Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
T wo days since the incident at the hospital with Stone and two days that my dad had avoided me. Something was up and I was determined to find out what it was. I had managed to get enough out of Josh to know that no one but my dad spoke with Stone at the police station. Raised voices could be heard from my dad’s office according to Josh. He was released right afterward since there was nothing that they could charge him with, though he was told in no uncertain terms about keeping his distance from the sheriff’s daughter.
Josh did say he was outside when our dad released Stone but neither of them had noticed him since he was a fair distance away. However, Josh did overhear their parting words.
“Don’t forget that bet, Sheriff,” Stone said.
“I’m counting on it, Stone,” our dad said.
When Josh asked him about it, our dad grinned and told him it was a sucker’s bet and Stone was about to lose. But he wouldn’t say anything more about it, and it left Josh wondering and me puzzled.
I stared at my screen saver on my computer, a picture of Mo and Roxie looking far too innocent. I had to have been spaced out for a while since I had to put in my password to unlock it. I was giving another once-over to the introduction in my Prepping for the Doubting Thomas book that was due to my editor.
I get it. You’re skeptical. You’re rolling your eyes and thinking, “Another prepper book telling me the world is about to end.” Well, I’m not here to convince you the sky is falling, but I am here to tell you that life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it. And being prepared isn’t about doom and gloom—it’s about common sense, self-reliance, and, let’s be honest, avoiding the sheer embarrassment of being the one person in town who didn’t think ahead when the power went out.
Let’s talk about what prepping really is. It’s not about building a bunker (though, hey, if that’s your thing, I won’t judge). It’s not about hoarding canned beans like a squirrel on a caffeine binge. Prepping is simply about being ready for whatever life tosses your way—whether it’s a blizzard, a power outage, a job loss, or, heaven forbid, a zombie raccoon invasion (don’t laugh, I’ve seen some suspicious-looking raccoons in my day).
This book is for the Doubting Thomases—the ones who think prepping is over the top, unnecessary, or just plain weird. My goal isn’t to turn you into a full-fledged survivalist who can start a fire with two sticks and a glare. It’s to give you practical, everyday steps to ensure you and your loved ones are safe, comfortable, and yes, even well-fed when things go sideways.
So, whether you’re reading this out of mild curiosity, begrudging interest, or because someone gifted you this book with a knowing look, I invite you to keep an open mind. You might just find that a little preparedness goes a long way—and who knows, by the end of this, you may even be the one saying, “I told you so.”
Let’s get started.
Stay prepped and prepared,
Pepper
The Doubting Thomas, that was presently me with my dad and it disturbed me that I would feel that way since I never doubted my dad. I might question his opinion at times but most times we agreed on things when it came to solving crimes and mysteries. So, what was I missing?
Feeling left out.
I shook my head. There was more to it than that.
“Don’t overthink this,” that’s what my dad said to me. There was more to his remark than what he said, and I wondered if he meant that if I gave it simple thought then I would understand what he actually meant.
I closed out my work, realizing my thoughts were too scrambled to concentrate and went downstairs to get some tea, Mo and Roxie following me.
My cell rang when I reached the kitchen. I smiled as I answered it. “Feeling better.”
“Much and I have some exciting news to share,” Amy said. “Beau and I did a deeper dive on Melvin Waters, and I can’t wait to show you what we found.”
“Come on over and I’ll make us lunch,” I said.
“Be right there and I’ll send the info to download so we can go over it.” Just before ending the call, Amy asked, “Have you talked with your dad yet?”
I had told her all about the incident in a long phone conversation and was sorry to report, “Not yet and it’s not like him to avoid me.”
“It would have to be for a good reason, Pepper. See you in a few.”
I thought about that as I threw together a cobb salad with the leftover roasted chicken from supper last night. I set up lunch in the dining room, my laptop as the centerpiece and downloaded the file as soon as it arrived in my email.
Mo gave a soft bark and wagged his tail to let me know someone I knew had arrived but didn’t leave his spot in front of the television, too lost in a favorite elephant episode.
Amy and I were soon lost in our lunch and information.
“So, you know for a fact now that Waters, the past president of Willow Lake Historical Society definitely embezzled money from the society since he took office three years ago.”
Amy nodded. “He started small at first and unless someone dug deep, they would never have found it and if he had kept it that way, it might never have been found, but he got greedy or needy, probably both.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to find the money?”
“That’s the crazy part.”
I wrinkled my brow in question. “What do you mean?”
“Melvin Waters died broke,” Amy said. “If he hadn’t prepaid for a cremation, he would have found himself in a pauper’s grave.”
“How about bank accounts out of the country?”
“Not one of them.”
“How could that be?” I shook my head. “Don’t tell me… treasure hunting.”
“You got it. He was spending everything he made or embezzled on treasure hunting trips. Beau tracked down a cousin he found on one of Waters old social media accounts and got in touch with him. He told Beau that Waters bragged about a treasure hunt that was going to set him up for life. I don’t know if he was referring to the Willow family treasure since I doubt that would have set him up for life. But finding the treasure would certainly help him finance a larger treasure hunt.”
“The hunt seems to be going on without him which means he wasn’t alone in the hunt for the Willow treasure,” I said and got a creepy thought. “And maybe Waters’ death was not as natural as believed.”
“Your dad would need a lot more evidence than we found so far to have Waters’ body exhumed.”
I agreed with a nod, my thoughts elsewhere. “Do you know what may have happened to any papers or documents he may have had?”
“You’re thinking what Beau and I thought. Waters could have stolen some old documents he came across at the Willow Mansion that proves the treasure exists.” Amy paused to drink some peach tea, leaving me anxiously waiting. “We dug some more and discovered that Waters’ possessions will be auctioned off soon. I called the place handling the auction and introduced myself as financial officer for the Willow Lake Historical Society and that Waters could have documents belonging to the society and I would like to review any documents Waters may have had. The woman told me to submit proper identification as such and that she would be in touch. I got in touch with Edna and explained and I wrote documentation for her to sign since Waters’ death left her in charge and emailed it to the woman. That was yesterday and I haven’t heard anything yet. She also told me it was a private viewing and auction since Waters was quite the collector.”
“We need to find out if he stole documents from the society,” I said. “Do you know when this auction is to take place?”
“No, and that concerns me since you know how easy it is for me to get people talking, find common ground, and I’m soon talking with people like they were old friends. Not so with this woman. I couldn’t make the slightest connection with her. She was stiff and unbending and I don’t think she gave a hoot about documents belonging to the Willow Lake Historical Society.”
“I got an idea,” I said. “What’s the woman’s name you talked to?”
“Winifred Dickens. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was related or thought she was to Charles Dickens. It was easy to sense over the phone that she felt her importance.”
“Give me her number,” I said, and dialed it. I stuck my chin up as I mimicked my Aunt Effie’s cultured voice. “Is this Winifred Dickens?”
“Whose asking?” came the haughty reply.
With my cell displaying only my last name, I said, “Euphemia Madsion. I am Sir Reginald Crumpston’s personal assistant. He wishes to know if Mr. Waters still possesses the gold doubloons he unearthed on one of his many treasure-hunting expeditions since he wishes to purchase them to add to his collection.”
“The doubloons are available, and you may view them tomorrow at the preview along with other interested parties. The preview is from one to four tomorrow with a dessert buffet to follow and it takes place at Mr. Waters’ residence.”
“Sir Crumpston will be pleased to be added to the private preview list.”
“If Sir Crumpston passes a background check, there will be an admission ticket waiting for you when you arrive, otherwise entrance will be denied,” Winifred warned. “A sizeable crowd is expected. The items will then be auctioned the next day.”
“I will be there tomorrow to represent Sir Crumpston. Good day.” I hung up and smiled.
“Gold doubloons? How did you know Waters had gold doubloons?”
“I didn’t. I took a chance since it seems that the articles I’ve read lately on treasure hunting always mention gold doubloons. The preview is tomorrow from one to four and Winifred says a sizeable crowd is expected. We should get there early and with as much historical society identification as we can produce since she warned that if Sir Crumpston doesn’t pass muster entrance would be denied.”
“There may be something that could help conquer or at least soften the impenetrable Winifred,” Amy said with a plotting glint in her eyes.
“Do tell,” I said with an air of elegance.
“If my eyes were closed, I would swear your aunt was speaking.”
“If only I fit her elegance as well as she did,” I said.
Amy chuckled. “You do, when you want to.”
“Tell me what can help conquer Winifred.”
“Not what, who.”
There wasn’t a woman or a man who didn’t glance at Ian and Beau as we made our way through the crowd of people waiting for the Waters’ preview to open, though it was more so Ian who caught the eye. He walked and held himself as I could only imagine a noble would. I wondered if they taught noble bearing at prestige schools or if it automatically came with the title. Ian, Beau as well, wore suits and ties that had to have been tailored made for them since they showcased their fit bodies.
I was grateful Amy convinced me to take extra care with my appearance and wear a dress. She went through my closet and chose a sage green dress that hugged my waist and flowed around my hips. I don’t believe I ever wore it, and it was probably Amy who forced me to buy it. I was surprised how good it looked on me. Amy made me look even better with a touch of gold earrings, light purple heels, and a short-waisted, deeper purple jacket. I didn’t care much about impressing others, but I admit, I liked the way Ian’s eyes widened with surprise and pleasure when he caught sight of me.
The preview didn’t open for another thirty minutes but Ian didn’t wait. He guided me through the crowd with his hand to the small of my back. That sounded like a passage from a romance novel. It’s all Amy’s fault that I have myself living scenes in romance novels. Okay, so I admit his faint touch did tingle my insides a bit. I shook my head at my foolish thoughts.
“Something wrong, Pep?” Ian asked.
“I’m no heroine,” I said.
He smiled and winked at me. “In my eyes you are the strongest of heroines.”
“You are such a romantic.”
“You make it easy.”
I chuckled. “I doubt that very much.”
We reached the steps where a large man stood guard, stopping anyone from going past him.
“Good morning,” Ian said with a firm expression at the man. “We represent the Willow Lake Historical Society and we’re here to retrieve documents that Mr. Waters absconded with from the historical society. We have documentation to prove who we are as Ms. Dickens requested.”
“One moment,” he said and another man standing by the door switched places with him while he entered the house.
It was a far larger house than I expected to see since Waters lived alone having divorced his wife over twenty years ago. She returned home to her native England and remarried. They had no children and Waters remained single, insisting he preferred it that way, at least that was what Edna had shared with Amy. Though from what Amy found, she believed Waters was a self-centered man who cared only for himself and his hobbies, collecting and treasure hunting.
The man who had been standing guard reappeared and gave a nod to the fellow at the bottom of the stairs. He moved aside and Ian and I proceeded up the stairs, Amy and Beau following behind us and the man hurrying to block people from following.
Winifred Dickens was nothing like I imagined her. Though short and thin, she wore a pantsuit that shouted all business with a stark white blouse beneath buttoned all the way to the neck where a broach sat clasped. Her raging red, untamable curly hair appeared in sharp contrast to her business attire, and she wore what looked like a perpetual frown which probably was the reason for the wrinkles on her face.
That frown suddenly changed when she caught sight of Ian. She could not hide her shock, and her cheeks flamed red almost matching her hair color.
“You’re Ian Macgregor,” she said, her hand going to rest at her chest.
“Guilty,” Ian said with a smile and reached his hand out to her.
I was relieved when she took it and held it tightly since the woman looked like she might collapse.
“I have all the books where you’re on the cover.” A sudden smile lit her face. “Would you consider signing a couple and perhaps I could get a picture or two with you? The women in my book group are not going to believe I met you.”
“I would be only too glad to sign your books and to take pictures with you. We could see to that while my friends from the Willow Lake Historical Society review the documents in question. We have the papers showing?—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Winifred said, waving away any concern. “I trust you.”
Amy took out an envelope from her large purse and held it out to Winifred. “Our documentation for your records.” She smiled. “And I have all the books Ian’s on the covers of as well.”
Winifred released Ian’s hand and took the envelope. “You’re a romance aficionado?”
“Amy is the queen of romance aficionados,” I said proudly.
“We must talk,” Winifred said eagerly, then sighed. “Though I fear there will be no time for that today. You must leave me your number. I love meeting and talking with fellow romance enthusiasts.”
While Amy and Winifred saw to adding each other’s numbers to their phones, Ian leaned down and whispered, “Romance does bring people together.”
“So do dead bodies and mysteries,” I whispered back.
Ian chuckled. “Touche.”
Winifred led us to a room that once must have been Waters’ library the shelves now bare and only a folding table and two folding chairs occupying the space. Two open boxes sat on top of the table.
“Those are all the papers Waters had. If you find any belonging to the Willow Lake Historical Society, please put them aside and I will review them quickly and approve you to take receipt of them,” Winifred instructed, then turned a smile on Ian. “If you would come with me.”
“Of course,” Ian said and cast a glance my way. “I’ll catch up with you all later.”
Winifred reached in her suit jacket pocket and pulled out several lanyards the plastic card attached at the end reading guest. She handed one to Ian, then handed Amy three to pass out. “These will allow you to preview the items if you’d like.”
“Thank you. That is very generous of you,” Amy said and turned and handed one each to Beau and me as Ian and the woman left the room. “She’s a fan and probably wants to get plenty of pictures to share with her reader group.”
“I’ve gotten used to the attention he gets… mostly,” I admitted. “Let’s get to work.”
With the three of us we got through the files quickly and came across several papers that belonged to the historical society. Many were financial papers while others were receipts of purchases by the historical society for various items from paintings to antique pieces.
“It worries me that Waters kept these receipts when they should be on file at the historical society. It could mean he bought the items and kept them for himself. We need to reference these receipts with the items being offered here. Several of the items could very well belong to the historical society,” Amy said.
“Why don’t you go and talk with Winifred about this, and Pep and I will split the receipts and see if we can locate the items,” Beau said.
The house was filling fast with people eager to preview the auction items. Beau went one way, and I went the other way. Of course, I couldn’t help spotting some items that would work well in my cabin and several that would look perfect in the lodge. I also saw some things I knew Amy would love and made a mental note to tell Beau though he probably already spotted them.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when I came across an item that I had a receipt for, an antique writing box. I did a quick search on my phone and discovered the writing box, depending on condition, and this box was in excellent condition, was well worth over a thousand dollars. I also came across a French walnut armchair Waters had a receipt for stating it was for the historical society and was given a discount for that reason. I continued through the rooms and was stopped short by what I could have sworn was a familiar voice. I listened for a moment, trying to recall where I had heard it.
Then I caught the word broad and knew where I heard it. It was the voice of the guy Stone had been talking to in the stairwell at the hospital.
I turned casually to get a good look at him and maybe snap a quick pic when I was caught off guard. Professor Anderson was talking with him. Could Anderson be involved with this whole mess?
There was only one way to find out. I followed them as they left the room together.