Page 23 of The Inn Dilemma (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker)

“We’re not demoing the wall, just the paneling.” She sticks her finger knuckle-deep into the hole. “There’s a gap. We could easily fit a hammer in there to pull it back some more. It looks like there’s something your aunt would love behind this.”

“Really? What?”

Nova’s lips spread into a broad smile and her eyes light up. “A mural.”

Nova runs her fingertips across the intricate design almost reverently. “This is absolutely stunning. I wonder why they never finished.” Her brow scrunches as she studies the section of wall that has only a sketch of the mural done.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

Nova and I both spin around and find Gladys Monroe gaping at the mural we just uncovered.

Gladys points at Nova and shakes her finger. “I told you no! This is a historical landmark. You can’t just go changing things willy nilly!”

I step in front of Nova, who places her hand on my arm.

“I’ve got this,” Nova whispers.

Nova faces Gladys head-on. “I didn’t do this.”

Gladys’s eyes flick to mine. “Are you telling me he did this?”

“No,” Nova answers, standing her ground. “We don’t know who did this.”

Just then, Aunt Birdie’s surprised gasp pierces the stand-off. She glides past Gladys and slowly walks the length of the wall and studies the unfinished masterpiece.

Gladys’s mouth opens and closes several times, reminding me of a goldfish. “This is…is…” Gladys appears to be at a loss for words, probably a first in her miserable life.

“This,” Nova says, moving her hand in a sweeping gesture down the wall, “is original to the house and was covered up by someone in the 60s or 70s.”

“They didn’t put murals in homes back then! People don’t put murals in their houses now! It’s a waste of time and money!”

Nova’s eyes darken, and she takes several steps closer to Gladys. If I was ever afraid Gladys would intimidate Nova, those fears now fly straight out the open window. Gladys should be afraid of Nova.

“Art is an expression of emotion. It’s a gift God gave to man.

Often, it’s beauty from the ashes. Light coming out of the darkness.

And today, that’s exactly what this is. What happened here was devastating, but thanks to a lot of hard work from dedicated friends and family, the Storybook Inn will be better than ever.

Uncovering this mural is just the tip of the iceberg.

Buckle up, Monroe, because the best is yet to come. ”

Gladys stares at Nova, unblinking.

“Were you let in here or did you force your way in?” I ask her.

Her eyes snap to mine. “The door was unlocked.”

“The Storybook Inn may be a historical landmark, but it is not public property. You have no legal right to be in here,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

She puts her hands on her hips and squares her shoulders. “I have every right to be sure my standards are being upheld.”

“No. You don’t. We are abiding by the historical society’s rules and the approvals we’ve received for this project.

This mural has been here since Ella Mae lived here, predating the paneling and making this house even richer in history,” Aunt Birdie says, speaking up for the first time since arriving.

Gladys lifts her chin. “We’ll see about all that.” With that, she spins on her heel and marches into the hallway and down the stairs.

Aunt Birdie focuses back on the wall. “I can’t believe it. This is…is…”

“Monumental,” Nova says, coming to stand next to her .

Aunt Birdie rests her hand on her chest. “He did it, but it’s incomplete. I wonder why he stopped.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Frederick Graves,” Aunt Birdie answers.

“I found his journals in the attic about a year ago. They’re full of his plans for this house, the town, his family.

In his journals, he talked of hiring an artist to paint a mural in their bedroom.

But I never read that he actually went through with it.

I mean, Nova and I have read Ella Mae’s journals where she talked about doing this, but nothing indicated that it actually happened. ”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Nova says. “I’ve been reading Ella Mae’s journals, but this whole time you’ve had Frederick’s too?”

Aunt Birdie looks sheepish. “I guess I wasn’t sure if you’d be as invested in their story as I was and didn’t want to waste your time.”

Nova’s mouth falls open. “I may be even more invested than you. Their story rivals some of the best romances I’ve ever read.”

“I’m sorry, Nova Girl. You can read his journals whenever you like.” Aunt Birdie puts her hands on her hips, attempting to sass back Nova. I smile at the two women who have come to mean everything to me.

Nova giggles. “That’s great, because I think they’ll give us even more ideas on how to transform the inn into the home they always wanted.”

“I’d love to bring their dreams to life.”

“Didn’t Ella Mae die pretty young?” I ask, trying to remember the little bits of family history Uncle Walt shared with me. One unfortunate thing does stand out in my memory…Ella Mae’s story mirrors my own mom’s.

Aunt Birdie’s face turns crestfallen, as if Ella Mae was a dear friend she lost and not a distant relative of her husband’s. “She did. But Frederick never remarried. Instead, he threw himself into his work with the railroads, becoming a lesser-known railroad baron.”

I stare at Aunt Birdie in shock. “I’ve never heard any of that. Just the stuff with Ella Mae.”

Aunt Birdie gives me a conspiratorial smile.

“That’s because no one except Frederick, Ella Mae, and one of the other founding men–Douglas Sherman--knew, which he took to his grave.

Even back then, they didn’t trust to tell the other founding family, the Monroes.

” She looks around as if making sure there are no other listening ears, and her grin widens to Cheshire Cat size.

“There’s something else in the journals…

he hid treasure somewhere on the property.

His journals don’t explain where, but I’ve looked through every inch of this house where it could possibly be and haven’t found a thing. ”

My mind wanders to the spot deep in the woods on the edge of the property where I like to spend time with God.

“Did you read anything about a house deeper in the woods?” I ask. “Maybe a hunting cabin?”

Aunt Birdie taps her lips with her finger as if deep in thought. “No. This is the only building original to the Graves family.”

“Or recorded as belonging to the Graves family,” I mumble.

Nova chimes in, “What aren’t you telling us?”

I run my palm against the side of my jeans. “One day when I went out hunting, I found something on the edge of the property.”

Uncertainty grips me and I go silent. I probably should have told Aunt Birdie about the house before now. Hopefully she’s not too angry that I’ve kept that place a secret from her. Aunt Birdie gently shoves my shoulder. “Well, go on then! You have us curious now.”

“I found a crumbling house with a huge and sturdy standing chimney. I’m wondering if maybe the treasure could be hidden there?”

Nova’s eyes widen and she bounces on the balls of her feet. “You have to show us!”