Family Secrets

by Shawn McGuire

  “Of course.” Flavia scowled but couldn’t object.

  Inside, the cottage was as stark and cold as its owner with unadorned, all white walls. Every piece of furniture was made from wood, had straight severe lines, and stained medium brown. She led me to a small rectangular dining table, the chairs’ seats made from woven rush. The chairs, I had to admit, were surprisingly comfortable.

  “May I offer you some tea?” she asked in a monotone, obviously more out of duty than hospitality.

  Meeka sneezed. Even though there wasn’t a speck of dust in the place, and despite my mouth being dry, I took the sneeze as a warning.

  “No, but thank you,” I replied.

  Flavia poured a cup for herself from a utilitarian white tea pot, almost as if to prove that whatever I’d been worried about was misguided. Still, I stuck with my decision.

  “You’re wondering about the disagreement Yasmine and I had,” Flavia offered.

  “Yasmine had become friends with a group of people at the campground near my house. They say she wouldn’t give much detail about the fight.”

  “That’s because the girl was embarrassed.” Flavia hissed again. “She arrived in the village with no warning and expected I would take her in.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you so interested in my niece, Miss O’Shea?”

  I was in uniform. The lack of use of my professional title was her attempt to control the conversation.

  “You know that I’m working with Sheriff Brighton.”

  “As a temporary beat cop,” Flavia said. “You were hired to patrol the village. Why are you here asking about Yasmine?”

  Despite my pounding pulse, I looked her in the eye and didn’t blink. “Because Sheriff Brighton doesn’t seem very concerned about Yasmine’s death, Flavia. Neither do you.”

  She pursed her lips and sniffed. “Her mother is my sister. I am appropriately concerned about the death of a family member I barely knew.”

  “Your sister doesn’t live in the village. Did she ever?”

  “She did as a child,” Flavia said. “She lives in the Milwaukee area now.”

  By the way she clipped the end of her words as she spoke, it was clear Flavia had an issue with her sister. What was Flavia’s story? Was she left alone to care for dying parents? Was she left to be abused by her parents? Was she simply jealous that her sister got to leave Whispering Pines?

  “You’re angry with her,” I said. “Is this why you wouldn’t welcome Yasmine?”

  “The girl is impure.”

  “One of the girls at the campground used that word. I don’t understand what it means.”

  “You saw her.” Flavia’s face wrinkled, as though looking at something offensive. “I know you did because you found the body on your property. Everything about the girl was fake. From her processed hair to her chemically whitened teeth to her sprayed-on tan to those breasts.” More hissing. “I’m sure you heard of how she paraded through the village, half naked, putting herself on display to everyone. Every bit of her, including her black soul, was unnatural.”

  Flavia and her niece had height and eye color in common. As I listened to her tear her niece apart, I noticed that Flavia also had faint freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. That detail got to me. Millions of other people were five foot six with blue eyes, but the simple addition of freckles tied these two women together. Not enough, unfortunately, for the aunt to welcome the niece. Had any other familial traits passed through the bloodline?

  “Why did she come here?” I asked. “Was she having problems of some kind?”

  “Yes, she was having problems.” Flavia held one bony-fingered hand in front of her breasts like a claw while the other gripped the tea cup. “She turned herself into a freak and then wondered why men made inappropriate advances on her.”

  “I have to respectfully disagree with you.” My job was to help people, to save them sometimes. To me, saving a person from their own ignorance qualified. “A woman’s appearance is never an excuse for giving unwanted attention. If she chose to walk around fully naked, that still wouldn’t excuse a violation. Granted, she’d get arrested for indecent exposure—”

  “Everything about her was indecent.” Flavia slammed a hand down on the table, rattling the teacups. “I am not responsible for that girl. I wouldn’t have anything so tarnished under my roof.”

  “Flavia, did you kill your niece?”

  She inhaled sharply through her nose. “I did not.”

  Meeka pressed against my legs beneath the table. A warning or a plea to go? Either way, she was right. There wasn’t anything more to learn here. Nothing about Yasmine’s death, at least. Puritanical Flavia simply wouldn’t allow her harlot of a niece to live in her home. A good deal of that choice was fueled by Yasmine’s appearance, but I was reasonably certain the rest had something to do with her sister leaving the village.

  “I have one other, unrelated question for you.” I pulled out my phone and opened the pictures of the graffitied walls. I turned the phone so she could see and slowly flipped through the images. “You know that this is my grandparents’ home?”

  “I’ve been in there many times.” If she had an emotional response to what she saw, she didn’t show it.

  When I got to the final image, the one of the full stop mark, I held it in front of her for a long while.

  “Do you know what this symbol means?” I asked.

  “I do.”

  She said no more, probably thinking she was being clever by not offering up the information. That, however, told me more than if she’d simply explained the mark.

  “Thank you for talking with me, ma’am.” I put my phone away and pushed back from the table that had been scrubbed as clean as Flavia’s face. “Oh, I wanted to thank you for allowing me to observe the ritual last night.”

  “It’s not done,” Flavia muttered. “Morgan had no right.”

  I waited for her to say more, but again her lips sealed up tight.

  “I couldn’t help but admire your robe,” I continued. “Not only is it a beautiful color, the embroidery is unusual.”

  This time, the Ice Goddess softened a little. She lifted her chin and looked down her sloped nose at me. “I assume Morgan has been teaching you about Wicca.”

  I nodded, staying silent myself in the hopes that she’d keep talking.

  “The majority of the images are sigils that I have created. You know about sigils?”

  I nodded again.

  “The others come from the Theban alphabet.” She made a tsk sound and shook her head. “Shame that so few witches honor the old script anymore. Only a handful of us in the Whispering Pines coven even know what it is.”

  My blood froze in my veins. So few . . . Only a handful . . . Yet, Flavia could instantly identify the markings painted all over my house. Meeka must have sensed my discomfort because she squirmed and butted her head against my calf. Was Flavia my vandal? I couldn’t tell from her tent-like dress, but she didn’t appear to have the muscle to trash my house. It didn’t take muscle to tag walls, though. Maybe she hired some thugs and gave them instructions. Plenty of gang members didn’t fully understand the meaning behind the graffiti they drew.

  Flavia released the death grip she’d had on her plain white tea cup and accompanied Meeka and me to the front door. Hanging on the wall, hidden earlier by the open windowless door, were the only items I could see that resembled decoration. Two framed photographs. One of Deputy Reed and the other of Deputy Reed with Sheriff Brighton. I paused, my hand on the knob, and examined them. In both, Reed was in uniform, beaming with pride. My guess, it was the day he was deputized.

  “May I ask, why do you have pictures of Deputy Reed?”

  “Martin is my son,” Flavia stated.

  Shock stole my ability to speak for a second. “I didn’t realize you were married.”

  Flavia looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. “My husband died many years ago.”

  She supplied n
o more information.

  “Sorry to hear that. Again, thank you for speaking with me.”

  As I walked away, I could feel Flavia’s glare boring into me. She explained that Yasmine’s indecency and black soul were the reasons she had to live at a campground. I was positive there was more to the story. More about the sister.

  The further from the cottage we got, the less intense the laser beam between my shoulder blades felt. I looked down at my furry companion.

  “Yasmine Long and Martin Reed were cousins. I wonder what other secrets are waiting to be revealed.” I guess that wasn’t really a secret. I simply hadn’t known. “Let’s go pay a visit to The Inn. I’d like to verify that Reed and Yasmine ate there together that night.”

  Chapter 29

  Meeka protested going inside The Inn. I couldn’t blame her, it was packed. So was Grapes, Grains, and Grub, the pub a few cottages away. A hoard of tourists had arrived while I was questioning Flavia. And it seemed they all decided to have lunch at the same time. If Meeka was a bigger dog, crowds wouldn’t bother her. Having had her paws and tail stepped on one too many times, however, and she had issues being around that many people. I commanded her to sit and stay in a corner of the front porch. She slid into a cluster of potted plants and looked content to stay right there.

  There were only three servers on duty at The Inn’s restaurant, and they were running their feet off taking and delivering orders. Those not in the building to eat were trying to check into their rooms. The only way I’d be able to ask a question, other than putting my name on the wait list and getting a table, was to interrupt one of the servers in the middle of helping diners.

  Sylvie, the Wiccan-beer girl who waited on Tripp and me the previous night, was on duty. I tried to flag her down, and she held up a finger indicating she’d be with me shortly. After she passed me for the fourth time without stopping, I followed her to the drink station.

  “I was in a few nights ago,” I said.

  “I remember you.” She nodded at my uniform. “Looks like you’ll be around for a while. What do you need?”

  “I just have a couple of questions and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Talk quick and I’ll pour slow,” she said, seeming grateful for the opportunity to stand still for a minute.

  “You know both Martin Reed and Yasmine Long?”

  “Of course, I know Martin. Yasmine was the bikini girl who died, right?”

  “Right. Do you remember seeing them in here together for dinner maybe a week ago?”

  “Absolutely,” she said as she lined up pre-filled glasses of water like soldiers ready for battle. “I remember thinking that Martin scored big with that girl. She was nice enough, obviously gorgeous, but there was zero chemistry there.”

  “Any idea what was going on?”

  “No clue. They acted super uncomfortable with each other, like neither of them wanted to be here. Sat in that back corner, same table you sat at. They were here for an hour, talking real quiet. Never stopped unless I got within ten feet of them.”

  “Last question, I promise. Do you have any idea what they were talking about?”

  “Sylvie,” another Wiccan-beer girl snapped and glared at me, “table six is ready to order.”

  “No clue,” Sylvie answered while transferring filled water glasses to a round, rubber-lined serving tray. “Gotta get back to work.”

  “Thanks, Sylvie,” I called as she headed into the cluster of tables.

  On the porch, Meeka had attracted attention of her own. A man had crouched next to her to investigate the tag on her collar.

  “Can I help you?” I asked. “Is my dog having a problem?”

  His bloodshot eyes went wide when he saw the uniform, but quickly claimed concern over Meeka’s wellbeing. “You always leave her tied up outside in the heat?”

  “First, she’s not tied up. Second, she’s in the shade, well protected from the elements. Third, it’s not hot today.”

  “What if she suddenly bolted? She could get hit by a car.”

  Possible, but highly unlikely. I glanced at Meeka. Her ears were down and her tail was still. She didn’t like this guy.

  “Since you seem so interested in her, let me tell you a little about her background. She’s very well trained and has never once run away from me. Also, she’s a K-9, trained to detect weed and other illegal substances.”

  The man immediately stood, shoved his hands in his pockets, and backed away. “Okay. Well, good. Just making sure she’s safe.”

  Right. The way his girlfriend was looking at my cute little Westie, he was about to dognap my Meeka.

  “Enjoy your stay in Whispering Pines, sir. The sheriff and I are around should you need us.” As the two of them hurried away, I bent to attach Meeka’s leash. “Sorry, girl. I’m bringing you inside places with me from now on, even if I have to carry you.”

  We walked around the commons, greeting and welcoming the growing crowd of people. Meeka let most of the children pet her. She had a good sense of those who would pull her tail or ears, or otherwise be nasty to her. She stood close to my legs when kids like that reached for her, and I’d step in with, “Sorry, she’s on duty right now.”

  “But that other girl just petted her,” one particularly snarly boy complained.

  “She did. But Meeka must sense trouble now.” I gave him a purposeful stare. “See how she’s standing so close to me?”

  He glared at me. When I didn’t give him his way, he turned and punched his little sister in the arm. Meeka and her senses, spot on again.

  The main village, filled with tourists, was buzzing with activity. In the pentacle garden, the tuxedo man stood at the center and explained to the tourists what a negativity well was. He also explained that he wore the tux, “In case the Whispering Pines Circus ever needs a fill-in ringmaster. That’s my dream.” The tinfoil hat lady helped direct folks to where they wanted to be. A man teased her that the hat must be to keep aliens away.

  “That’s exactly what it’s for,” she responded.

  “Does it work?” the man asked, rolling his eyes at his friends.

  “Do you see any?”

  The line at Treat Me Sweetly was out the door. I thought of the look Sugar gave me at the ritual last night and wanted to stop in to find out if there was a problem or if it had been my imagination. Also, I wanted ice cream.

  While Honey prepared my single serving of Coconut Almond Chocolate Chunk, I stepped across the aisle to Sugar.

  “I know you’re crazy-busy,” I said, “I just need to be sure you’re not upset with me.”

  “Upset with you?” Sugar asked while she filled a box with cookies and pastries for a customer. “Why would I be upset with you?”

  I leaned in and quietly said, “Because of last night.”

  Her usually bright and cheery smile faltered. She finished tying the box, handed it to the waiting customer, and signaled for the next person in line to wait for a moment. She pulled me behind the counter and put her hands on my shoulders.

  “My reaction wasn’t directed at you personally, Jayne. We never allow non-Wiccans at our gatherings.”

  Instantly, I felt bad for telling Tripp about what I’d seen. I hadn’t realized the gathering was private. “Morgan wanted—”

  “She explained why she brought you.” Sugar held my gaze and then let out a resigned sigh. “Honey and I and many of the locals see how involved you’ve become with the death of that girl. We love that you care so much, and your grandmother would be very proud of you. It’s just . . . be wary of digging too deeply into the goings on around here.”

  Not a threat, but another warning. How far was too far to dig? And if I kept going, what would I uncover?

  “Here you are.” Honey handed me a single serving cup so loaded with Coconut Almond Chocolate Chunk, I was sure I’d lose some of the teetering tower.

  “You’re too good to me,” I said. “Seriously, I’ll never lose weight.”

  Honey patted her own
belly and swatted an oh-go-on hand at me.

  I nodded my thanks to Sugar then found a shady spot beneath a tree to eat my ice cream and give Meeka some water. We’d just settled in when Sheriff Brighton and Deputy Reed appeared between Treat Me Sweetly and Shoppe Mystique. They were deep in conversation, the sheriff gesturing wildly, clearly angry. Reed tried to interject a few times but was shut down. He cast his eyes at the ground and said nothing as the sheriff ranted. What had Reed done to upset the sheriff? Or was Sheriff Brighton taking out frustration on his nephew? A murder and two break-ins in a tourist town days before the season began couldn’t be good for business. Frustration was understandable. The sheriff taking that frustration out on his deputy, especially in public, was not. A minute later, they went their separate ways, leaving me wondering once again what was going on.

  Finished with my ice cream, I returned to patrolling and immediately spotted Keko Shen going into Shoppe Mystique. Meeka and I waited outside for her, chatting with tourists and giving directions. A woman, over six feet tall with red hair that hung to her knees, and a little boy, about five years old and missing his right arm, came out of Treat Me Sweetly. They were quite a pair, sharing licks of their ice cream cones with each other. The boy ended up with nearly as much around his mouth as in it.

  Keko emerged from Shoppe Mystique, and I waved her over.

  “You’re still in town,” I said. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

  “Changed my mind. I was asking Morgan if she needed help for the summer. It’s crazy busy in there. She said I should come by half an hour before opening tomorrow and we’ll talk.” Keko held up a hand before I could respond. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m kind of a screw up, I know that. But part of the reason I came to Whispering Pines was to get myself straight. All I do is smoke a little weed now and then.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine. Sometimes harder stuff, too.” She put a hand in the air. “I swear I don’t drink much. Don’t really like the taste. Anyway, I already know a lot about her shop and what she sells. I kinda like it here, too. If Morgan will take a chance on me . . .”