The Missing Puzzle Piece

It was one of those days where the humid air didn't quite agree with you, and the town felt like it was bustling with secrets no one cared to share. As I flipped the sign to "open," I found solace in the familiar scents of mahogany and dust. Welcome to Hannah's Treasures, where nostalgia sold better than hotcakes. Most days, the shop saw a bunch of collectors reminiscing about things from their childhood — records, vinyls and whatnot. But today was different from the moment the oversized cardboard box landed on my counter. Scratchy handwriting spelled its origins: "Old Rivertown Estate." Instantly curious, I ripped the tape and found a puzzling antique puzzle — a mosaic of murky pastels and shadowy figures, begging to be pieced together. There was something almost sentient about it, like it knew something I didn't, and for the life of me, I couldn't shake the feeling. I emptied the pieces onto the counter; a cascade of history seemingly inching closer to confiding its secrets in me. "Morning, Hannah!" chirped old Mrs. Lawrence, startling me with her timely entry. "What's got you puzzled this morning? A new find, perhaps?" "Morning!" I greeted, trying to mask my intrigue. "An old puzzle from Rivertown estate. You ever visit that place?" Her eyes momentarily clouded over, and I could see the gears turning. "Oh, dear me! That's ancient history, y'know. The last generation sealed it clean shut. Who'd have thought you’d find leftovers here?" The plucky soul she was, Mrs. Lawrence lingered like a seasoned detective scribbling down leads. That's when it hit me, clearly charted in one dusty corner of the puzzle — a series of names. Familiar, yet distant… I couldn’t overlook Mom's last name… Bradshaw. Under the guise of closing up early, I scoured old town archives about Rivertown estate. Peculiarly empty, they left a tinge of unease. I was going down the rabbit hole when my phone buzzed a text from Mom. "Puzzles, love 'em. Gonna drop by. You got a sec? Love, Mom" The next morning, I was off to confront Mom about our peculiar family ties. "Sweetheart," she began, as the nostalgia blew in, "this family’s got its roots buried in Rivertown. But not in the way you expect. Your great-grandfather, dear old Sam, eloped with Lily from the estate! Forbidden romance, it was. The cover-up was so thick, they hardly made the annals." "Prohibited love and sealed destinies," I sighed, craving more pieces to round off this saga. Coincidentally, one fateful evening, as the last of winter’s eve chimed and flames crackled in the hearth, I traced callbacks and mysteries even further. The door creaked, and there Bobbie stood, waving the missing puzzle piece triumphantly. "Told ya it was at the tail end of the box!" The last piece slotted into place, spotlighting a date cleanly etched around a gnarled fountain. "April 17, 1986." Trusty ol' Gramps' birthdate. “There’s supposed to be a chest buried under the fountain,” chortled Lawrence when I told her. Now, all we had to do was dig. Bobbie and I arrived at the place with the first rays warming the sleepy town. The manor loomed in the background while we cleared the pool of vines besieging the stones, shoveling into history. Then we saw it, the lid cracked open, a mass of stained family photographs and love letters scrawled with longing. We'd unleashed a tale buried with the echoes of Rivertown. Turns out, the past was always closer than ever suspected, and that puzzle, a lingering kiss of what once was blooming anew.