Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  “White is for the snow and the brightness of the full moon,” he explained. “It also represents purity, freshness, or a new beginning. We’re halfway through January, but the new year is still beginning.”

  He handed me one candle and disc set, placed one in the center of the table at the back and the other set in the left back corner. I placed mine in the right corner.

  “Morgan makes me think of specific words when she does this,” I told him.

  “Words of intent. The point of this is a fresh start and new beginnings.” He paused then said, “I know it’s been a while since you and Jonah broke up, but this weekend signaled your complete split from him and therefore a fresh start.”

  In my mind, I saw a line appearing through Jonah’s name on my Samhain list.

  “What are you feeling about that?” he asked.

  I hesitated before saying it out loud. “I could never tell Tripp this. Maybe at some point in the future but not now. He gets angry when the subject of Jonah comes up.”

  Dad shrugged, agreeing with Tripp. “I would too.”

  I stared out at the lake, taking a minute to figure out the answer to his question. What did I feel about Jonah? “It hurts. It hurt a year ago when I moved out, and it hurt to see that he’s spiraled the way he has. I cared a lot about him and never dreamed he’d end up where he is.”

  Gently, Dad replied, “All the more reason to focus on fresh starts and new beginnings.” He dug around in the armoire, pulled out a smudge stick, and handed it to me.

  “This one looks different,” I noted while turning it over.

  “It’s piñon pine, not sage. Piñon is for prosperity, protection from ill, and the release of negative influences.” At the shocked look on my face, he added, “Briar told me what to use. I’m way too removed from the practice to remember what’s what.”

  While muttering “prosperity, protection, and positivity” he lit the center candle with a match, then lit the other two from the candle’s flame. “Light the bundle and smudge the room.”

  I’d never done a smudging but knew that, like all things Wiccan, it was all about intent.

  Once I finished, Dad placed a small deep-red stone in my hand. “Hematite. It absorbs negativity, helps to calm and ground, and brings equilibrium.”

  “Briar again?”

  “Morgan.”

  Ah, yes. She was the local crystal and stone expert. I inspected the hematite. It hadn’t been polished so looked like any old red rock I might find while walking in the woods. I knew better than to judge based on appearance, however. And more importantly, I knew better than to question the witch.

  Dad and I stood side by side repeating those same three words like a mantra—prosperity, protection, positivity—while also thinking of the things we wanted to invite into our lives over the new year. More prosperity for Tripp and me so we could keep Pine Time running. Protection for my villagers against whatever was going on here would be nice. An influx of positivity into the village would be too.

  I couldn’t say how long we stood there, but each of the candles had a nice puddle of wax around their wicks when we closed our ceremony by extinguishing the flames.

  Rosalyn was waiting for us in the great room when we got back. She had a mug of cocoa in her hands and a thick blanket over her legs. She wasn’t doing anything. Just staring into the fire in the fireplace.

  “Is everything okay?” I squashed in next to her on the couch and stole half her blanket.

  She nodded, then shook her head and started to cry. “I don’t want to leave. I know, four months to go, but I’m going to miss this place so much.”

  I took the mug from her hands and set it on the table. Then I climbed in behind her and wrapped my arms and legs around her. She wrapped her arms around mine. “I’m going to miss you too. I mean that.”

  “I’m serious about coming back for spring break.”

  “This is your home too. It’ll still be the off-season then so unlikely that we’d be booked.” I thought of the prosperity ceremony Dad and I did and added, “Give me as much notice as you can, and I’ll hold your room for you.”

  The three of us sat and chatted about Rozzie going back to school and Dad having to go back to his dig site before too long. He’d decided to extend his time in the States for another month so might make it back once more before returning to the desert.

  It was only nine o’clock, but the warmth from Rozzie’s body was making me sleepy. After I’d yawned for the fourth time and my eyes closed twice, we decided it was time to call it a night.

  “We’re getting up before sunrise to start back,” Dad said. “Your sister needs to prepare for her final semester of classes starting on Monday.”

  “And Dad wants to get back to his wife,” Rosalyn teased.

  “Next time,” I told him, “bring Mom. She has to see that the village isn’t as bad as she remembers.”

  “I’ll commit to nothing except doing my best,” he promised.

  I wasn’t sure who I had the harder time breaking away from as I hugged them goodbye. My sister and I had become closer by the day. I never knew when I’d see my dad again, so it was always painful when he left.

  Upstairs, I stood in the hallway—it really did feel lighter and fresher since the Barlows had swept it—and watched the door to Dad’s room close. As much as I’d been ready for everyone to go their separate ways, the house already felt empty. Thank God for Tripp and Meeka. And River.

  I climbed the stairs to our apartment and crawled into bed. My body started drifting toward sleep before I’d pulled the covers all the way up. I closed my eyes, listened to Tripp’s soft snores, and a second later everything from the past two days slammed back into my head.

  Chapter 30

  ONE WEEK AFTER

  The day after our house emptied, except for us and River, of course, Tripp and I mostly slept. We got out of bed to eat, use the bathroom, and let Meeka out, but otherwise, we stayed beneath the covers. We did talk about what had happened. Tripp insisted he didn’t regret helping me and would do it again without hesitation. The next day, he got right back into a more normal routine of making cider, cooking, and sanding baby furniture with River.

  “The worst thing for me,” he admitted a few nights later, “was seeing Esther in the car. The rest of it, Benji nearly dying and the drama with Jonah was upsetting, but it all worked out in the end, so none of that is haunting me.”

  Benji would be fine. If we would’ve gotten there much later, it likely would have been a different outcome. The furnace was new enough that it emitted very low amounts of carbon monoxide. The only lasting effect he’d suffer would be the wrath of Bee and Gail. They placed him and Abner on notice. No more of this childish bantering they insisted was the foundation of their friendship or they’d both be living permanently in the fishing shanty. That wasn’t actually much of a threat for the two friends.

  I was relieved that Tripp had bounced back so well. I, on the other hand, was having a harder time. Lily Grace’s prediction—I keep hearing the words darkness, hatred, and inability to forgive—played in my head a lot. Despite River’s mind-meld, or whatever that staring into my eyes thing was, my inability to forgive myself hung on. It never once occurred to me that Jonah had that gun with him. I should have asked Captain Grier if they’d found it at the scene. Finding Jonah outside the Jack room was odd, but I never thought he was planning something so nefarious. Even though Briar had cautioned me not to, I let my emotions rule and trusted that he was still who I thought he was. Everything turned out okay, all things considered, but it could have been tragic.

  Thankfully Leslie was one spunky lady. If she hadn’t knocked the gun out of his hand . . . I couldn’t even think about it. The doctors had set her up with a psychologist, and she agreed to attend regular appointments. They had to amputate the tip of one of her fingers and one of her pinky toes. She’d need physical therapy to help with her balance but would recover from her other injuries without problem. She kept in
sisting she was fine and that it could have been a lot worse. She was right, it could have been.

  I was sitting at the loom with the shuttle of yarn in my hand thinking of everything that had happened when The Twisty Skein’s front door opened. Tripp walked in with a spring in his step. “This is the table runner you’ve been working so hard on?” He leaned over my shoulder and inspected my work.

  “This is it.” It was far from perfect, but for my first larger piece, I was proud of it. Unfortunately, it would probably always remind me of Jonah. I called Dr. Maddox, the psychologist I’d seen in Madison, and we’d been having phone sessions. She told me to try meditating on the piece while listening to lively music and thinking of things that made me happy. It was worth a try.

  “Think of Leslie wielding her pink plaster cast,” she had suggested. “And her fierce, taking back her power war cry as she walloped him with it.”

  That made me smile. Her wrist required surgically implanted pins after that wallop, but again, her positive outlook was inspiring.

  Tripp kissed the top of my head. “It looks great. Really. I’ll be happy to display it anywhere in our house.”

  Ruby came over to see my progress and frowned. “I thought for sure you’d finish this morning. One more day, a few more hours really, and you can bring it home.”

  What she didn’t know was that I’d gotten lost in thoughts of the last week and spent more time holding the shuttle over the last couple hours than sending it through the warp. Maybe it was the dark and the cold. It was affecting everyone to some degree. Tripp and I had talked for months about closing Pine Time for February and going somewhere. How difficult would it be to pull his popup trailer out of the snow? We could head south and go camping. Just the thought of the sun on my skin made me happier. There was a law enforcement convention coming up in New Orleans. Maybe there was still time for me to get a ticket. And there was still the Maui option, but those tickets were more than a thousand dollars. We couldn’t justify that when we could go somewhere closer and cheaper.

  My biggest problem was, I missed my sister. I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed having Rosalyn here until she was gone. We talked or texted daily, but it wasn’t the same.

  “Well,” Tripp announced, taking the shuttle from me, “finishing this will have to wait. For now, we have to go.”

  “Go where?” I asked as he pulled me off the stool and held my jacket so I could shove my arms in the sleeves.

  “You’ll see.”

  He didn’t bother with Meeka’s booties or parka. Instead, he tucked her into his own jacket and carried her while leading me fifty yards down the Fairy Path to Hearth & Cauldron.

  “Why are we stopping here?” I asked. “Did you forget something?”

  He held the door open for me. Two steps inside the shop, I was hit with amazing aromas. Something savory. And a bread of some kind? I knew it couldn’t be anything too fancy. Reeva promised that during the tourist season she would have a much larger list of recipes and ingredients to work with. Over the winter, she stuck with common items that kept well in the pantry.

  “We never know when another storm will hit. It would make me ill to think something was going bad in the refrigerator here while we were all stuck in our homes.”

  My stomach growled as I glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

  There were almost always other villagers here. Even if they weren’t cooking, Hearth & Cauldron had become a place where folks liked to hang out and socialize. The shop was empty right now except for Reeva sitting at the far end of the long soapstone-topped farmhouse table. She had cookbooks and notebooks spread out before her and gave a wave when she saw us.

  Tripp set Meeka down, took my jacket, and pointed toward the dining room to the left of the main kitchen area. There, tucked into the corner by the little potbelly cast-iron stove, was a table set for two.

  “What’s going on?”

  He draped our jackets over nearby chairs. “We’ve been so focused on getting over what happened that we haven’t spent much time together doing anything else. You said Dr. Maddox suggested we do something special. I thought we’d start with lunch.” He gave me a smoldering look. “I’ve got an idea for something else when we get home.”

  Along with rustic pine boughs and candles beneath hurricanes at the center, he had set the little round table formally. Full flatware, cloth napkins, charger plates for the dinner plates to sit on, water glasses, and teacups on saucers.

  “Along with recipes,” Tripp explained while holding out a chair for me, “Reeva is teaching us formal dining etiquette.”

  “Who is ‘we’ exactly? Who else has been taking lessons with you?”

  “LaVonne LeBeau comes regularly. Our housekeeper Holly. Bee Wallace was here today. Her ankle is healing nicely, and she showed us all that she’s wearing her brace.”

  “Just you and the girls, hey?” I gave him a mock-jealous look.

  “Mr. Powell comes sometimes too. We let him assemble things but make him stay clear of knives and open flames.”

  “Good plan.”

  Meeka curled up on a blanket laid out for her next to the stove, and Tripp sat next to me. A moment later, Reeva arrived with two side salads. “Tripp prepared everything. I’m simply filling the role of server this afternoon.”

  She set salads made of spinach, romaine, walnuts, dried cranberries, diced apples, a sprinkle of blue cheese, and a drizzle of balsamic dressing in front of us. Then she gave a little bow and backed away. The salad was, of course, delicious and refreshing. Reeva came back when we’d finished and replaced the salad bowls with crocks bubbling with chicken pot pies.

  “These are quite hot,” she informed, “so allow them to cool before eating.”

  My eyes widened. “I love chicken pot pies.”

  Tripp poked at the golden-brown crispy crust to let the steam escape. “If you still feel that way after tasting these, I’ll make them at home.”

  We were halfway through the delicious meal when Meeka started to growl low in her chest. A second later, Flavia Reed walked through the shop’s front door.

  “Oh goodie, a show too,” I teased. “You really know how to plan a lunch.”

  “Not my doing,” Tripp replied. “Pretty much guaranteed to be entertaining, though.”

  Flavia hadn’t noticed us tucked into the corner. Or she chose not to acknowledge us. Fortunately, for this occasion at least, Hearth & Cauldron had great acoustics so we could hear almost everything they said.

  “What are you doing in my shop?” Reeva demanded.

  “This business is open to the public,” Flavia stated. “Isn’t it? I am a member of the public.”

  “The last time you were here was during the full cold moon coven gathering. I warned you then to keep your negativity away from me.”

  “Relax. I’m not here to do anything to your shop.” We could hear her sniff clear back in the corner.

  “What do you want then? I’m busy.”

  “I spoke with Martin this morning—”

  “I spoke with him last night,” Reeva countered. “He graduates from the academy at the end of the month and will be home full time again.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Flavia snapped. “I want you to stay away from him.”

  “Considering he more or less lives in my backyard, that will be a challenge.”

  “You’re clever. You’ll figure it out.”

  “I could. The thing is, dear sister, I lost the first twenty years with my nephew because of you. Not to mention the rest of my daughter’s life.”

  “Yasmine was my daughter.”

  “Only in that you carried her for nine months. I raised her. She never even knew you. Thank the Goddess.”

  Flavia, shockingly, had no response to this.

  “I have no intention of losing any more time with Martin,” Reeva continued. “And he’s an adult. If he prefers to spend his time with me rather than you, that’s his choice.”

  “You listen to me, de
ar sister,” Flavia hissed. “You will stay away from him or you’ll pay the consequences.”

  “That sounds like a threat,” I told Tripp as I set down my spoon.

  He put a hand on my arm and shook his head. “Sibling squabble. Let it play out.”

  He was right. I put another spoonful of pot pie into my mouth and cocked an ear toward the kitchen.

  “I have bowed down to you our entire life,” Reeva was saying. “You have no idea how many times Mother and Father told me to step aside and let you do the things I wanted to do. It was ‘Flavia doesn’t have as many friends as you do, Reeva.’ Or ‘Schoolwork doesn’t come as naturally to her, Reeva.’ Or ‘You have such a bright future, Reeva, just let her have this.’ Fortunately for you, you’re a terrible cook because I would have fought to the death before giving up kitchen witchery for you.”

  I could feel Flavia’s smug smile through the wall. And I’d never heard such venom come from normally even-tempered Reeva.

  “Even after your night with Karl,” Reeva continued, “they told me to let it go. It had been a mistake, they said, and you were mourning the loss of your husband. Well, Mother and Father are gone. They have been for almost two decades. I’m done stepping back and letting you have your way.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Flavia sounded bored by Reeva’s monologue. “You never let me have a thing. I had to crawl and scratch for everything I ever got.” Flavia paused then added, “And don’t make it sound like Karl’s indiscretion was so devastating. You settled for him. The love of your life was Gabe.”

  “Gabe?” Tripp whispered. “Jola and Lily Grace’s father?”

  I whispered back, “Remember? I told you that when I was reading Gran’s journals.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He sat back and sopped up some pot pie gravy with a rustic roll.

  “Remember your karma,” Reeva warned in a chillingly calm voice. “You’ve got a lifetime of ill intent to pay for, and I’m pretty sure your payback is coming.”