Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I smiled, knowing my aunt would definitely be overjoyed for me and Ian. We shared a few stories of times we spent with both, though Ian never got to meet my aunt, whereas I knew his uncle well and spent more time with him than he had, so he always enjoyed hearing about Max.
We headed back to his motorcycle, ready to leave since the sun once again began to slip behind a gray cloud.
“You know the only way that guy could have gotten out of that mausoleum without us seeing him is—”
“An emergency exit,” Ian said, offering a reasonable explanation. “I read where some old mausoleums had them just in case a person got locked in by accident.”
“That is a reasonable explanation, but how to find it is the troubling question. We need to get back into the mausoleum and take a closer look around.”
Just as we reached Ian’s motorcycle, the cemetery caretaker pulled up in front of it with his pickup truck. He got out and hurried toward us.
“Warning,” I whispered, leaning my head toward Ian. “Dan can be a bit of a crank.”
“Pepper, are you and this fellow the ones who found the Willow Mausoleum opened?” Dan snapped with annoyance.
“We are, Dan, and how annoying that must be for you when you take such good care of Willow Cemetery. I love the various shade gardens you planted throughout the cemetery and the benches you added where people can sit and reflect.”
“Your compliment doesn’t surprise me, Pepper, since your mother is the only one who takes time to find me and talk with me about new plants I’ve added and reflection areas I’ve updated. Like mother like daughter.”
Pepper wasn’t surprised that he went right on talking, not waiting for a response.
“Was the gate on the Willow Mausoleum fence already opened when you entered?”
“No, it was closed. Why do you ask, Dan?” I asked.
“This is the second time the Willow Mausoleum has been broken into and the last time the gate was closed as well. Why would someone leave the door to the mausoleum open after entering yet close the gate?”
Ian set the kettle on the stove to boil when we got back to my cabin, though I should say our cabin since he is here more often than not, or I’m at his place at Willow Lake Lodge, which he thought he inherited from his uncle when it turned out that I actually inherited it from my aunt and since he had already established his modeling business there, we came to a workable financial agreement for him to remain. While it came as a surprise—more of a shock—to us, he felt in the end it wouldn’t matter since Willow Lake Lodge would wind up in the family. A sure sign that he believed our relationship would be permanent, something I’d been surprised to hear.
Mo, my Alaskan Malamute who has a mind of his own, followed Ian into the kitchen, ready for his afternoon treat, and Roxie, my calico cat who thinks herself queen of the house, was winding her way between Ian’s legs reminding him she was to get a snack as well. As usual, he was generous with them which was why they completely ignored me and sought him out at snack time.
I grabbed my laptop and got comfy on the couch in the living room, the kitchen opened onto it, my aunt having designed an open concept long before it became popular since she loved to entertain and wanted a space that made it easy for everyone to mingle.
I started a new file marked Vanishing Body in Mausoleum and mumbled, “Photos.”
“Again, I’m sorry about that,” Ian said as he approached with two mugs of Earl Grey tea and handed me one.
“Not your fault,” I said. “We could have photographed outside around the mausoleum and some distant shots.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I forgot to do that. I’ll go back tomorrow and get some photos.”
“If you had your phone with you, you would have thought of it,” he said, raising his mug of tea to toast his remark.
“Okay, so I keep forgetting my phone. “I looked around. “Where is it anyway?”
Ian rang my phone.
I grinned at him, hearing it come from the bedroom. “That’s your fault for keeping me otherwise occupied this morning.”
“Guilty,” he claimed and raised his mug again.
“We need to get everything down that we recall about finding that guy and how he looked before our memories fade, and we start guessing at what we saw.” I got busy typing, both of us voicing what we recalled, and we recalled much the same of what we saw, a good indication our recall was accurate.
“So, he was around five-ten, slim, his jeans and black sweatshirt worn and in need of washing, black biker boots, scruff from not shaving or he was growing a beard, brown hair a bit long, and he was pale with a bruise on his jaw.” I finished and looked at Ian.