Family Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery

by Shawn McGuire

  Not Jonah, my parents, my sister, or even my best friend had ever made me feel as loved and cared for as Morgan did at that moment.

  “I’m not off to fight the Kraken, you know.” I gave her a long hug. “I’m only going to track down an out of shape, fifty-something sheriff.”

  She fixed that look on me again. “Things work differently in Whispering Pines, you know that. Don’t discount the sheriff because of physical appearance. And don’t discount the danger here just because we’re tucked into a quaint wooded hamlet instead of the streets of a big city.”

  Morgan Barlow may favor old-world ways, but she knew exactly what was going on in the real one.

  After getting directions to the sheriff’s house and promising to be careful, I gave Meeka the “Work” command, and we headed northeast to find Sheriff Brighton’s place. The simple barn-red Cape Cod was surrounded by a grove of trees, a tall hedge, and really lovely gardens. Seemed the sheriff had a bit of green witch in him, too. Never would have guessed it. Thankfully, all that foliage provided great cover because a woman with a gun, peeking in all the sheriff’s windows would probably make the neighbors nervous. After knocking on first the front and then the back doors, I decided he wasn’t there. As we walked around the house on the fieldstone walkway, Meeka became interested in something tucked into the bushes by the front stoop.

  I crouched down and found a harlequin doll dressed in pants and a tunic covered in a black-and-white diamond pattern. The traditional white china face had a strange, rosy-pink tint. The eyes were closed and the doll was positioned on its side with one hand to its chest.

  Donovan claimed to only know who would die but not when. He claimed that he couldn’t bring on his visions. What if he was lying about foretelling death? What if he was causing it? As quickly as Martin Reed had fallen off my suspects list, Donovan soared to the top of it.

  That harlequin gave me reason enough to suspect that Sheriff Brighton was in danger. I clicked a couple of pictures of the doll, and then using a stone from the landscaping, I broke one of the small panes of glass on the front door and let myself in.

  Chapter 35

  “Sheriff Brighton? It’s Jayne. Are you here, sir?”

  I closed my eyes and strained my ears to hear any little moan, groan, or whimper. Not hearing a thing, I proceeded to search the sheriff’s house, praying I wouldn’t find another body.

  The kitchen was spotless and empty, only a coffee cup in the dish drainer next to the sink. An outdoor sportsman magazine on the floor next to an easy chair was the only thing out of place in the living room. The sheriff wasn’t in the bathroom or any of the three small bedrooms upstairs. He wasn’t in the basement. The detached garage was empty except for his Tahoe, flat bottom aluminum fishing boat, and fishing gear. A nice-sized garden shed contained an abundance of gardening tools but, thankfully, no body. A check of the gardens surrounding the property also revealed nothing. The sheriff wasn’t here.

  Reed had also suggested the shooting range. I knew it was north of the Meditation Circle and that we were currently east of that.

  Meeka and I followed the dirt path along the creek, and after a few minutes we came to Morgan’s home. The house had looked dark, black or brown, at night. In the daylight, I saw that the two-story cottage was made from tan and brown fieldstones. A log fence surrounded the yard, every inch of which seemed to be filled with plants. A rooster crowed from somewhere within the garden. Very charming. I’d have to come back and explore the place more closely, but for now I had to find Sheriff Brighton.

  The Meditation Circle also looked different in the daylight. Of course, the lack of witches in hooded robes gathered around a fire made a big difference.

  “Something’s wrong with that guy.” A middle-aged man pointed into the Meditation Circle with one hand while holding a large umbrella above himself and the woman at his side with the other. “He’s just sitting there. He won’t talk or indicate if there’s anything wrong.”

  I glanced through the trees to see Sheriff Brighton sitting on one of the many wood-plank benches surrounding the fire pit. His hands in his lap, his head bowed.

  “I know him,” I told the man. “I think I know what’s wrong. Would you two do something for me?”

  The man looked at the woman and they nodded uncertainly.

  “Would you stand on the path over there?” I gestured toward a spot twenty yards away. “I just need you to guide people away from the area until I’ve talked to him.”

  The man nodded at the star emblem on my raincoat. “Are you a cop?”

  “I am.” All things considered, the fib was minor. I was a cop, just a currently unemployed one. “Everything’s okay, but I need time to speak with him.”

  “How long?” The woman seemed hesitant to help.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “That man is Sheriff Brighton. His daughter died last week, and one of our deputies was just taken to the hospital. He’s having a hard time.”

  The woman placed her hand over her heart. “The poor man. We’ll make sure you have the time you need.”

  As I walked with Meeka down the narrow path through the trees into the clearing, I stretched my neck side-to-side. I shook out my arms and blew out a long, slow breath. You’ve got this, O’Shea. You’re a good cop. My furry partner looked up at me, her tail wagging as though encouraging me. I reached down to scratch her ears, thanking her for the encouragement.

  “Sheriff Brighton?” I called quietly so as not to startle him. I took my phone out, and like I did with Reed’s car ride testimony, started the recording app to capture whatever he said.

  “I figured you’d find me here.” He didn’t move a muscle. “You’re a topnotch detective, O’Shea.”

  “Just so you know,” I said, holding my phone out to him, “I’m recording this conversation.”

  “Of course you are.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “You had to get right in there, didn’t you? Couldn’t just stay out of trouble taking care of your grandparents’ house. That’s why I gave you the job, you know. To keep you busy so you wouldn’t go sticking your nose into things that were none of your damn concern.”

  He’d underestimated me. My initial reaction to the sheriff was right: he was a sexist. And an ageist. Never expected that a twenty-six-year-old girl could expose everyone’s secrets. I mentally scolded myself. This wasn’t about me. Stay on task, Jayne.

  “In a couple of weeks, Yasmine’s death would have faded away. Everyone would have forgotten and she’d be a distant memory, that girl who died on the O’Shea property.”

  “She was your daughter.” I maintained a safe distance and stayed on guard in case he attacked.

  “She was my daughter.” His voice broke. “And Flavia wouldn’t let me claim her.”

  “Flavia? Why not?” I moved a step closer and held my phone toward him. I had to make sure every word was captured.

  “She isn’t the puritanical creature she appears to be. Everything she does or says must first be analyzed to see how it will come across to the coven. Because if the coven doesn’t approve it . . .”

  He let his words fade, and Flavia’s words from yesterday sounded in my ears: I wouldn’t have anything so tarnished under my roof.

  “Yasmine wasn’t approved,” I said.

  “I’ll never know for sure since no one knew about her, but a child conceived the way Yasmine was? Our actions, mine and Flavia’s, hurt my wife.”

  “And the one rule of Wicca, is to do no harm.”

  He nodded. “Flavia was sure breaking that rule would doom her chances at becoming the high priestess. Above all, Flavia Reed is an ambitious woman and would never put those ambitions in jeopardy because of a one-time mistake.”

  A one-time mistake? That’s how he thought of his daughter? Poor Yasmine. My heart went out to her even more.

  “Then why even have the baby? I mean, why not put her up for adoption. You could have claimed someone left her at the sheriff’s station. You could have surr
endered her to a hospital. Any number of things.”

  “Because her sister,” his voice and face turned soft and gentle, “my sweet Reeva, is the most decent woman you could ever have the privilege to meet.”

  “She raised Yasmine.”

  “As if the girl was her own child.”

  “Why did they leave Whispering Pines?”

  “Because of the scandal, of course.” Sheriff Brighton looked down again. “I confessed to her what I’d done that very night. Flavia’s husband, Horace, had been my best friend. If we’d been brothers by blood we wouldn’t have been closer.”

  “Martin told me he died from a bear attack.”

  The sheriff sagged forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

  “That was my fault. Flavia had been in one of her moods that entire week. Horace wanted to go for a hike, lose himself in nature for a little while. I was supposed to go with him but at the last minute I told him I didn’t want to go. I’d hadn’t slept well the night before.” Sheriff Brighton laughed, a sound laced with agony. “Because I wanted to take a nap, I wasn’t there to save my best friend’s life. If I had gone, the attack never would have happened. We would have been laughing and talking and making enough noise that the bear would have gotten scared off.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Sheriff.”

  “No, I suppose not. I also couldn’t know how deeply I would mourn his loss.”

  “That’s how the night with Flavia happened?”

  He nodded slowly. “We were comforting each other.”

  “Why did Reeva leave with the baby?” I repeated, we’d gotten off track.

  “Like I said, I confessed to Reeva that same night. She needed a few days to meditate on what I’d done, and in the end, she forgave me.” A single sob burst from him. “She said she loved me more than she hated what I’d done. The woman was . . . is a goddess. She also knew her sister. She knew Flavia was a driven woman and would never let a baby hold her back.”

  “Reeva decided immediately to raise Yasmine?”

  “Immediately,” he agreed, his head in his hands. “She said the child was mine and her sister’s, which made the baby practically her own. In no time, word about what Flavia and I had done spread through the village. To this day, I have no idea who started it. I suppose either Reeva or Flavia could have confided to someone and they let it slip.

  “No one knew about the pregnancy. Flavia was able to hide it for six months, but despite the shapeless dresses she wore, she couldn’t hide it forever. We decided that Reeva would announce that she’d tried but couldn’t stay married to me after what I’d done. The two of them left together, Flavia making sure everyone understood that she was going to help her sister get settled in a new home and that she’d be back.”

  The acid in his voice made it clear, ‘we decided’ translated directly to ‘Flavia told us.’ What had she held over her sister’s head to make Reeva leave her husband?

  “Flavia stayed away until the baby was born,” I said. “Why didn’t you leave, too?”

  “To maintain the secret. Flavia insisted I stay. She wanted me to absorb the scrutiny and deflect it off her, she said. If I had left with Reeva, the villagers would constantly ask her about her sister and me. She said she couldn’t keep reliving it.”

  “You let her bully you.” What a witch. And not in the Wiccan sense. “You stayed away from your wife and your daughter for twenty years because Flavia couldn’t admit her sin?”

  He held his hands out, palms up. “She made it clear, she’d accuse me of rape. She said she’d tell a story so damning, I’d go to prison for years. Neither Reeva nor I doubted that.”

  “You accepted Flavia’s prison instead.” I almost felt bad for him. “What about Reeva? If she was willing to go along with this, she must have loved you a great deal. She had to live all those years without her husband.”

  “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.”

  They could have been together. All three of them. He and Reeva could have disappeared with the baby and no one would have been the wiser. Pointing that out to him now would be cruel and futile, he could only see the one option.

  “All right,” I said and took another step closer, “let’s fast forward to a few weeks ago. Yasmine returns to the village looking to connect with her mother and brother.”

  “Beautiful girl, wasn’t she?”

  “She was,” I said slowly, noting the hairline crack in his thick armor. The sheriff had loved his daughter. “Flavia turned her away, and because there’s this secret to maintain, you turned her away as well.”

  “I’m not proud of it, Jayne. She’s my daughter.”

  “She was your daughter.” No more nice-cop. I was pushing for a confession now. “You killed your daughter.”

  “I did. I murdered Yasmine Long. I gave her trail mix with castor beans in it. Just like I gave to Martin.” He looked to me. “Did you get to him in time?”

  I’d expected him to argue, to deny, to put up some kind of a fight for his innocence. Not only did he confess immediately, he said it so loudly and clearly, the couple guarding the entrance probably heard him.

  The rain started again. I pulled up the hood on the raincoat as Meeka huddled close to me, her little body shivering. “Martin is at the hospital. Hopefully they can help him.”

  “Good.” He bobbed his head up and down. “Good.”

  “Why kill her? You could have sent her away. You could have simply given her enough money to start a new life somewhere.”

  He turned to me then, his bloodshot eyes stared right through me. “Reeva and I were so happy. Funny, isn’t it, the damage a couple of stupid choices can create.”

  He was preaching to the choir on that one. His bad decisions resulted in his best friend’s death, a baby, and a broken marriage. Little too close for comfort there.

  “The method you chose, ricin poisoning, it wasn’t a guarantee of death. Martin will likely be fine.”

  He nodded again but said nothing.

  “You didn’t want to do it, did you, Sheriff? For whatever reason, you decided that killing Yasmine was the answer, but you weren’t committed to it. You wanted to give her a chance.” I waited, but he didn’t reply. “Did Flavia have anything to do with Yasmine’s death? Is she the one who, once again, made the decision regarding her?”

  “No,” he responded too quickly.

  I’ve never seen such sloppy work, Flavia had said that first morning I saw her.

  Don’t worry. I’m taking care of things, the sheriff had replied

  That’s how you take care of things? Flavia responded.

  For the recording I restated, “You’re telling me that Flavia Reed is one hundred percent innocent of the death of Yasmine Long?”

  “Flavia had no idea I was going to give her the beans.”

  Maybe she didn’t know castor beans would be the method, but Flavia was not innocent of Yasmine’s death. Sheriff Brighton was a broken man, anyone could see that, and Flavia was the puppeteer manipulating his strings.

  “You need to be careful, Jayne. You don’t understand the power and control Flavia has.”

  A shiver wracked my body, and I pressed my fingers to the amulet and pendant beneath my shirt. That was almost verbatim the warning Sugar had given me. Then something else the sheriff had said hit home.

  “What did you mean when you said Flavia is a driven woman?”

  He reached into his jacket pocket. In a blink, I switched my phone to my left hand and unsnapped the strap over the gun with my right. Meeka whined and hid behind my legs.

  “All she wants is to become high priestess,” he said. “Reeva would invite her and Horace over for dinner and that’s all we’d hear. ‘I’m destined to be high priestess. The coven needs me. The village needs me.’ No wonder Horace went on so many hikes. Problem was, the position was filled.”

  My blood chilled in my veins. “Who was high priestess, Sheriff?”

  “At the time, Dulcie Barlow. She was
your grandmother’s best friend, Morgan’s grandmother. I was a child, but I remember her well.” He smiled fondly. “She used to slip bits of mugwort into my shoes, claiming it would make my legs stronger.”

  “What happened to Dulcie?”

  The sheriff gave me a sad smile. “She died in her sleep. That was a shock for the entire village. Dulcie was never sick, not a thing wrong with her.”

  My instincts tingled. More herbal foul play?

  “After Dulcie passed, Morgan’s mother Briar became our high priestess. She guided us for the next twenty years. Everyone loves Briar.”

  “Loves? She’s still alive?”

  “She is, but she suffered a stroke. She can get around but not easily, and she has a hard time speaking. She spends her days at the cottage.” He pointed east. “Lives with Morgan. Stays busy tending the gardens and making the wreaths Morgan sells in her shop.”

  My hand went to the handle of the Glock as the sheriff withdrew something from his pocket. From where I stood, eight feet away, it looked like a small amber-colored vial about the size of a double-A battery. Herbs of some kind?

  “What’s that in your hand, Sheriff?”

  “Because of her condition,” he continued, ignoring my question, “Briar stepped down as high priestess, and your dear grandmother stepped up.”

  “When was that?”

  “About six months ago. Lucy was a faithful follower of Wicca, but that’s all she wanted to be. A follower. Briar begged her and when the rest of the coven heard, we agreed Lucy was the perfect one to lead us.”

  And three months later, Gran was dead.

  “Sheriff, what are you telling me? Did Flavia kill Dulcie and attempt to kill Briar? Did she murder my grandmother?”

  Morgan was high priestess now. Was she next on the hit list?

  “I’ve never been able to gather any proof that she did.” He opened the little vial and poured two capsules into his hand.

  I froze. “What are those, sir?”

  “Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.”

  “There were a lot of years between Dulcie’s death and Briar’s stroke six months ago.” I couldn’t take my eyes off those capsules. “Did something significant happen six months ago, Sheriff?”