Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
The smile cracked free as he and Beau hopped to, rushing to obey.
“I’ll follow the group from the rear,” the vet explained, jogging off.
Conrad corralled his amusement and returned the lantern to its rightful owner, saying, “I’ll remain at your side at all times. Don’t even think about ditching me.”
“Do you hear me complaining?” she asked, seeming to forget him only a second later. All confidence and expectation, she swept forward, purring to the crowd, “Follow me. If you dare.”
Paper lanterns provided illumination as she led the attendees along a cobblestone path, sharing tidbits of information about the different gravesites. True to his word, he remained at her side.
“The words graveyard and cemetery can be used interchangeably, but not churchyard,” she explained. “As the name implies, a churchyard is reserved for burials that adjoin a church.”
Though he wanted to enjoy every nuance of her expression and each dramatic gesture she performed, he kept his focus on the people closest to them. While some paid her polite attention, most conveyed obvious hope for more than a history lesson. Soon, whispers arose and expressions turned sour. The more headstones, memorials, and various angel statues they passed, the more a sense of impatience grew.
Jane paused at a gravestone and motioned to a symbol he hadn’t noticed when he’d hung the lights. It reminded him of the fleur-de-lys. Small triangles topped three lines that were joined at the base. Had she chosen this site on purpose? Was there a connection to the gold?
“The allure of secret societies is hard to resist,” she said, and he knew. Yes, she’d chosen this site on purpose. “You may have heard rumors about the Order of Seven, Aurelian Hills’s own secret society with ties to hidden stashes of gold that were buried throughout this town. Are these stories real, or tall tales to tell children to keep them occupied on hot Georgia afternoons? Solve the riddle, find the prize.”
Despite the size of the tour group, movement and conversation ceased. Each eye and ear trained on Jane. She’d brought up the subject on everyone’s mind.
She rolled on with impressive ease, saying, “As the legend goes, when the gold tapped out, the descendants of our earliest miners resorted to alchemy. They were determined to create their own ore. So, each family became responsible for a single element, and they were given a symbol to go with it. You’ll find those patterns etched on different headstones and hidden throughout the oldest parts of Aurelian Hills. The figure on this grave marker represents silver.”
The crowd’s excitement level sharpened. Whispers rose anew, and restless movements started up again. A need to be the one who solved the riddle and found that prize filled the night air.
Someone in this assembly might kill for said prize.
“The lost gold of Aurelian Hills. Truth or fairy tale?” Jane asked, adding fuel to the fire. “I’ll let you decide.”
As she continued on with the tour, she lost a good chunk of the crowd. They wandered to the left and the right, spurred into a hunt. There went Whittington. Emma Miller shot off seconds later, and Anthony Miller wasn’t far behind. Oh, and there went Abigail Waynes-Kirkland and Tiffany Hotchkins. Where was Garcia?
Nowhere on the grounds could anyone escape the cameras. No place Barrow and the team couldn’t reach in a matter of minutes.
Jane noticed the thinning audience and evinced disappointment. Had the little cupcake hoped the people stayed engaged until the end, more desperate to learn about her beloved Garden of Memories than find gold?
They motored onward, and the crowd thinned further. How much longer did Jane plan to pretend nothing was amiss?
“More and more people are branching off,” he pointed out, just to get the ball rolling.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she muttered, and yes, she continued on. But the murmurs were increasing.
“Where is it?” someone called. “Show us the gold!”
“Actually,” Jane responded with fake cheer, “the Gold family isn’t buried here, but if you’ll look to your right, you’ll notice—”
“I found it!” a woman shouted from the direction of Autumn Grove. “I found where Dr. Hots was murdered!”
That was all it took. A range of emotions pulsed from the remaining guests, many of whom shot off like bullets, quickly vanishing in the darkness.
Jane sighed. “We might as well join them.” She didn’t wait for his reply but shot off, too.
Conrad shouldered his way forward, reclaiming his spot at her side.
“How dare you!” a woman shouted. He recognized the voice of Mrs. Hotchkins.
Other shouts rang out. As Jane and her dress picked up speed, he matched her pace. Then he spotted the reason for the commotion. The widow stood with her “friend,” Ms. Waynes-Kirkland, who was wagging a finger in Emma Miller’s tear-stained face. No sign of Garcia or Whittington.
“Haven’t you done enough damage?” the friend demanded. As if she hadn’t done the same thing.