I came to Winslow in search of a refuge where I could write my mystery stories in a relaxed small town atmosphere, but I’m finding that kind of peace to be elusive.
My nineteenth century house needs renovating and my love life could do with a makeover too, but Felicity Hargraves, the girl of my dreams, just doesn’t seem interested.
To make matters worse, Melody Bride, my book shepherd, is becoming a real thorn in my side and instead of helping me adjust to these challenges, lately, she seems to be getting in my way.
I try to put these worries out of my mind and write for a couple of hours but it’s to no avail. I’m feeling at loose ends and want to do some chores like taking a crack at fixing the loose fireplace mantel.
I get out my toolbox and start puttering around when I notice an envelope has slid behind the mantel. Using a slot head screwdriver, I fish it out.
It turns out to be a love letter written by Benjamin D’Arcy, the original owner of the house to a woman named Beatrice and it’s dated June 12, 1813. It’s filled with the usual florid touches so characteristic of the period and I’m amused by the style—but then he adds in an interesting detail:
I shall make every attempt to visit you secretly tonight by means of the cellar passage. Be waiting for me at eight. I count the hours till then.
Cellar passage? I immediately head to the basement to check it out.
The real estate agent mentioned there was an old dirt floor cemented over in the 1920’s and some of the brick foundation repaired—but said nothing of passageways. I gaze round the walls and see only an old coal chute.
Then, my eye catches the faint outline of a door in the dark wooden planks used to wall in the area and contain the coal.
I get a screwdriver and wedge it into the slit and pry the door open. Immediately I feel a draft and see a passageway leading back some distance into the gloom.
It occurs to me the two leading families of the era were the D’Arcy’s and the Hargraves—more proof that Felicity and I were intended. I smile, convinced the passage leads to the Hargraves Estate.
I sense in my soul that if I follow the tunnel it will lead me to the girl of my dreams.
I find a flashlight and begin to follow the stone corridor.
It bends and snakes its way for hundreds of feet underground—I can’t picture in my mind where it leads—it seems to be avoiding natural obstacles along the route.
Finally, after a few more tight turns I come to a small door, about five feet by two feet dead ahead of me.
There’s a rusty iron latch which I force down and with some effort succeed in pushing the door open. I break out of the musty passageway and find myself in a garden staring at the Patterson House.
Ironically, in the driveway sits Melody’s car.
I’m not saying Ella James was right, but no matter no matter how hard I tried, I failed to even get to first base with Felicity.
As for Melody, a funny thing happened—she seemed to get more beautiful with each passing day.
I’m a stubborn guy, but I’m not stupid. I know a good thing when I see it. Melody Bride is now engaged to me and I couldn’t be happier. I let Ella take the credit for being the matchmaker, but I know different.
A funny thing though—it turns out Melody is related to the Patterson’s and Benjamin D’Arcy was my great uncle.
Just a coincidence? I’d like to think so—kind of like my choosing to live in Winslow.
Ella doesn’t believe it’s a coincidence at all. She told me just today, “You don’t choose to live in Winslow—it’s a calling.”
I roll my eyes and console myself with the belief that it’s just more of her mystic mumbo jumbo.
It is, isn’t it?
