Epilogue
One Week Later
Honey
I ’ve just closed the Laughing Gator Grille for the day, but instead of working on the new menu (a work in progress), I pull out a lollipop and finish writing my mother a letter.
I’ll never forget all the trouble she caused me, but I am working on forgiving her little by little. Plus, seeing pictures of Leonie seems to brighten her days behind bars, so I agreed to send her a monthly update.
Someone raps on the door and I startle. It’s Jesse looking windswept and wicked.
I open the door and let him in, concerned about what’s going on. His feet are sopping wet and he’s nearly out of breath.
“Came as fast as I could.”
The blood rushes from my body. “Is it Leonie?”
“No, she’s with Tallula.”
“Is it Maddock?”
Bracing his hands on his thighs, he shakes his head. “Nope. He’s, uh, busy.”
I tilt my head with suspicion.
“Nothing to worry about there.”
Before I can badger him into spitting it out, Molly appears with Roxanne at her heels. “Which way did it go?”
“What is going on?” I ask.
“If you’d stop peppering me with questions—” Jesse starts, sucking in a long breath.
“Can I get you some sweet tea?”
“That would be great,” He doesn’t move from the mat by the door.
Molly and Roxanne edge past him as if eager to get the scoop.
I hand Jesse the drink and he takes a long sip. “As you know, we’ve been trying to track down Ambrette since the night she appeared at the chateau then took off for points unknown.”
All three of us lean in.
“I was on patrol as usual, not thinking much about that when I spotted her hauling her tin can through the swamp at top speed.”
“Her tin can?” Molly asks.
“Her butt,” I say, eager for Jesse to continue.
“I came to a stop and she streaked past with,” he takes a big breath, “a behemoth on her tail.”
“The crocogator was chasing her?” I say, barely above a whisper.
He nods.
“That’s not real,” Molly says.
When we’re both quiet, she says, “It is?” She looks as pale as I must’ve been moments ago.
“Did you?—?”
“I’m not sure what I could’ve done. That thing was moving fast. Must’ve been at least fourteen feet long. Maybe more.”
“And albino,” Roxanne adds.
He nods.
I glance at my letter on the table. “If my mother got wind, there’d be a prison break. She insisted the crocogator was real.” The Tokens and treasure too. But I didn’t believe it because she, of all people, would’ve gotten her hands on it.
He chuckles. “Let’s hope not.”
Pen poised above her notebook, Molly asks, “Where was this?”
He answers, “Over by Bladecrook.”
“So nearly out of town.” Molly taps her pen on her chin.
“Sounds like the crocogator was running Ambrette out of town,” Roxanne says.
“Good riddance,” I say, hoping that’s the last we hear from my cousin.
Just then, Maddock enters, concern splashed across his features, likely at the Deputy Sherriff’s vehicle outside.
Before he can ask questions, I say, “Everything is fine.”
Jesse winces. “Not for Ambrette.”
We fill him in while Molly and Roxanne slink away, likely scoping out a scoop. After Jesse leaves, I ask, “Did Ambrette really call you Macksie?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Is Maddo okay?”
“That’s for friends only.”
“I’m your friend.”
“My girlfriend ... but what would you think about fiancée?”
I beam a smile. “That sounds like it might be fun.”
He winks. “Stay tuned.” Lowering onto the booth where I was writing, he asks, “What are you working on?”
“A letter to my mother, but I was also going to pick a few recipes to test for the new menu. Antoine is excited. Any suggestions?”
Maddock flips through the pages and says, “I’m a big fan of the flapjacks. What’s this say?”
“Eloise jotted notes in the margin, let me see.” I angle the old cookbook for a better look.
“It’s backward.”
“I think that’s because it was written on the backside and the lead from the pencil made a mark,” I say, inspecting it.
I’ve gotten used to Eloise’s handwriting and read the words on the back of the page with the apple tart recipe and recall the connection between the cookbook contents and Hogan’s gravestone riddle—that got put on the back burner, so to speak, with all the drama going on recently. “‘Take one from apple but none from tart.’ That’s part of the riddle from Tickle’s gravestone.”
“Why would that be in here?”
“I still haven’t puzzled that out.” With a shrug, I add, “Maybe Hogan left riddles for Eloise.”
“In her cookbook?” He flips the pages and stops at the recipe for liver pate, then stabs the reverse side of the paper. “Look! ‘Find one in liver but not in heart.’
I tilt my head in question and we scramble to find the roast recipe. On the reverse side of the page is the last part.
Maddock reads, “‘The last you’ll discover in giant as well as ghost but never, ever in a roast.’”
“It makes as much sense as it ever has.”
Maddock flips to a new page in my notebook where I am writing a letter to Mama. He transcribes the keywords from each of the riddles: Apple, Tart, Liver, Heart, Ghost, and Roast .
He doesn’t move for the next three hours. Because of the legal issues related to the estate, we’ve been staying at Pigs in a Blanket, thanks to Thelma’s hospitality, but we have dinner in the restaurant tonight because Maddock won’t draw his eyes away from the paper.
But when I all but beg him to come home since it’s let, he hasn’t solved it.
It’s not yet daybreak and Leonie is still fast asleep, a heavy thud from the bedroom upstairs wakes me up. Footfalls approach down the hall. A soft rap comes from the door.
“It’s me,” Maddock whispers.
“Thelma said no funny business,” I whisper back through the crack in the door.
“There’s nothing funny about this. I figured out the riddle. The clues had me removing letters.”
“You mean you solved it?”
“One word. Very familiar. Restaurant.”
“Yes, Maddock. But I don’t have to be there for almost three hours. A gal needs her beauty rest.”
“NO, I mean the answer to the riddle is restaurant.”
I straighten. Oh. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I tried every combination of the letters. There’s no such thing as a Raunattres or a Serttanuar, at least not in English.”
I laugh softly. “You are in Hogwash, but you’re right about that.”
“Next question, what restaurants have been here since Hogan was alive?”
“The Penny Gamble and the Laughing Gator Grille.”
“Technically, the Penny Gamble is a soda fountain. Wait. Did you say the Laughing Gator Grille?”
“Yes, it had been in the Guidry family for three generations—started as a grilled gator meat shack. George and Lucille updated it, but not the menu. Which I’d like to have the energy to do today so—” A yawn finishes my sentence.
“What was it called before?”
Yawning, I say, “It used to be called Restaurant . The word is still painted under the alligator sign because they were too cheap to paint over it.”
“Can I head over there?”
“If you promise to get me one of Lexi’s Sm’ookies later.”
“Of course.”
I pass him the keys and go back to sleep. Hours later, I’ve nearly forgotten the exchange when I find Maddock inside the restaurant pacing. Thankfully, I beat the Klatch here today.
We say good morning and he asks about a dozen questions, trying to figure out why the clue pointed to Restaurant.
I wish I had better answers, but it’s not until I’m cleaning up at the end of the day does something float into my mind. “The restaurant,” I whisper. Then, more loudly, “The Christmas decorations.”
Maddock’s eyes grow wide as if he knows what I’m talking about.
I don’t finish mopping and we race to the door and lock up. Ambrette may have swindled him out of the chateau, but he’s been working with legitimate lawyers to figure out recourse. It could take a while, especially since she hinted that there might be a rightful heir, but I found the Christmas decorations and we’d like to see the chateau become a hotel, if not a historic site, so we stored everything until the case is settled. Maddock invested a lot of money in rehabilitating the building and land, so at the very least, he’d like to recoup his investment ... with interest.
We carefully unpack the boxes until we come across the little painted Christmas village made of wood. Along with the soda fountain, the theater, a few other buildings, and the clock tower, we find the restaurant. I hold it carefully in my hands and turn it over.
“It feels like the bottom slides out.”
Maddock takes it and gently shifts the wood. He flips the panel over and something gleams. “Is that what I think it is?”
My smile grows. “It’s small, flat, and gold.”
“One of Tickle’s Golden Tokens,” he breathes.
I turn over the golden coin in my hand. On one is a flying pig with wings and on the other is a clock with the hands pointing to three. It’s shiny and smooth like it just came from the mint or wherever eccentric old men with the last name Tickle obtain things like this.
Maddock reaches inside the little restaurant cavity. “There’s also a piece of paper.”
“I hope it’s not another riddle,” I say.
Maddock unfolds the brittle paper and reads, “‘Times change. So you don’t forget, find my brother under the tower at three o’clock.’”
“Times do change,” I say.
“But whose brother do you think it could be?”
I shrug and rub my finger over the clock. “I’m guessing the message means the clock on the coin.”
A moment that’s as quick as lightning passes between us before we both utter, “Back to the Future.”
Maddock and I jump to our feet. Hand in hand, we dash to the town square. It’s nearly dark and we gaze up at the clock tower, circling it once, twice, and then stand under the portico where we kissed just last week.
“Back to the Future,” I repeat with a laugh.
“Let’s see what else Hogan has up his sleeve.”
Plywood covers the door, likely to keep Jesse out, but I try to jiggle it loose. Maddock angles his head for me to move out of the way. Like a beast, he tears it off with a splintering crack.
“I’d say ladies first, but I’m not sure it’s safe.” Maddock takes the lead up the creaky wooden stairs.
It’s slow going as we pick our way carefully. When we reach the top, I look out over Hogwash Holler, wishing it would reveal its secrets.
He says, “I don’t see much other than dust and bird doo.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What do you think it meant by three o’clock?”
Maddock scratches his temple. “Maybe something is hidden behind the three on the clockface or—” He points ahead of us. “Twelve.” Then, to the left, and says, “Nine.”
“Behind me would be six, like when the other guys on the fire crew say ‘Watch your six,’ meaning always look out behind you.”
“Then three.” I point to where it would be if we were looking at the clock face.
We peer at the brick wall on the right. Carved into the wood that braced the crossbeam for the old bell, I notice a shape and trace my finger over what looks like a rotund oval ... with legs, hooves, and wings. “Is that a pig?”
“A flying pig,” Maddock says, brushing away the dirt and dust.
Thinking of the baseboard at the chateau and my discovery, I poke its plump belly with my finger but nothing happens.
Maddock traces his finger in a circle around the pig, revealing an inlaid disk. It indents like a piano key, like where the Christmas decorations were hidden in the chateau.
“I like the way you’re thinking,” I say.
He turns it and reveals an opening. Inside sits a vintage metal cookie tin.
I realize I’m holding my breath.
He says, “I’m guessing these are stale. But it’s pretty heavy.”
I brush off the lid and read the words printed on the top. “Time Capsule. Hogwash Holler 1922.”
Our gazes meet at this discovery.
He says, “That’s over a hundred years ago.”
“Wow. Should we open it?”
“Maybe not up here.” He shifts his weight and the rotten wood makes a questionable noise that suggests it would give way if we decided to jump up and down with excitement.
“Yeah, this seems dangerous.”
“So is time. It can slip past without you even realizing it.” He cups my cheek, gazing affectionately into my eyes.
My gaze lifts to his.
And our lips press together for a kiss that’s like a treasure hunt all its own because I keep discovering new things I adore about this man.
Maddock
Back at the restaurant, with the slatted blinds closed, Honey carefully picks through the contents of the metal time capsule tin while I film for posterity. There are postage stamps, theater ticket stubs, a candy bar wrapper, some sepia-toned photos of Hogwash Holler, several peacock feathers, a root beer bottle cap, a little carved wooden flying pig, newspaper clippings, and a few other items. When she reaches the bottom, she pulls out a piece of paper.
“Is it a note?” I ask.
Honey shakes her head. “It’s a stock certificate.”
“For livestock?”
She inhales sharply as her eyes scan the old paper before her gaze snaps to mine. “No, like the stock market. It’s original shares in General Electric.”
My eyes widen and a chill brushes across my skin as I read the information. “I don’t know much about the stock market, but, um, I imagine this is worth a lot of money. Like millions.”
Our eyes meet once more and we leap into a hug, screaming like we just won the lottery.
When we both calm and catch our breaths, Honey says, “Do you have any idea what this means for Hogwash?”
“That it doesn’t matter who owns the chateau or the town, these funds can help revitalize it.” My idea to make this place a destination while also supporting commerce and the livelihood for the locals takes shape.
For the next hour, we go back and forth, speculating about how to handle this. Rightfully, Tickle’s Golden Token was up for grabs and finders equals keepers, however, the time capsule is part of Hogwash Holler’s history.
“I think we need to think. Like a good gumbo, we need to let the pot simmer before we make any big decisions,” Honey says, biting the inner corner of her lip.
“And we should keep this to ourselves for now.”
“I’m afraid Molly probably already knows about us being up in the clock tower. But you’re right.”
“We can share that we discovered the Golden Token and the time capsule.”
“It’s tempting to keep the stock certificate to ourselves.”
“This was a scavenger hunt,” I say.
Her expression turns thoughtful. “That’s tempting, but it’s also like the Christmas decorations in the wall were a time capsule of the life Hogan led with Eloise up until she died. That’s kind of romantic.”
“I’m guessing she really loved the holiday.”
Honey nods. “If only we could get the mayor involved.”
“You mean Chick Jagger?”
We both laugh and study the contents of the time capsule for a few more minutes before heading over to Pigs in a Blanket, stock certificate safely stowed. I’m grateful Thelma is letting us stay here, but I hope to soon move to a place of our own.
Having to leave the chateau after all that work and time invested was hard, but I followed the advice of my new lawyer who has no association with Emberly, er, Ambrette. There’s a chance I could regain ownership, but it’ll take some time to figure out the best angle to approach the situation from a legal standpoint.
Meanwhile, I help JQ tear down his old barn to build a new one. It’s dirty and sweaty work, but the time spent focused on not getting poked by a rusty nail helps me process Emberly’s deception. She kept our baby from me. Given the situation, the chances of me realizing that I had a kid, were infinitesimal. Yet, it was like nothing would stop me, not even a storm or a squall of deceit would keep me from the truth, from my family.
And for that, I have a plan. A big one ... and it involves the stock certificate. I’m going to make an investment with it for our future, but not the financial kind. More like for the security Honey wants and Leonie needs.
The next weeks are a flurry of excitement about the Token and time capsule discoveries. I spend a lot of time with lawyers—real ones as I claim co-parental rights of Leonie with Honey, a case is brought against Ambrette for scamming me with her ill-gotten gains, and determining whether I own Hogwash.
It’s all stressful and unsettling—lots of strings. It’s the exact opposite of the life I said I was going to lead after the divorce. Yet here I am and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
While I field phone calls, make sure Honey eats three square meals a day, and spend time with our daughter, I realize there are three important things that I need to make happen as soon as possible.
A sense of frantic urgency consumes me. Bright and early on Monday morning, after a breakfast of pancakes at the Laughing Gator Grille, I load Leonie into the truck.
“Where are you guys going?” Honey asks.
“It’s a surprise.”
She lifts her eyebrows.
I smirk. “It’s going to be a day of surprises.”
“Good ones I hope. I’ve had enough of the other kind for a lifetime.”
I kiss her on the forehead. “Great ones. Promise.”
“Leonie is in this too?” She wiggles the baby’s toes.
I wink. “She’s my number one accomplice, but she’s probably still too small to be my getaway driver.”
“Please don’t break any laws.”
“We won’t.”
It takes the better part of the day, which is no picnic with a baby—though I scored major points with the ladies at the car dealership and they sped things along as I made the purchase, aka surprise number one for my number one woman.
I schedule the vehicle’s delivery for later today and then Leonie and I go to a jewelry store. While I browse, she makes a face. Nope. It’s the face. The one before she’s going to let one rip.
Not going to lie. I have a bit of a panicked new dad moment. Thankfully, there’s a coffee shop and bakery across the street. We dash over there. I buy a muffin so I can use their facilities as a paying customer and quickly learn how to operate a changing table in a public space.
To say I have no interest in eating the muffin is an understatement. I also just lost a gallon of liquid from sweating so much.
No sooner do we go back to the jewelry store does Honey call me.
This time, my eyes widen. To Leonie, I say, “We’ve been caught red-handed.”
She laughs like this day out with Dad is hilarious.
But I refuse to leave without an engagement ring.
“Where are you? Why is there classical music in the background?” Honey asks.
“Oh, um, I’m showing Leonie the finer things in life.” It’s not exactly a lie.
“Is that so?”
“Sure is. We’ll be home by dinnertime.”
“Are you trying to get me off the phone?” she asks.
“No, of course not.”
“Well, I called because there’s been a Chick Jagger sighting.” She tells me how Mrs. Halfpenny said she saw him preening in her birdbath. “There was a feather that Molly positively identified as belonging to him.”
I scrub my hand down my face because my sweet little ticking time bomb will probably soon need a nap, and I think this story could’ve waited until I got home.
Which reminds me of my final task.
I scramble to get off the phone because the day is getting away from me. Of course, Honey is suspicious, but soon, she’ll know everything.
Sensing this particular jewelry store isn’t where I’m supposed to be, we try another one, but I don’t see a ring that has Honey’s name written all over it.
“Last one, promise,” I tell Leonie because I’m afraid she’s going to start to fuss soon.
The salesperson asks if I need help. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for an—” But then I see a yellow stone surrounded by white diamonds set in a silver band. Pointing, I say, “That one. That’s the one.”
Leonie claps her hands together.
“Definitely that one,” I repeat.
“Ah, the yellow diamond. It’s extremely rare.” I’d love to hear the salesperson’s passionate spiel about the diamond color scale, but all I need to know is that our little family has sunny days ahead and they start now.
Leonie gobs onto my nose with her gummy little mouth, and I laugh. Or maybe those days already did. But it’s time to get out of here after I pay, of course. I wasn’t actually going to use the baby to make a getaway.
Once we’re back on the road, Leonie conks out and I make a call, setting up an appointment with a realtor for her last booking of the day.
When we get back to Hogwash, I drop Leonie off with Mara for the evening. Then I meet Honey at the restaurant where she closes up. I help wipe the tables and peer out the window. But the car delivery isn’t here yet.
After taking out the trash, I check the back parking lot. It still hasn’t arrived.
She closes the blinds on the door and I take one last look.
“You’re acting funny.” She shifts uncomfortably.
“Funny like?—?”
She bites her lip. “Like you keep looking over your shoulder or?—”
Just then, a car honks. I startle and blurt, “I’d hoped to get one of those giant bows, but they didn’t have one available.”
Her forehead furrows. “What are you talking about, Maddock?”
Taking Honey’s hand, I say, “Let me show you.”
Outside, the driver from the dealership hands me the keys to a Porsche Cayenne, their version of an SUV. “I thought it was time for a sensible family vehicle.”
Her jaw lowers, her lips part, and she inhales sharply. “Maddock, you didn’t.”
I pass her the keys. “I did, Hotcakes. I’m not telling you not to drive the Spyder, but Leonie likes this model better.”
Honey runs her hand along the edge of the hood, admiring the vehicle, then she leaps into my arms.
Leaning back, she asks, “This is for us?”
I nod, unable to suppress my smile at the sight of hers.
“Thank you.” Honey dive bombs me with a kiss, lots of kisses, right here on the street.
When we part, I say, “Hop in.”
She slides into the driver’s seat like a pro. “Okay, but where are we going?”
“I was thinking we could head over to the clock tower.”
She points. “We could just walk there.”
“Let’s drive.”
She laughs and puts the Porsche into gear. I get a running commentary of all the features, which suggests she’s somewhat familiar with this model, considering she’s a big fan of the make.
When we reach the clock tower, I glance up. It’s still set to the wrong time, but we’ll soon be doing something about that.
Even though I’m in the passenger seat, I get out and open Honey’s door. Taking her hand, I stand in the same place we did a week ago.
She looks at me quizzically. Taking a deep breath, I say, “We got off to a stormy start, but the past doesn’t matter as much as our future and I want one with you.” I lower onto my knee and add, “Will you marry me, Honey?”
Her hand flies over her mouth and she says something. Her eyes shine and her head bobbles.
Concerned, I say, “Hotcakes, I can’t hear you.”
Taking her hand off her mouth, she says, “I was screaming. Sorry. I didn’t want anyone to call the sheriff. Yes, the answer is yes, I’ll marry you.”
I slide the ring on her finger. Again, we hug and I spin her around.
“Okay, but I need to sit down,” she says. “I can’t believe—” she stares at the engagement band. “Is this where?—?”
Unable to get out full sentences, I’ve never seen Honey so ruffled. Usually, she’s the picture of composure.
“Leonie helped me narrow down the choices,” I say, getting into the driver’s seat.
The Porsche handles well as I drive down Main Street and onto Metairie Road.
Honey only looks up from her dual study of the ring and the interior of the car when we get to Marais Way. “What are we doing here?”
“We have an appointment,” I answer, pulling through a gate in front of a house with a for sale sign.
“Here?”
“Jesse said he always figured you’d live over here in one of these bougie houses.”
“Maddock, I can’t?—”
“If you like it—if we like it—we can and we will live here.”
The realtor gives us a tour of the house, complete with a home library and we go to the back deck overlooking the waterfront.
“There’s already a dock for my sailboat,” I say.
“You have a sailboat?”
“I’d like to someday. What do you think?”
Honey turns in a circle, taking it all in. “I think it’s amazing, but?—”
“But you know the story of The Three Pigs. We need a place that the Big Bad Wolf or a Big Bad Storm can’t blow down.”
She smiles. “You make a good point.”
I cock my head. “Glad to hear that.”
“So what do you say we buy the place, get married, and have the reception in the backyard?”
“I say yes and I love you, Hotcakes.” Honey squeals like she just won a beauty pageant fair and square.
But I’m the real winner here ... and soon, Hogwash Holler will be too.