“Wait.” I held up a hand for her to be silent while my brain caught up. “When you say you loved her, you mean you were in love with her?”
“I wanted Yasmine to be my girlfriend, not my girl friend. The love potion was to attract her to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Because she’s a fruitcake,” came a voice, probably Duane’s, from inside the army green tent. “She doesn’t know what she feels about anything. She falls in love with anyone who talks to her for more than five minutes.”
“That’s not true,” Keko said.
“I recommend that you leave soon, Deputy,” Duane cautioned. “She’ll be casting love spells on you next.”
Should I have seen this coming? What had I missed? I mentally scanned through everything Keko had told me. Nothing I could remember led to Keko being in love with Yasmine. I had been positive it was a case of jealousy over Yasmine getting so much attention. The ousted cheerleader wanting revenge on the head cheerleader.
“I loved Yasmine,” Keko repeated, more to herself than me. “I can’t believe someone would kill that beautiful woman.”
“Thanks for talking with me. You too, Duane.”
“No problem,” he called from the tent. “Can you cuff her and lock her up for being a whack job?”
“Sorry.”
“Figured. Thought I’d try. Sucks about Yasmine.”
“If either of you think of anything that might help, any little thing, let me know.”
Meeka and I returned to the Cherokee. She gave my hand a quick lick as I put her in her crate in the back.
“Thought I had it, Meeks.” I pulled her in and hugged her. “I was so sure Keko was the killer.”
Maybe my captain in Madison had been wrong. Maybe I wasn’t qualified to be a detective.
~~~
A few more tourists had arrived in Whispering Pines. Beating the traffic, they told me as I patrolled, and trying to get a few hours of peace in the quaint village before the mobs came. They were mostly older couples and a handful of families with preschoolers or kids they’d pulled out of school a day early. Other than introducing myself to them, letting them know the sheriff and his deputies were available should they need us, and chatting with the village shopkeepers, it was a slow, still-overcast day.
I found Lily Grace sitting beneath the same tree as the other day.
“This your designated spot?” I asked.
She looked up from the extra-thick novel she was reading, A Woman of Substance. “Yep. It’s out of the sun, not that that’s a problem today, and I can see the marina from here. Which means I can see my boyfriend, Oren.”
“I didn’t know Oren was your guy.” I could picture them together. Cute couple. I gestured at the paperback in her lap. “Good book?”
“It’s really old, found it on my grandma’s bookshelf, but yeah, it’s good. It’s about this servant girl who’s determined to make her mark in the world.”
Sounded like she was quoting the back cover. “Does she?”
She held up the book to me, her finger marking her place at about the two-thirds spot. “I wanted to finish before the season started, but that’s not gonna happen. It’s like nine hundred pages long and I’m on five-eighty-six.”
I had a sudden yearning to go home and pull out the books I brought.
“I thought you might want to know,” I said, “your reading the other day did end up having meaning for me.”
For a moment, she looked excited but quickly rearranged her face into something more nonchalant. “Yeah? What?”
“Remember the break-in I told you Morgan Barlow had at her shop a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah.”
“And that the thief took castor beans?”
“Right.”
“Turns out that castor beans closely resemble pinto beans.”
Again, for the briefest of moments, Lily Grace looked proud. “But you don’t know what that means?”
“Not entirely. What I do know is that castor beans are poisonous.”
“And Yasmine Long was poisoned?”
“I can’t prove that yet. Not until the autopsy results come in.”
Lily Grace inserted a pine needle into the book to mark her page, set the book down, and held her hands up. Sheepishly she asked, “Can I try again?”
“To do a reading?”
She shrugged and dropped her hands to her lap. “It’s cool if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m surprised you want to.”
“I’m curious now. Don’t know if it’s my gift turning on, or whatever, or if it’s something about you.”
I sat next to her while Meeka sniffed around the tree, searching for her own evidence of some kind. With my hands resting on hers, Lily Grace closed her eyes and went into a trance, like she had the other day. Her body shuddered slightly, responding to unseen stimulus, but she didn’t pull away. A minute later, she said, “I see an altar.”
The one in Gran’s attic? It bothered me that I didn’t remember that Gran was Wiccan. Even though I didn’t understand what she was doing at the time, a woman in a beautiful cloak praying to a moon princess sounded like something a ten-year-old girl would reenact many times. Was I somehow projecting that to Lily Grace?
“I see a lady in the water.” Lily Grace made a face and paused, as though waiting for another message. “There’s black stuff on her.” She inhaled deeply and her eyes snapped open. “What did I say?”
“You don’t remember?”
She shook her head, anxious for my response.
“You could be tuning into me.” I told her about the altar in Gran’s attic and the rest of what she had said. “Maybe a lady is going to get tangled in the weeds and drown in the lake this summer? I hope you’re wrong about that one.”
“Me, too,” Lily Grace agreed.
I thanked her for the reading, then made my way across the village to Shoppe Mystique.
Morgan was outside, tending her gardens and humming to herself. Or, more likely, humming to the plants. She gave me her blessing and immediately asked what was troubling me. Someone else who could tap into my emotions. How come none of my family members could do that?
I told her about the memory of my grandmother at the altar.
Morgan smiled. “Are you doing anything this evening?”
“Tonight? No.” As though I was booked every other night but my schedule happened to be free this evening.
“Directly north of here you’ll find two bridges. The first crosses the road that cuts through the village, the second crosses the creek. On the other side of the creek to the right is my house. I’ll expect you there around eleven.”
“Eleven? Kind of late, isn’t it?”
Before she could respond I reminded myself, for the hundredth time in five days, that this was Whispering Pines. Nothing, except murder, was strange here.
“I’ll explain everything tonight, Jayne. See you at eleven. Blessed be.”
A dismissal if ever I’d heard one. What would she tell me then that she couldn’t tell me now?
Chapter 26
At ten forty-five, I parked the Cherokee in the lot by the creek. Once I’d turned the headlights off, I couldn’t see a thing. My immediate reaction was to open the flashlight app on my phone. No one else around here needed a flashlight, I could handle the dark. Truthfully, I would have felt better with Meeka at my side. It was going to take more than five days in the Northwoods to convert me into a country girl.
The full benefit to limited street lights became obvious once my eyes adjusted. There wasn’t even the tiniest sliver of a moon in the sky, which allowed the stars to appear in full force. I never saw that many stars in Madison. If it wasn’t for all the crime and traffic accidents that would surely result under a cloak of darkness, I wished all towns could turn out the lights like this.
I followed the path north to the first bridge. The road was only two lanes wide, I could just cross, but as I
placed a foot onto the pavement, a car raced around the blind corner. I understood the need for a bridge. There was little traffic now, but during the day, especially during tourist season, crossing could be treacherous.
On the other side, I walked the equivalent of probably four city blocks—which felt more like a mile in the dark—past a cluster of cottages like those surrounding the pentacle garden. These were homes, though.
There were only a few lights on inside the cottages and no streetlights at all in this area. With my vision compromised, my hearing sharpened. Along with my own footsteps crunching on the gravel, I heard crickets and small critters scampering in the woods. The different perspective was liberating, and proved that I could rely on my other senses if necessary.
The sound of running water told me I was close to the creek. I crossed the second bridge and after another hundred yards, spotted a cottage light in the distance. Morgan was waiting on the front steps, dressed in denim cutoffs and a green tank top. Guess the witchy wardrobe was more of a uniform for Shoppe Mystique than a standard outfit.
“Before you ask,” she said, “I promise I will answer all of your questions. About your grandmother, about the village, about the villagers . . . anything. First, however, we must prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“Tonight,” she spread her arms and looked to the black sky, “is the new moon. A time of new beginnings. A time to decide upon and set your intentions for the coming cycle, and then tell the Goddess of them.”
Oh, God. Or perhaps I should say, oh, Goddess. More witchcraft.
“I’ve prepared a bath for you,” Morgan said.
“You . . . a bath?” Now I wished I’d brought Tripp with me. Not for a bath, although that could be interesting, but as a bodyguard.
She took my hand and led me through her house, which was surprisingly bare compared to the abundance of Shoppe Mystique. Dream catchers adorned a few windows, small plant bundles hung on doors, clear glass jars filled with various items sat on the floor in corners. Morgan led me to the end of a hallway and a bathroom lit by a dozen or more candles. The claw foot tub was indeed filled and waiting.
“Scrub your entire body with the loofa in the little silver basket on the edge of the tub. This will free you of negativity. While you do that, think of what you want to attract to your life. Nothing is off limits so don’t be afraid to dream big.”
“Morgan, I’m cool with meditating on what I want to achieve, but I’m not taking a bath.”
“Trust me. Remember, I do no harm.”
“Yeah. Not getting naked in your house.”
She frowned, disappointed, but had an alternate plan to offer. “Will you allow me to smudge you?”
“Excuse me?”
She led me back through the house to her backyard and produced a bundle of dried plants bound with string, like the one she used yesterday when she made the spell bag for me.
“Sage clears the space around us. It doesn’t work as well as the purifying bath, but we’ll make do.”
She held up the bundle, eyebrows arched in question. When I agreed, she held it to the flame of a candle until it started to smoke. The sage smell was delicious and reminded me of Thanksgiving dinner. Embarrassingly, my stomach rumbled. She waved the smoking bundle first around herself, then me, and finally around a small wooden table and chair. On the table lay a pen that resembled an old-fashioned quill and a sheet of beautiful handmade paper with bits of plants and flowers visible on the rough surface.
Morgan extinguished the smoldering bundle and faced me.
“As I said, dream big. What would you like to attract to your life over the next moon cycle? Write those things on the paper as positive declarations, starting each with a statement like ‘I will’ or ‘I am’ or ‘I have.’”
Morgan went inside the cottage, leaving me to my task with only the light from an oil lantern. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small shadow scuttle past and prayed it was Pitch, the black rooster.
Writing down goals sounded like a good idea. I closed my eyes and thought about what I wanted in my life. That was easy, I’d thought of little else lately: I wanted to get back to work serving and protecting in whatever way I was best suited. To do that, I needed to forgive myself for my part in Frisky’s death. I wanted to get back the confidence I had before Frisky was killed. I wanted to move past my heartache over breaking up with Jonah. I wanted to live my own life without my family scrutinizing my decisions.
I opened my eyes and started writing. As I did, I realized all of these things had to do with me starting over, like the moon starting a fresh cycle. And just that fast, I understood a tiny bit more about Wicca. After I’d written down my goals, using positive declarative statements, I read through the list. Two of the items surprised me, mostly because I didn’t remember writing them. I will fix my grandparents’ house and turn it into a bed and breakfast. I will stay in Whispering Pines. Was that really what I wanted?
Morgan appeared a minute later. She had changed out of her shorts and tank and was now wearing a floor-length, raven-black dress. The corseted bodice revealed a lot of cleavage and the long sleeves fluttered every time she moved her arms. A silver headband encircled her head, a small Triple Moon Goddess charm dangling like a third eye at the center of her forehead. Beneath the black makeup around her eyes and deep blood-red stain coloring her lips, her pale skin glowed like the moon in the sky. A black velvet cloak, like Gran’s beautiful blue one, topped everything.
“That’s quite a list.” Morgan nodded at the paper in front of me.
I blinked, mesmerized by her appearance, then look down at my list. Had I made it too long? She hadn’t told me how many items to include. Unsure of what to do next, I held it out to her.
“Keep it. You’ll offer it to the Goddess later. Remember, as with any desire, not all will come true. At least not right away. The Goddess doesn’t perform magic, but she will help those who help themselves, so focus your energy. Are you ready?”
“For what?” My head felt a little foggy.
“You may borrow this for tonight.” She held out another hooded cloak she had draped over her arm. This one was made of deep, midnight-blue velvet. It clasped in front to completely cover my jeans and tunic.
With my scrolled list in hand, I followed her along the same path I’d taken earlier, continuing along the creek instead of turning onto the bridge. After a couple hundred yards, I saw an orange glow through the trees ahead and heard people chanting. A little further and we came upon a group of cloaked figures gathered in a clearing around a large fire.
“This is the Meditation Circle,” Morgan explained in a soft voice.
Deputy Reed had mentioned this place to me. That shooting range should be a little north of here.
“Tonight is an extra special night for us,” Morgan said, stopping inside the tree line a few yards from the clearing. “It’s the new moon before the tourist season begins. We look at this night as the start of our year to come.”
“Wiccans run on a fiscal year?” I joked.
“Wiccans run on a thirteen-month Celtic calendar, which begins on Samhain or Halloween,” Morgan said. “Whispering Pines runs on a fiscal year. Tonight, we will first pray as a group for prosperity and peace for the village this year. Individually, we have each created our own lists, like yours, and we’ll offer them to the Lady and Lord.”
I counted the people standing around the fire ring. “Is this the coven?”
“It is.”
“There are more than thirteen people.”
“All Wiccans are welcome in the coven, we don’t exclude anyone,” Morgan explained in her comforting way. “They’re waiting for me. I’ll let them know you’re here to observe. As you’ve already figured out, your grandmother did follow Wicca. Before you start asking questions, I wanted you to first have a better understanding of our religion. Stay right here for now. You’re welcome to join us during the individual offerings if you choose. If you would prefer not to, I’l
l find you after and we’ll talk.”
While Morgan had been standing in the trees with me, I noticed over her shoulder that Flavia had gathered the group together. Everyone’s attention was on her, until Morgan joined them and everyone’s attention shifted. Morgan said something I couldn’t hear. Must have been about me because they all turned to look my way. It was hard to tell through the heavy shadows and hooded cloaks, but I thought I recognized Donovan, Honey, and Sugar. I wasn’t surprised to see scowls from Flavia and Donovan, but Sugar didn’t seem happy to see me there either. She continued to stare at me after the others had returned to ritual business. When she finally turned back to the circle, I spotted one more person I knew in a hunter-green robe. Sheriff Brighton was Wiccan?
At the start of the ritual, Morgan spoke to the group. Again, I couldn’t hear her words, but it reminded me of a preacher standing before her congregation. When she finished, they joined hands, raised them to the sky, and chanted as a group. Really, it wasn’t any different than parishioners sitting in a church or temple singing and praying to a statue—Jesus, Buddha, Ganesha—except their ‘statue’ was the moon, or the lack thereof tonight.
By the time they started their individual offerings, I was getting tired and honestly, a little bored. I watched, stifling occasional yawns, as one by one the members offered their list for the new moon cycle. Some read their list aloud, others read to themselves, and then put their paper in the fire or dug a hole among the trees and buried it.
The final member to step forward was Flavia. She had kept her back to me up until then, so I’d only seen her outline in the firelight. Now, I could tell that her robe was blood red with embroidered silver symbols. Each symbol was different, but all were made of varying combinations of curved or straight lines and dots. I’d seen those symbols before. They looked very much like the graffiti painted on the walls in the house.
Like the others had, Flavia chanted or prayed, or whatever the proper term was, while holding her list before her. When done chanting, she placed her list in the fire. The paper must have been very thin because it floated in the air on a heat wave, hovered, and then burst into flames. As the burning bits raised into the air, Flavia looked at me with narrowed eyes, and suddenly the pieces flew straight at me.
Family Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery Page 18