Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  “You’re going to need help,” Tripp said.

  “I will. And by the time the summer tourist season starts, that person will have risen to the top in my classes and revealed herself to be the perfect assistant. Speaking of classes, I’d better check on my students. There’s a cauldron of wassail warming in the hearth. It’s non-alcoholic, so feel free to imbibe all you wish. And look around.” She nudged Tripp with her elbow. “I can tell you’re itching to check out the kitchen. Nothing is off-limits.”

  She returned to the cooking area to supervise the meat pie production and then greeted more patrons arriving for the grand opening.

  Tripp took the “nothing is off-limits” comment as a free pass to look in every drawer. He was familiar with most of the gadgets, but a few made him pause and investigate more closely. While he explored his version of an adult playground, I wandered over to the fireplace to get some wassail and overheard a conversation that made my sheriff’s instincts prickle.

  Chapter 3

  April, LaVonne, and Lorena appeared to be having a great time preparing their hand pies. They had their savory meat and vegetable mixture ready and were about to roll out their dough according to Reeva’s instructions. They were also doing a bang-up job gossiping about other villagers. One name in particular, Alan Thibodeaux, caught my attention because his wife was checking in at Pine Time later this afternoon.

  Casually positioning myself close enough to the trio so I could hear them better, I took my time filling a mug with wassail from the cauldron hanging in the fireplace. As the conversation continued, my instincts got so prickly, I grabbed a pen and blank card from a nearby recipe box to take notes on.

  “The poor man,” April said while forming her dough into a disk. “His aunt has always been awful to him. To everyone, really, and lately she’s been an absolute nightmare.”

  Lorena made a tsk sound. “I don’t know why he’s even coming. It’s not like he’ll be able to enjoy Yule being around that witch.”

  In this village, “witch” was most likely a literal description. As a figure of speech, the Wiccans found it offensive. I didn’t know Suzette Thibodeaux was Wiccan, though.

  “I’ve never in my life,” April continued, “met anyone so rude. Even to Briar Barlow. No one is rude to Briar.”

  “You know Suzette has cancer,” LaVonne reminded them in the deep voice I could never reconcile with her short, plump body.

  “I call that karma,” Lorena stated. “She’s been nasty to her family members for years. Her son hasn’t been in contact with her in nearly two decades. It’s not a surprise that she’s getting payback.”

  LaVonne stared, slack-jawed. “The cancer is terminal, Lorena. As in, she’s only got a few weeks left.”

  “That’s what I heard.” April sprinkled a circle of flour on the soapstone table and positioned her dough disc in the center of it.

  “She lives a couple of cottages down from us,” LaVonne continued. “She’s in a drug-induced haze most of the time because the pain is so terrible. The other neighbors and I take turns checking on her.”

  “To make sure she’s still alive?” April asked with a slightly bratty tone.

  “Or to slip a few pills from her stash of painkillers?” Lorena added and waggled her eyebrows.

  This time, LaVonne’s mouth turned in the tiniest of smiles. “You two are terrible. Honestly, her pain was so bad one night, she told one of the neighbors she was thinking of ending it all.”

  “You mean suicide?” April whispered.

  I almost dropped the pen at this pronouncement. Since I’d filled the front of the card with notes, I flipped it over and started on the back. At this rate, I might need a second one.

  “I guess that’s what she meant.” LaVonne shrugged. “I only know what the neighbor said.”

  “I’m sticking with karma.” Lorena sniffed. “Alan hasn’t spoken to her in years.”

  “That’s not true.” LaVonne began cutting five-inch circles from her rolled dough. “He hasn’t come to Whispering Pines in years, but they communicate regularly. Suzette knew all about his new wife and their wedding this past spring.” She paused before adding, “She was a little bitter about not being invited.”

  “Did she really expect to be?” Lorena asked. “I heard she’s been conning money out of him.”

  April grabbed the cutter from LaVonne and started cutting her own dough disks. “She doesn’t need money. That’s why Alan stays in touch with her. She made a killing running an adult call line out of her cottage, if you know what I mean, and he’s expecting she’ll leave everything to him.”

  LaVonne gasped and blushed as she squeezed the leftover bits of her dough into a ball to roll out again. “No, that can’t be true. Suzette struggles getting herself from her bed into her wheelchair. She wouldn’t have the energy to have one of those kinds of conversations.”

  “The call line was years ago before she got sick. Now she’s making money via blackmail.” April placed a hand over her heart . . . and got flour all over her shirt. “I swear it’s true. She’s been calling various villagers who were customers of hers and threatening to tell their families if they don’t pay up.”

  “No.” LaVonne gave a crisp shake of her head. “I can’t believe that.”

  Lorena leveled a stare on April and waited for her to look up from brushing the flour off her shirt with a towel. “You tell us, April. Are the threats real or lies?”

  A deep-red flush crept across April’s face. I wrote April knows truth about blackmail? on the card and circled it.

  “If you don’t want to believe me,” Lorena continued when April refused to respond, “ask Oren. She’s got something big on him.”

  Oren? Lily Grace’s Oren? What could a sixty-some-year-old cancer-ridden woman have on an eighteen-year-old high school student?

  “And then there’s Abilene,” Lorena continued, clearly reveling in being the center of attention.

  “The carny?” April asked.

  Lorena nodded big and slow. “Suzette made a play for Dallas one time. Not that Dallas was interested. I swear, I thought Abilene was going to throw one of his knives at Suzette.”

  I’d seen Abilene’s jealous side. I didn’t believe she’d really throw a knife at anyone, but she’d probably thought about it a few times. I wrote her name and Oren’s on my card along with blackmail victims?

  “Ladies,” Reeva interrupted the group. “A true kitchen witch infuses her creations with good intent and goodwill. These nasty rumors you’re gossiping about will surely be reflected in your pies.”

  Reeva nodded at one of the pies Lorena had sealed. It split open as we looked at it, the meat and vegetable concoction oozing out of it like molten lava from an active volcano.

  Tripp appeared at my side, making me jump out of my skin, and whispered, “Did she just make that happen?”

  “The split?” I shook my head. “Morgan says they don’t do that kind of magic.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I suggest,” Reeva continued, “you stop worrying about things you have no control over and focus your energies on serving a love-filled meal to your families tonight.”

  Lorena snorted at the family comment. She told everyone who would listen, and even a few who couldn’t care less, that she was single and planned to stay that way.

  Reeva stared at her, unamused. “Even if you aren’t concerned about what you bring into your homes later today, I’d prefer this kind of conversation not take place in my shop.” She wrinkled her nose. “Bad karma. Something I’m sure you’re all familiar with.”

  One of April’s pies split next.

  Duly scolded, and perhaps a little scared of the witch, the women changed their topic of discussion to the proper rolling, cutting, and closing of the dough discs, something LaVonne seemed to have mastered as all of her pies remained perfectly sealed.

  “That’s one seriously nasty conversation,” Tripp said when we’d moved to the far end of the table. Beneath which,
Meeka was snarfing up crumbs. “Who are they talking about?”

  “Suzette Thibodeaux.”

  “They’re calling her rude?”

  “I met Suzette once. She’s definitely unpleasant, but incurable cancer as payback for bad karma? That’s severe.”

  Morgan and River entered the shop then. The raven-haired, dressed in all-black couple were so striking, I stared every time I saw them together. I could only imagine how beautiful their baby would be.

  “Blessed be,” Morgan greeted and gave us each a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “This shop is simply magical, in every sense of the word, as I knew it would be.” She waved across the room to Reeva, then placed her palms together and clapped her fingers, her numerous silver rings clacking.

  “I’m dying for some wassail,” Tripp noted. “Would you like some?”

  I’d gotten so wrapped up in that conversation, I’d forgotten all about the mug I filled and left sitting on the counter by the fireplace. “Yes, please.”

  While he and River went to get some, Morgan and I chose a table that looked out at the yard behind the shop, and Meeka curled up in front of the potbelly stove. I mentioned the soap-making shed Reeva was planning to set up.

  “I heard about that,” Morgan noted while lowering onto her chair. “She asked for mine and Mama’s help in establishing an herb garden out there. She’ll use the herbs for both recipes and soaps. We’re happy to help, and she’s being very conscious of not stepping on our toes. Other than soap, she won’t be duplicating any of the inventory I sell in Shoppe Mystique.”

  “That’s decent of her.”

  “She also asked if I’d like to cross promote. She’d sell my tea blends here, and I would sell her soap.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Going into business with friends is not always a wise idea. I’ll need to think on that for a while.” She rested her hands on her baby belly, which was sticking out a good six or seven inches now, and arched to stretch her back a little.

  “Baby girl is growing.” I cupped my hands together and held them up to her belly. “Hello, little one. It’s Auntie Jayne.” I sat straight up. “She kicked me.”

  “A love tap,” River said proudly as he set a mug in front of Morgan.

  “She taps when I stop moving,” Morgan explained. “She likes motion, so getting a good night’s sleep is becoming increasingly challenging.”

  River smiled at her belly. “Lady Briar says that’s to prepare you for the sleepless nights to come.”

  “Careful,” Tripp warned, “she’ll set up a cot in the nursery for you to sleep on.”

  River and Tripp seemed to find this topic far more amusing than Morgan did. I found it horrifying. She was lucky it was the off-season. She was due May eighteenth—one year to the day since I’d arrived here, a fact that blew my mind—and tourist season started at the end of May with Memorial Day weekend. How would she get Shoppe Mystique ready for business? Would she bring the baby into work with her? Briar could babysit for a few hours but didn’t have the stamina to watch a little one all day. Would they hire a nanny? The sheer number of lifestyle changes that happened when a baby entered the picture astounded me and made my hands sweat.

  “Jayne,” Morgan gently prodded, “what are you so deep in thought about?”

  “How your life is about to be turned upside down.” I switched topics. “Tell us about this winter solstice celebration tomorrow. I assume there will be food because every event in this village requires at least one tableful.”

  As if on cue, Reeva set a platter of half-moon-shaped meat and vegetable-stuffed pastries in front of us and pointed out the buffet table loaded with side dishes. “Help yourself to anything over there too.”

  “Are these the ones filled with ill intent?” I joked. “Or are these happy pies?”

  A smile turned Reeva’s mouth. Standing between Morgan and Tripp, she held her hands over the platter like a pastor offering a blessing and moved her lips in a silent chant. When finished, she folded her hands and stepped back. “All will be fine now.”

  After filling our plates with side dishes—stuffed potato skins, tiny sweet potato puffs, roasted Brussels sprouts, and baked beans with bacon—Morgan explained the upcoming celebration.

  “Winter solstice, as the name implies, is opposite summer solstice. In fact, our sisters and brothers in the southern hemisphere will be celebrating summer solstice tomorrow. Tomorrow night will be the longest of the year for us, the shortest for them. As tradition dictates, we stay indoors during this time. That makes it the perfect opportunity for self-evaluation.”

  “What are we supposed to evaluate?” Tripp asked, taking a big bite of his hand pie.

  “We should take time to meditate upon the year that has passed. Recall what occurred and how you felt about those events. What are you content with in your life and what would you like to improve upon during the new year? We all have room within ourselves for adjustments. Yule, another name for Winter Solstice, is also a time to spend with family and friends.”

  “Good thing my dad is coming.”

  “The timing is indeed very fortunate.” Morgan agreed.

  “So that’s it?” Tripp asked. “Reflect on the old and new years while hanging out with family and friends?”

  “It’s also a time to celebrate the returning sunlight.” She looked skyward and spread her fingers like they were the sun’s rays. “We won’t notice it for a while, but the days will be getting incrementally longer. For this reason, fire will play a central, symbolic role in our celebration tomorrow. Some view this time as the death of the Holly King and the rebirth of the Oak King. I prefer to think of it as a shifting of hemispheric thrones.”

  “The who doing what?” Tripp asked.

  River chuckled deep in his throat. At the stern look Morgan shot at him, he placed his palms together. “No disrespect intended, milady.”

  “The Holly King,” Morgan continued, “rules over the colder, darker, restorative months. The Oak King presides over the warmer, brighter, growing months.”

  The one thing I liked most about Wiccan celebrations was that almost all of them focused on second chances. Rebirth. Renewal. Reevaluation. No matter what you did wrong, you always got the opportunity to fix it. My family came to mind. It wasn’t that we were broken, but we were badly damaged. When Rosalyn came to Whispering Pines for Halloween, we were able to fix our damaged bits. Whether it was simply because enough time had passed and we were ready or that Whispering Pines had worked a little magic on us, I wasn’t sure. I was hopeful the same thing would happen with Dad’s return to the village.

  Reeva reentered the dining room. “The ladies are done with their pies. Would the four of you like to give it a try? No charge for lessons today.”

  Tripp couldn’t say yes to working in that kitchen fast enough. Morgan wanted to infuse the shop with her own good intent. River was always game for something different in his multi-billion-dollar world of high-tech gadgets. I needed something to occupy my mind until Rosalyn got here with Dad.

  Two hours later, we bundled our ready-for-cooking hand pies into eco-friendly, compostable packaging and congratulated Reeva on the opening of Hearth & Cauldron. We all assured her that we’d be back.

  Meeka trotted ahead of us as we made our way back to the station to pick up the Cherokee. We passed half a dozen villagers on the short walk, and every one of them asked when Dad would be getting here. To say they were excited about the heir to the kingdom, so to speak, returning was putting it mildly.

  It had been more than fifteen years, closer to twenty, since Dad had been here. Mom had never cared for Whispering Pines. Or so I assumed. Maybe she’d been okay with it at one point, but she’d come to hate the village when, for reasons no one understood, Gran decided to reveal Dad’s biggest secret. He had fathered a child with one of the other villagers when they were teenagers. From that day forward, things were never the same with my family.

  As far as I was concerned, it was lo
ng past time for Mom to deal with this. The baby happened years before they even met. Because Dad had kept it from her, though, the village became synonymous with their marriage falling apart. Mom viewed his secret as a lie and couldn’t get past it. Of course, it might help if Dad stayed in the country for more than two weeks every two years.

  Now, there were nerves, emotions, and various levels of excitement behind Dad’s return, not only for my family but for the villagers who had lived here with him as well. Even Tripp was nervous but for a different reason. He was worried Dad wouldn’t like him. That was the last of my concerns. I literally didn’t know a single person who didn’t like Tripp.

  “This is one of the biggest things to happen around here in a long time,” Tripp noted. “It’s like a major celebrity is coming. Even Gin Wakefield didn’t cause this kind of buzz. Does he know that?”

  “Probably not. He’s the only child of Lucy and Keven O’Shea. He never mentions it, but he’s got to know that gives him significant power. If he wanted to, he could move here and change everything.”

  Literally. He could shut the whole place down. The villagers owned the physical property they lived and worked in. They rented the land their property sat on. Gran and Gramps left everything to Dad. If he decided he didn’t want to keep the house and two thousand acres, and the new owner didn’t want to support a village, every villager would have to pick up and move.

  That’s why Tripp and I were so determined to make our bed-and-breakfast a success. We wanted to stay here and wanted all the villagers to stay with us. If we failed, the village failed.

  By the time we loaded into the Cherokee, I realized we’d spent more time than I’d planned making hand pies and chatting with villagers. Dad and Rosalyn would be here soon, and I wanted to be sure to greet them when they arrived. Fortunately, the vehicle started right up. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter.

  “Oh, crap,” I muttered when we exited the tunnel of trees lining the driveway and could see the house.

  “What’s wrong?” Tripp asked.