Litha was summer solstice, Mabon the autumnal equinox. I had no clue what the third was. Morgan lifted a hand in a tell-you-later gesture.
Janessa continued, “As much as I have appreciated having a voice in the goings-on around the village, it doesn’t feel right for the circus to have two representatives.”
“We’ve talked about this extensively,” Credence added, “and we’ve decided that since I have more contact with the carnies, I will stay on as the voice for them. Janessa will step down, and we think another business owner in the village should take her seat.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Donovan said. “Never made sense that the circus and the fortune tellers took up four of the seats. In fact, it seems reasonable that either Effie or Cybil step down as well.”
“Not going to happen,” Cybil snapped at him. “We are Originals. Originals have first choice at being on the council and can bump off a non-original at any point to hold a seat. We just can’t have more than thirteen members. It’s in the bylaws. Read them.”
Donovan, village resident of seven months and owner of Quin’s clothing shop, turned a bright, angry red. “As an Original myself, I am quite familiar with the bylaws. I thought perhaps one of the two of you might see the importance of having more voices from business owners.”
“I think this is a lovely gesture from Janessa,” Morgan interrupted the escalating tension. “We will miss you greatly, Janessa, but I’m sure Credence, or Creed, will keep you up-to-date with our discussions as well as pass along any ideas you may have for us.”
“I have an idea for the business owners,” Mr. Powell began.
He stood and promptly became entangled with the legs of his chair, resulting in him sprawling out on the conference table and sending the box of scones flying. Fortunately, I caught the box before it landed on the floor, losing only a single scone in the process. Meeka, delighted by this minor mishap, snatched up the scone and ran to a corner to enjoy it.
“Are you okay?” I asked the world’s klutziest man.
“A-Okay.” Mr. Powell brushed off his accidents like dust. “What if the local business owners, myself included, have separate meetings and then those of us on the council share their concerns here?”
“That sounds like a perfect plan to me,” Laurel said. “I recently acquired a few of the guest cottages. The other cottage owners and I get together once a month to discuss any issues over there. I’d be happy to sit on a business council as well.”
She ran The Inn, The Inn’s restaurant, and now guest cottages? Whenever I started feeling overwhelmed by the amount of work I had to do, I just needed to think of Laurel.
“I call for a vote,” Flavia said.
“Seconded,” Donovan said.
She scowled at his interruption. “The vote being, shall we accept Janessa’s resignation from village council immediately or have her resignation become effective as soon as we find a replacement?”
The half-hearted vote was for her immediate resignation, leaving us with an even number of members. That meant, in the event of a tie, Flavia got two votes.
Janessa bowed her head and sniffled. “I’ll miss seeing you all.”
“You’re not leaving Whispering Pines, are you?” Morgan asked.
“No,” Janessa assured. “This is my home, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank the Goddess for that,” Morgan smiled warmly. “You leaving would be unacceptable.”
“I’m going to go get some tea in the restaurant,” Janessa told Credence. “I’ll meet you there after the meeting.”
“Janessa,” Flavia said, “Jola should be out in the lobby. Would you ask her to come in now, please?”
A minute later, a woman—five foot five, slender, glowing medium-brown skin, close-cropped Afro—entered the conference room and took the seat next to Credence.
“I just wanted to introduce myself to the council,” Jola said, “and to thank you all for agreeing to let me work at the healing center.”
One of those bylaws Cybil had mentioned was that the council needed to approve new people moving to and working in the village. If the person was a member of one of the Original families, one of the first families to move here fifty years ago, they were in without question. Otherwise, the council got to decide if a person was worthy. The acceptable list included people who were ostracized because of their religion like the Wiccans, or looked at as unusual like the fortune tellers, or had a decreased quality of life due to a physical disability like many of the carnies at the circus.
I understood the rule, sort of, but it felt like reverse discrimination to me. Jola was in because her grandmother, Effie, was an Original. Tripp, for example, “could fit in anywhere,” as Morgan once explained so the only job he could get was working with me. No one was going to say no to me. I owned the land they lived on, after all.
“We’re happy to have you here,” Maeve, proprietress of Grapes, Grains, and Grub, told Jola.
“What did you need to tell us?” Flavia asked. She seemed impatient today. She usually loved being at these meetings where she could tell everybody when they could and couldn’t speak. Like that ever worked for long.
“I wanted to let you know about a couple of changes we’ll be making,” Jola began. “The healing center and the yoga studio are going to combine skills. A great deal of my studies at UW Madison centered around a more holistic and preventative approach to healthcare.”
“I love this idea,” Morgan breathed with a happy sigh.
“Does this mean you’ll combine into one building?” Violet asked.
“No,” Jola said, “neither building is large enough for that. We would like to bridge the two properties, since they’re next door to each other, by constructing an outdoor pavilion of sorts.”
Mr. Powell immediately perked up at this idea. “What do you intend to do in this pavilion?”
“Outdoor yoga and tai chi,” Jola explained. “Classes of various sorts. We’d also like to construct a labyrinth that people can wander while meditating.”
Morgan let out another happy little squeal and clapped her fingers together. “I vote yes.”
“It does sound like a wonderful idea,” Violet agreed. “I vote—”
“I haven’t called for a vote yet,” Flavia snapped.
“Oh, for heaven sakes,” Maeve slumped back in her chair. “Call for it already, then, so we can vote yes.”
Flavia pushed her shoulders back and pursed her lips. “Those in favor?”
Clearly thinking his company would be constructing both the pavilion and labyrinth, Mr. Powell shot his hand into the air, the seam in the armpit of his shirt ripping out as he did.
Since it seemed no vote could ever be unanimous with the council, Donovan and Flavia voted in the negative, claiming they wanted to see blueprints and more specifics before they could vote. The rest of us, however, voted yes and passed the motion.
“This is wonderful, thank you.” Jola placed her hands palms together in front of her heart and bowed her head. “The healing center and yoga studio staff will draw up those blueprints and outline the specifics. I’ll have them ready for you to review at the next meeting.”
“Before you go,” Cybil said thoughtfully, “we need to fill Janessa’s spot on the council.”
“What does this have to do with Jola?” Flavia tapped her pen on the table.
I knew what it had to do with Jola, and I was one hundred percent in favor. Before Cybil could say another word, I said, “I move that Jola fill the vacated council position.”
“Jola?” Donovan asked. “She barely knows anything about the village.”
“On the contrary,” Effie said, “she grew up here. You wouldn’t know that. You didn’t grow up here.”
Donovan glared across the table at Effie. This wasn’t the normal council member bickering; there was something more behind the statement. I had recently learned that Donovan came from an Original family; his grandmother was one of the first to move here. I kne
w Donovan hadn’t grown up in the village, but I didn’t know why.
“Jola is young and energetic.” I said this like at twenty-six I was so much older than her twenty-two. “She has ideas that will spark new life into some of our older village customs. I can practically guarantee our younger tourists will love this current proposal.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Morgan said. “Without question, I second that vote.”
When all votes were cast, the only voices of dissension were Donovan, probably because Effie had embarrassed him in front of everyone; Maeve because she didn’t feel two family members on the council was a good idea; and Flavia because she was Flavia.
“Welcome, Jola.” Violet, who also clearly loved this new direction for the village, bounced in her chair. “We’re thrilled to have you as the thirteenth council member.”
“Sheriff.” Flavia raised her voice above the excited chatter going on around the table. “Are you ready to give us your report? Unless anyone else has anything important to discuss, of course.”
Heads shook in unison, so I took a sip of my coffee and stood to speak.
“It’s been relatively quiet the last two weeks,” I began, “until yesterday afternoon.” I filled them in on what had happened with Barry. From the panicked, pale expressions on a few faces, I knew what they were thinking. “I have no reason to believe he was murdered.”
“Then what happened to him?” Sugar asked.
“I honestly can’t say yet. Dr. Bundy is doing an autopsy, and at this point I’m not even sure how to proceed. I know a few of the villagers had contact with this man, so I’ll speak with them. Other than that, it’s been standard patrol issues—breaking up a few fights, helping a kid find his family, and locking up a few drunks that needed to sit in a cell and dry out for a while.”
“Any luck on a deputy?” Laurel asked.
I filled them in on the telephone interviews I’d done. “Sadly, no one from that batch is going to work out. My former captain is expanding his search for me.”
“Martin is ready to come back to work,” Flavia said in a singsong voice followed by a tsk-tsk sound. “The poor boy is sitting at home bored to death. Are you ready to consider him yet?”
I had two issues with Martin Reed returning as deputy sheriff of Whispering Pines. First, he was Flavia’s son. The thought of her trying to insert herself into my business didn’t sit well with me. I could handle Flavia, though. The bigger issue was his lack of experience.
“I’ll consider Martin,” I began, “if he’s willing to go through some training with me. We all know that Sheriff Brighton gave Martin the title of deputy but the responsibilities of an administrative assistant. I need someone in the station who I can trust to back me up when necessary.”
“Sounds like a reasonable request,” Effie said while dabbing at scone crumbs on her napkin.
Murmurs of agreement came from around the table.
Flavia’s face twisted in some strange representation of a smile. “I’ll pass that along to him.”
“I need to get someone on board with me soon.” I felt exhausted just thinking about being the only law enforcement person in the village. “If he agrees to my conditions, I’m willing to give him another chance.”
Good lord, what had I just committed to?
Chapter 7
Instead of scattering after the meeting to the four corners of Whispering Pines like usual, the council members gathered to personally welcome Jola. Mr. Powell attempted to lean in to shake Jola’s hand from four feet away, went off balance, and like a bowling ball into pins, nearly took out the entire group. Fortunately, Laurel caught him before disaster ensued.
“You look fabulous,” I told Jola.
She and I had a history in that I had rescued her from the woods near the UW Madison campus. She had “gone missing” according to Effie who’d had a vision about her granddaughter that led me right to her. The last time I’d seen her, Jola was dehydrated and loaded with scratches and bug bites. Now, she could be on the cover of a health magazine.
“Thanks, Jayne. Oh, sorry, I should call you Sheriff now.” She bypassed my outstretched hand and gave me a firm hug instead. “I’d love to sit and catch up with you sometime.”
“That would be great,” I agreed. “Let’s have dinner one night. We can meet here in the village or you can come out and we’ll have a cookout.”
Actually, a cookout with various villagers sounded like a lot of fun. Tripp and I could take them on a tour of the house to see the renovations. We’d be ready for the grand opening in a few weeks. I liked this idea and made a mental note to mention it to Tripp.
Meeka and I slid through The Inn’s lobby and had just stepped onto the red brick pathway that encircled the pentacle garden when I felt an arm slip into mine. There was only one person who did that, and it meant she wanted to have a chat.
“Jayne,” Morgan said with gentle concern, “are you sure that bringing Martin back as deputy is a good idea?”
“Glad I’m not the only one to see the potential problem there.”
“Trust me, it’s not just you and I.”
I tilted my head side-to-side to release the tension in my neck. “I think it’s worth a try. If nothing else, he can take care of the administrative duties for me. Honestly, I’m getting desperate. Any help I can get is welcome.”
Morgan pondered this as we walked a little further around the garden toward Shoppe Mystique and then nodded decisively. Considering Morgan was a green witch, I had a good idea what she was thinking.
“I agree that you need help. I also agree that Martin could do a good job. Therefore—”
“You’re going to cast a spell. Or make a charm bag. Or conduct some midnight ritual involving fire and preferably a full moon. Clothing optional.”
She gave me a sly smile. “You know me so well.”
She didn’t comment on which option she was planning but gave me a wink and a little over-the-shoulder finger wave and hurried off to her shop.
“Since we’re out here,” I told my K-9 companion, “we should see if anyone can tell us anything about Barry.”
Meeka wagged her tail in response. She’d choose being out on patrol to being stuck inside the station anytime. The problem was, it was still early so the commons was mostly empty. One small group was gathered around a bench near the pentacle garden. I stopped to ask if any of them knew Barry.
“The Speedo-wearing violin-playing unicyclist?” a millennial with long hair braided and hanging in front of her shoulder wanted to know. “I talked with him at the pub a few nights ago. Why do you ask?”
I explained that Barry had died under mysterious circumstances and that I was trying to get any lead I could on what might have happened. The woman immediately burst into tears.
“She didn’t know him that well,” said another woman sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the bench. “She’s sort of emotional this morning. We were with a group at the Meditation Circle last night. It was a real spiritual experience, if you know what I mean. She hasn’t come down from it yet.”
While I had never attended one of the nighttime gatherings at the Meditation Circle, I was fairly certain the “spiritual experience” involved certain substances that were legal in some states but not yet in Wisconsin. Meeka’s I-smell-something posture all but confirmed it. I should probably go and check into that sometime. As a law enforcement officer, of course.
“Did any of the rest of you know him?”
An even number of nods of agreement and heads shaking in the negative passed through the group.
“Is there anything in particular about him that stood out?” I asked.
“Other than the fact that he wore a Speedo while playing the violin and riding a unicycle?” asked a man with a flat top haircut.
“That’s how he blew off steam,” I explained. “Or so I’ve been told. What I meant was, did he fall outside the norm? Was he unusually quiet? Was he unusually friendly? Did you ever notice him
arguing with anyone?”
“No. He was just an ordinary guy,” the crying woman wailed and held a hand out to Meeka. Meeka sniffed from three feet away but didn’t get any closer. She was in K-9 mode right now. And she didn’t like crying people. They usually wanted to hug her.
That there was nothing out of the ordinary about Barry didn’t surprise me. Nothing about this case was making sense. Other than a history of bitterness with his old college roommate, Angel, I had nothing that came close to a motive for murder.
“Are any of you familiar with the nun on the bicycle?” I asked.
“Sure.” The flat top man gave a sideways glance at the crying woman and emphasized, “She’s hot.”
“She’s a nun,” I said stupidly. Just because they wore habits didn’t mean nuns couldn’t be hot. “Barry used to follow her around town while she rode her bike. I’m wondering if they had a connection at all.”
“Couldn’t say,” the man said. “She hangs out at the beach, though. Might be there now. I think she likes the peace of the morning before the crowds come.”
I scratched down a few notes, thanked them for their time, and headed southeast for the public beach. We hadn’t gone thirty yards, when I noticed a crowd gathered on the opposite side of the pentacle garden near Grapes, Grains, and Grub. I changed directions, unintentionally jerking Meeka’s leash, which earned me a doggie scowl.
“Sorry. We’d better go check out whatever’s going on over there.”
As we approached, I saw that the crowd had gathered to listen to a monster of a man who was standing on the front porch of 3G. He was in the middle of a lecture about pigeons.
Six foot four, long white hair and beard, bulbous nose, approximate age late-seventies.
“If you just think about it for a minute, you’ll see that I’m right.” The man held his hands out to the crowd in a pleading listen to me gesture. “Have any of you ever seen a baby pigeon? I’m telling you, they take them.”
“Who takes them?” a man in the crowd called out.
The bearded man lowered his voice, leaned into the crowd, and said, “The government. They snatch them up as soon as the egg is laid. Then they put them in incubators and as soon as they hatch, they insert chips.”
Original Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 3 Page 6