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)
“The necklace was mentioned briefly in the book The History of Willow Lake,” Amy said.
“Which, if I remember correctly, was only published about six months ago,” I said.
“That made it into the book?” my mom asked, scrunching her brow. “The Willow Lake Historical Society had final approval on the book, and I don’t recall reading that in the final edit.”
“The author was Professor Pierce Anderson, maybe he slipped it in,” I said, recalling the name.
My mom shook her head. “I doubt that very much. Pierce is a history professor at the local community college and a stickler for accuracy. He went over all the historical society’s files and the Willow family church files and found nothing concerning a dowry, though the necklace does exist. Claire Willow is wearing it in the family portrait. I’m going to have to look into this.”
“Didn’t you read the book after it was published?” Amy asked.
“I glanced through it. Having read it endless times before publication, I didn’t see any reason to read it again, and the few pages I did read were as I recalled them.”
“Does the Willow Lake Historical Society get any money from the sale of the book?” Amy asked.
“A very small percentage. Pierce was commissioned by a small publishing company to write books on local towns, Willow Lake being one of them,” my mom explained. “Though the historical society is looking into publishing some books on our own.”
“The Willow Lake Historical Society should consider having a book written on the Willow family and the restoration of the mansion,” Amy said. “You could sell it at the mansion’s store and make it available online.”
My mom smiled. “You are definitely going to be an asset to the historical society, Amy.”
“I wish I had taken an interest in it sooner,” Amy said.
“You weren’t ready then. You are now,” my mom assured her. “I am so pleased the place will be in such good hands in the future.”
“What about the guy who snatched your purse?” I asked, recalling the other promise I made to my dad to find out what I could from my mom about her assailant, though I was curious myself to see if she recalled more.
“I know from your dad that the police question people at a crime scene right away before they lose recall of the incident, but I find time allows me to think and remember more precisely. The man wore a dark hoody, but what men nowadays don’t wear them? And a dark mask that covered all but his eyes. He certainly didn’t want to be identified or perhaps he was known to me.”
“A possibility,” I said, then turned quiet so she would continue.
“He wore black boots.” She wiggled her fingers at Amy. “I know there must be a notepad and pen in that cavernous satchel purse of yours.”
Amy laughed. “I do carry a lot with me.” She dug around in her bag and pulled out a notepad and pen and handed them to my mom.
“Motorcycle boots,” Amy and I said in unison when she turned the pad around to show us her quick drawing.
She turned to another blank page and started drawing again.
I was always amazed at watching my mom draw. She had a natural talent. I inherited some of it but nowhere near the talent my mom possessed.
“Wow,” Amy and I once again said in unison, staring at a drawing of the head of a guy in a hoody with a mask covering all but his eyes, intense eyes.
I felt Mo’s tail wag against my leg and looked to see my dad headed our way.
Zelda, the owner of Star Diner, had a mug filled with coffee on the table before he reached us.
“That is one intense person,” Zelda said, casting a glance at the drawing before acknowledging my dad with a nod and walking off to answer the calls for more coffee.
My mom slid over in the booth to make room for my dad as she warned, “Don’t step on Mo.”
He didn’t have to worry. Mo moved curling himself up against my leg.
“That is amazing, Sally,” my dad said with pride. “Put a hoody and mask on a suspect and from this drawing his eyes will betray him.”
“Find anything in the woods?” I asked my dad after he finished taking a sip of his hot coffee.
“Josh found a brief blood trail. We figured the guy probably wrapped his wound to stop the bleeding. We’ll compare that blood with the sample we got from Mo and if they match, we know we have the right guy.”
When my dad saw the drawing of the motorcycle boots, he said, “I’ll be visiting with that motorcycle gang again.”
My dad asked my mom a few more questions about the incident, finished his coffee, and stood. “I’ve got to get back to work.” He leaned over to give my mom a peck on the cheek. “Please do not exhaust yourself, Sally.”