It wasn’t here. Someone had probably already found it and … The title of the book directly under the bird caught my eye. Oliver Twist. It couldn’t be that simple. Or could it? Gently I removed the book from the shelf and opened the cover. There, in a carved-out hollow in the middle of the pages, lay a small cheesecloth bag and a folded piece of paper.
My heart raced as I closed the book and carefully brought it down the ladder. The others crowded around as I walked to the wingback chair and sat with the book on my lap. I opened it and removed the little bag and paper. Slowly I unfolded a hand-drawn map. Laying it aside, I loosened the drawstring at the top of the age-yellowed bag and turned it up on end, letting the contents fall into my waiting hand.
“It’s gold,” gasped Mason, going down on one knee to get a closer look.
I turned the chunk of metal in my hands. “No, Mason. It’s not.” I fought the disbelieving laughter that bubbled up in my throat.
“How do you know?” Mason obviously wasn’t convinced.
“Dad used to collect rocks. I remember when he brought home a piece like this. I was twelve. I was also convinced we were rich, and I was so disappointed when he told me it wasn’t gold. This piece is definitely pyrite, also known as fool’s gold because it looks similar to the real thing.” I offered the piece to Mason.
“Is it valuable?” He turned the mineral in his hands.
I shook my head. “Not really. It has a few uses, but compared to gold, it’s pretty much worthless.”
“You mean John Hokes’s treasure was fool’s gold?” Rita let out the laugh I’d been suppressing. “I guess the town was named well after all.”
“What about Phillie?” asked Keith. “If this gets out, then, just like before, John Hokes will be a laughingstock. Phillie has enough to deal with, living down her sister’s crimes, without adding this.”
“We could put the book back and pretend we never found it.” Mason handed me the chunk of metal.
“We could.” Rita scowled. “But what if the police try to find the treasure as evidence, or what if some reporter gets the information and tries to find it? Then where would she be?”
“I think the hotel doesn’t really need this book on the shelf for the cottage to be authentic,” interjected Elliot, who had been quiet since we’d found the clues to the treasure’s location. “Can anyone think of someone who might like to have it?”
I shot a look at Elliot. Who were these people? Did everyone in small towns watch out for each other, or had I truly stumbled into Mayberry after all? “You mean you’d let us give the book to Phillie and not tell the hotel about it?”
“I don’t see why the hotel should know about this.” Elliot gestured at the items in my lap. “There’s no point in further troubling a woman’s life over a worthless chunk of metal.”
“The book is worthless too, now that it’s been cut up,” I added.
We agreed to take the book and its hidden contents to Phillie for her to dispose of in any way she saw fit. Keith climbed the ladder, rearranging the books to keep anyone from noticing one had been removed. I carefully replaced the pyrite into its bag, drawing the string closed and placing it in the book. Mason folded the map and tucked it inside as well. Elliot took upon himself the task of carrying the book out of the cottage and up to the hotel to get us a carriage ride to the parking lot, in case we crossed paths with someone from security. That way, if any questions arose, he could say he was taking the book in for repair.
Leaving Elliot behind, we climbed into a carriage and rode down the tree-lined drive leading off the estate. I studied my companions. In two and a half weeks, these three had become a very important part of my life. I’d found friendship and true companionship, and they impressed me with their integrity and honesty, something that had been sorely lacking in the people with whom I had previously surrounded myself. I thought about my life in Charlotte, so different from the one I knew I could have here in Hokes Folly.
Charlotte meant incredibly hectic work, if I could find work at all, with little or no time for social activities of any kind. Yes, I still needed to prove myself, but in Charlotte my success would be filled with loneliness and tainted by the knowledge that others would always see me as a possible criminal.
Hokes Folly, however, was much simpler and brimmed with exciting, endless possibilities. I could stand on my own, run my own business any way I wished, and order my own life, one full of friendship and hope for true romance. Maybe I’d stay after all.
Rita interrupted my rambling thoughts. “You know, you’ve been in your new house for almost three weeks, and we have yet to throw you a housewarming party.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mason.
“How about tomorrow afternoon?” suggested Keith. “I’m off that day.”
“It’s settled, then,” said Rita. “Now, Mason, you bring drinks, and Keith, you bring a salad of some kind. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What about gifts?” asked Mason. “Aren’t you supposed to bring presents to a housewarming party?”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Rita. “I’d almost forgotten. Now, let’s see. What could we bring?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a gift card?” Mason suggested.
“What about a nice bottle of wine?” Keith leaned in closer and whispered softly, “We could drink it one evening in front of the fire.”
He winked as he leaned back, and I was pretty sure I blushed again.
“I know, how about a diary?” Rita’s voice brimmed with humor.
I cringed. I’d been silent up to that point, enjoying listening to my friends plan a party around me, but … “Not a diary. Please. Anything but a diary.”
Author Biography
Laura Gail Black writes cozy mysteries on the beautiful shores of Lake Marion in South Carolina, where she lives with her husband and four rescue dogs. She began collecting antique books when she worked in a used an antique bookstore in college. Today, Laura’s bookshelves contain many antique books, some of which are close to 200 years old. When not writing or playing with her dogs, Laura creates her own jewelry, crochets, cross-stitches, spends time on the water with her husband, and enjoys all things tea.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Laura Stone
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-64385-451-9
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-64385-452-6
Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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First Edition: August 2020
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