Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
M y mind refused to accept that it was a coincidence.
I recalled another thing my aunt had said to me that day.
The painting will hang there until the day you find the need to move it.
Was that why I had never moved it? Had her words lingered somewhere in my subconscious? Had I now had a need to move it? After all, my aunt was known for hiding things for me to find, important documents, her journals, notes—I was still finding in her books—and who knows what else she had hidden.
I put the magnifying glass down and reached up slowly as if I wasn’t quite sure if I should take the painting off the wall. I had no intention of moving it from where it hung, but curiosity had me wanting to examine it.
Curiosity won out and I took the painting off the wall. I laid it face down on the sofa to protect the painting itself, then I grabbed the letter opener that came with the magnifying glass. I poked a hole in the paper backing, then gently used the letter opener like I would on an envelope, slicing along the edges to reveal the back of the canvas.
I stared at it as soon as it was revealed to me. A journal was taped to the back of the canvas. I carefully removed the thick tape that held it in place and returned the painting to the wall with a mental note to myself to repair the backing, not that I thought I would forget after the astonishing find.
I settled into the oversized chair, its well-worn cushions cradling me in comfort. I had hoped it would relax me, but the mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through me made that impossible. My hands trembled slightly as I ran my fingers over the aged leather cover of the journal, the scent of old paper and time-worn ink rising from its pages. Aunt Effie’s journal. A piece of her. A piece of the past.
Taking a deep breath, I opened it.
The words on the first page leapt out at me, as if Aunt Effie had known this moment would come.
I had no doubt you would find this, Pepper. There wasn’t a mystery you couldn’t solve when you were young, and I knew your talent would only grow with the years. In here, you will learn the truth about Ignatius and Claire Willow. I chose not to reveal it while I was alive, as they had worked so hard to keep their secret and protect themselves and their only child. It is now your choice what to do with this information.
I paused, my heart hammering. Aunt Effie had always had a way of pulling people into a story, of making the past feel alive. I swallowed hard and continued reading.
It starts with a confident young Irishman, Shamas O’Rourke, from a poor family, who journeyed to England in search of work. He had a sharp mind, a talent for managing, and a willingness to do whatever it took to succeed. His determination led him to Mumford Castle, home of Lord Benedict—a powerful noble known for ruling with an iron fist. Lord Benedict had three sons and one daughter, Sarah. She was a beauty, but it was her fierce mind and kind heart that set her apart—though both were considered troublesome traits in a woman of her station.
I could already tell where this was going. A forbidden romance. A tale of love and sacrifice.
As you might guess, this story became a love story. Shamas and Sarah fell for each other, their differences overshadowed by the strength of their hearts. But their love came with a price. When Sarah became pregnant, Shamas was determined to run away with her, to build a new life together. But Lord Benedict found out before they could escape. In a desperate move to avoid scandal, he arranged for Sarah to marry one of his older friends—a match meant to erase any shame. Shamas barely escaped with his life, but he would not abandon his love or their unborn child.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in the words.
Sarah had been prepared. With a substantial dowry left to her by her grandmother, she sewed jewels into the hem of the few dresses she managed to take. One night, under the cover of darkness, she slipped away and met Shamas. Together, they fled to Liverpool, their sights set on America. But they couldn’t travel under their real names. I was never able to uncover exactly how Shamas came into possession of Ignatius Willow’s passage ticket, but he did. And when he and Sarah boarded the ship, they left their old lives behind. They became Ignatius and Claire Willow—and they remained those people for the rest of their lives.
A shiver ran down my spine. Aunt Effie had unraveled a secret buried for generations.
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?”
“Good question. Why was Jones in the basement of the Mercantile? And how did he get in? The door was locked when I arrived.”
A sudden thought struck me, and I grabbed my phone from the coffee table. I pulled up the aerial views of the cemetery Ian had sent me, as well as the surrounding area—anywhere a secret tunnel might exist.
Amy leaned in, studying the images. “The church is the closest, most logical place for a tunnel to the mausoleum. Any farther, and you’re talking about a lot of digging.”
“But remember what Neil said about Shamas digging a tunnel from the castle to the forest—somewhere no one would suspect,” I said, flipping through Aunt Effie’s notes again. “Shamas wouldn’t have chosen the obvious route.”
Amy looked skeptical. “Still, the church makes the most sense.”
“Unless the tunnel already existed.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“What if Ignatius—Shamas—had already started digging a tunnel for other reasons? Maybe he was worried he and Claire would be discovered at any moment and needed an escape plan. When Verbena died, he could have simply extended it to the mausoleum.”
Amy squinted at the aerial view, clearly mulling it over. “But the Willow Mansion is way too far for a tunnel.”
I shook my head. “He wouldn’t have picked somewhere obvious, but he would have picked somewhere he and Claire frequented.”
Amy looked puzzled.
I pressed my finger against the map. “The first place built in town… the Mercantile.”
Amy’s eyes widened just as my phone rang. I glanced down and saw it was my mom.
“I hate to bother you, Pepper,” she said, a bit frazzled. “But I need to get into the Mercantile to see if some papers I’m looking for are there. I realized my key doesn’t fit. Waters changed the lock when the old one broke. He promised he’d get copies made for the board, but he died before he got around to it, and we all forgot about it. Would you mind meeting me there so I can get in?”
“I’ll be right there, Mom.”
Hanging up, I grinned at Amy. “I know why someone was after those keys and we’re going to need rubber boots.”
Amy lifted a brow. “Why rubber boots?”
“Rats.”
“Did I interrupt some top-secret gardening mission? And why do you have that enormous flashlight?” my mom asked, eyeing my rubber boots the moment I climbed out of my truck.
“You’re wrong, Pepper. Rats can gnaw through rubber,” Amy said, glued to her phone as she hurried to my side, a massive flashlight tucked under her arm.
“Rats? Rubber boots? Flashlights?” My mom folded her arms. “What are you two up to?”
Amy didn’t waste a second diving into an explanation. “Pepper thinks there’s a secret tunnel entrance in the Mercantile that connects to the Willow Mausoleum.”
My mom frowned, glancing toward the cemetery in the distance. “That’s quite a stretch, but I suppose it’s possible.” She turned back to me. “What makes you think that?”
“The Jones guy being found in the basement—there’s no logical reason for him to be there,” I said. “I think he broke into the mausoleum, and just as he was searching, the vanishing guy appeared through a secret passage. They fought—that’s how some of the damage happened—then vanishing guy got knocked out. Jones, hearing Ian and I approaching, panicked. He grabbed an urn, maybe thinking it held the treasure, and escaped through the same passage he saw the vanishing guy enter. Meanwhile, vanishing guy came to after we left and slipped away through the tunnel, leaving us completely baffled.”
Amy nodded. “That does make sense.”
“It’s certainly plausible,” my mom agreed but then scrunched her brow. “But how did the vanishing guy know about the passage? And how did Jones get back into the Mercantile without Waters’ key?”
Amy tapped her chin. “And why even worry about a key? Why not just break in?”
“A break-in would’ve drawn too much attention,” I pointed out. “The police would be all over this place.”
“And the historical society would’ve probably boarded up the Mercantile,” my mom added. “There’s no budget for extra security, and frankly, the building has been neglected for far too long. There’s even been talk of selling it.”
Amy gasped. “You can’t! The Mercantile has so much potential—it could bring the history of Willow Lake to life and make money for the society.”
My mom smiled. “I’m so glad you joined the historical society, Amy. You’re going to be a real asset.”
“Okay, enough talk,” I said, eager to get started. “Let’s find that secret passageway.”
After we entered the Mercantile, my mom locked the door behind us.
“So, we won’t be disturbed,” she said before eyeing me knowingly. “You should probably let Ian and Beau know what you’re up to.”
“We texted them,” Amy said. “They’re in the middle of a shoot, probably with their phones off.”
“I should text your dad,” my mom said.
“Not yet, Mom,” I said quickly. If Stone really was an undercover agent, my dad would probably have to notify him, and then he’d take over. That wasn’t happening. “Let’s see what we find first.”
With flashlights blaring, we made our way down to the basement.
Amy shivered. “It’s creepier than I remember.”
Which was her way of saying, I regret everything, and I want out.
“You’ll be fine,” I encouraged.
Of course, that was when a rat decided to make an appearance.
“No. Nope. Nada,” Amy declared, stopping dead in her tracks. “I am not stepping off these stairs.”
“I’ll stay with Amy to keep her calm,” my mom said, switching on her phone’s flashlight. “And how are you not afraid of rats, Pepper?”
“Three brothers who enjoyed tormenting and teasing me,” I said simply. “Now shine your lights around the room.”
The bright beams sent the rats scurrying, their tiny claws scratching against the stone floor. I scanned the walls, searching for any section that might conceal a hidden door.
“There’s nothing here, Pepper,” Amy said, hugging herself. “No sign of an entrance.”
I shook my head. “I know I’m right about this.”
My mom sighed. “Unfortunately… she usually is.”
Cringing, Amy bravely stepped off the stairs. “Then let’s hurry up and check the walls so we can leave.”
I knew she’d push past her fear. She always did.
“Watch out for that rat!” my mom screeched.
Amy jumped back with a startled yelp, while the rat, apparently equally terrified, darted toward the wall and squeezed its fat little body between two stones.
I grinned. “I think you just found it, Mom.”
Rushing over, I ran my hands along the edges of the stone, feeling for any give. Amy, despite her better judgment, joined me, and together we pried it open. The metal hinges groaned with rust, and the passage yawned before us—a dark, cavernous hole that exhaled an earthy, musty scent.
I aimed my flashlight inside, and the darkness seemed to stretch forever.
Turning to my mom, I said, “Go to the cemetery and do whatever you have to do to convince Dan to open the Willow Mausoleum. I’ll meet you there.”
Before she could protest, I stepped inside.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Up to you, Amy. Go with Mom or come with me.”
Amy let out a heavy sigh—the kind that carried the weight of every bad decision she had ever made.
Then, predictably, she followed me into the dark.