small portion, it could be an enormous help financially for the historical society.” She flipped through the journal, scanning Aunt Effie’s notes. “With everything she gathered here, it’ll be much easier to trace the real history of Ignatius and Claire—and possibly the real Ignatius Willow. But what worries me is that Aunt Effie stumbled on all this by luck. What if someone else is already looking? If word got out about a substantial dowry, especially in today’s market, someone might be determined to find it.”

I tapped a finger against my chin. “I’m finding it harder to believe this is all just about the dowry. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”

Amy nodded, clearly thinking along the same lines. We locked eyes and simultaneously said, “Maybe I/you have them mixed up.”

I leaned forward. “Maybe Stone—the supposed biker—is actually an undercover agent. He’s got that self-assured bravado that would serve him well in a role like that.”

Amy tilted her head. “The vanishing guy could know Stone’s real identity. If he regains consciousness, he could blow his cover.”

“And the guy in the hospital stairwell?” I mused. “Could be law enforcement. Maybe he’s working with Stone. And what if Professor Anderson is involved, helping them somehow?”

Amy frowned. “But why would Professor Anderson be working with law enforcement? How would he even get pulled into something like this?”

I considered that for a moment. “He could have come across something while researching for the Willow Lake history book. Or maybe it connects to his and Swatcher’s treasure-hunting days.”

Amy arched a brow. “If Stone is an undercover agent, why would he be posing as a biker? And why would he be so interested in the Willow Mausoleum?”

“The only connection I see is the dead guy. My dad told me his name was Augustus Jones—petty crook, former member of a motorcycle gang.”

Amy shook her head. “And how does he fit into all this?” She threw up her hands. “There are a lot of players in this mystery.” She grinned suddenly and mimicked the tone of a classic board game announcer. “Could it be Stone in the mausoleum with a candlestick? Or Jones in the Mercantile with a knife?”

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