Whispering Pines Mysteries:
Books 7-9
Shawn McGuire
Table of Contents
Silent Secrets – Book 7
Merciful Secrets - Book 8
Justified Secrets - Book 9
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Chapter 1
The dream . . . no, this one was squarely in the nightmare realm. I’d had it every few nights for the first week, then every other night. This week, it came two nights in a row, so I tried hard to stay awake. Around one thirty, my eyes refused to stay open, so I crawled into bed, hoping I was tired enough to sleep without dreaming. No such luck.
I stared out the windows, trying to get a fix on what time it was, and shivered at the sight of the frost-covered pine trees. The temperature wasn’t getting above forty during the day now that we were into late November and dropped below freezing at night. Ice had started to form in the shallow areas and permanently tree-shaded coves of Whispering Pines’ lake. The still unfrozen water looked colder, like it was starting to gel or stiffen in preparation for the thick layer of ice that would soon cap it and trap in all the lake’s secrets.
“Are you awake?” My boyfriend, Tripp Bennett, sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on my hip. He knew I’d been dreaming a lot lately, but he didn’t know it had been the same nightmare on replay. He pushed a lock of hair away from my eyes, a look of concern on his face.
“I’m awake.” I pushed myself up to sit, propping my pillow between my back and the headboard.
“Good. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you up or let you work through it.”
It had been three weeks since I’d moved out of the boathouse and into the main house. Tripp and I now shared Pine Time Bed-and-Breakfast’s all-white main floor bedroom. It was beautiful with its traditional raised-wood paneling and a wall of windows that provided an amazing view of the lake.
“You were having another nasty dream,” Tripp told me. “This has been happening a lot. Do you want to tell me about it?”
I rubbed the grit from the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about it. What if telling him made it worse? Then again, remaining mute about things rarely helped. What the heck.
“It only lasts a few seconds. I’m on one of the backstreets in Madison. Not sure where exactly. Probably the University area.”
“Are you a cop?”
I’d spent four years serving as a patrol officer and then one more as a detective for the Madison Police Department. A lot of that time was spent in the University area of town, so good guess on Tripp’s part.
“Yeah. I’m standing near my squad car, and Lupe is confronting Matt. As in, she’s yelling at him.”
Confusion creased Tripp’s brow. “Matt? The guy who died here last month? What was Lupe saying to him?”
“I couldn’t hear the words. She was angry, though. Or maybe scared.” I hadn’t considered that second possibility. The line between anger and fear could be blurry at times. “Whatever it was, she wanted him to do something, and when he wouldn’t do it, she shot him.”
“Oh, babe.” Tripp leaned in to comfort me with a hug, and I placed my hands on his chest to hold him back.
“That wasn’t the worst part.” I turned and stared out the window while Tripp waited for me to continue. “After Lupe shot him, Matt turned into Frisky. And then Lupe turned into Randy. I became Sheriff Brighton.”
Tripp immediately grasped the significance. “Do you really need to analyze this to understand it?”
On the single worst day of my professional life, my partner, Detective Randy Ketchum, shot and killed our unarmed informant, Frisky Fox. But why was I dreaming about that incident now? And why was my mind combining that day with the events of last month?
“No, I don’t need to analyze it,” I snapped. “My subconscious is letting me know, over and over, what can happen if I trust people when my gut tells me—”
In a flash, I understood why the events combined. No wonder I was having nightmares about Frisky.
“What’s the matter?” Tripp asked.
I sighed before saying, “This week is the one-year anniversary of Frisky’s death.”
“That could have something to do with it. You’re upset about Lupe in the present and thinking about Frisky in the past.”
Great. Now he was analyzing me.
“Wait. You said, ‘over and over.’” Tripp adjusted positions on the bed, scooting in a few inches so he wasn’t perched quite so precariously on the edge. He enveloped one of my hands in both of his, resting them on the goose-down comforter covering my legs. “Have you been having this same dream every night? That would explain why you’re so tired and short-tempered lately.”
I almost said, sorry my distress is putting a smudge on your perfect little life. Where had that thought come from? Glad I stopped those words from coming out of my mouth.
“Not every night.” Not until this week at least. “I’ve had it a lot, though.”
“Maybe you should go over to Unity and talk to someone?”
I’d had a nightmare. It’s not like I was in the midst of a mental breakdown. Although, the nightmares and lack of decent sleep were getting to me. As was this conversation. Done talking about myself and my nightmare, I mentally changed direction and noticed Tripp was dressed for the day in jeans and a T-shirt.
“What time is it?” I reached for the alarm clock on my nightstand. Eight thirty-six. I never slept this late. The kitchen was just outside our bedroom and the faint aroma of toast hit me. “Did you eat already?”
No one was staying in the B&B right now. Only the two of us, my West Highland White Terrier Meeka, and our long-term renter River Carr. There was no need for Tripp to make a big, fancy breakfast, but I thought we’d still eat together like we always did.
“Yeah, I ate. Just something quick. River and I need to run to Wausau and get more supplies for the attic. Maeve also asked that I pick up another turkey, big as I can find. I guess Sundry sold out.”
More to myself than him, I grumbled, “So I’m spending the day alone again.”
He ignored the complaint. “Seriously, babe, do you need to talk to someone about this dream?”
His unsaid statement was loud and clear. You haven’t left the house in a week. You’ve barely left this room. Now you’re whining because I have to go buy supplies so I can keep working on our apartment?
“I thought I was talking to you.” I nudged him out of the way with my legs then rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
“Jayne.”
“No, that’s fine. Go do your thing with River.”
They’d been hanging out together constantly lately. Not a big deal under normal circumstances, but the summertime flood of tourists to the village had dried to barely a trickle. This meant my sheriff responsibilities had also all but evaporated. I had plenty of time on my hands. Too much, really. The plan had been that Tripp and I would work on the attic renovation together. Then River moved in with all his knowledge of carpentry, and now our renter got to spend more time with my boyfriend than I did.
He caught my arm and tugged me toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“You mean other than that I just shape-shifted into a crooked sheriff in my nightmare? Or that I saw an innocent man I didn’t protect die and turn into an innocent woman I also didn’t protect?”
“Matt’s death wasn’t your fault.” He sighed and took a half step back. “It’s not just the dream. You’ve been like this for
days.”
“Like what?” I snapped.
“Irritable. Quiet. Depressed. Look, I get it. The whole Lupe thing—”
“Nope. Not going there.”
His shoulders dropped. He wanted me to talk about how Lupe had duped us all for weeks. Possibly months. There wasn’t a whole lot to talk about. It was simple, really. All the clues to her deception had been right there. I either didn’t see those clues or I ignored them, and a man died. Protecting the public was my job and I had failed in the biggest way. For the second time in a year.
“I know there’s not much for you to do right now.” His approach was gentler now. “There are practically no tourists, and the villagers are behaving themselves. You don’t have to go anywhere, that’s fine, but you can’t just sit here all day. You need to do something.”
It’s not like I couldn’t have left the house over the last week. It’s just that getting dressed and going somewhere felt like too much work.
“What do you think I should do? Take up knitting?”
The smallest of smiles turned his mouth. “Not exactly what I was thinking, but a hobby of some kind is a good idea. I’m sure Ruby would be happy to give you lessons.”
Ruby McLaughlin owned The Twisty Skein, Whispering Pines’ hobby shop. She was like the Energizer Bunny on speed. I wasn’t sure taking a knitting lesson from her would be relaxing, but it would for sure be entertaining. I chuckled at the image that presented.
“There’s my girl.”
He pulled me in for a warm, comforting hug. I fought the embrace at first, then let myself relax into it. Why was I fighting him so hard lately?
“Please, get out of the house today. As great as this place is, you need a change of scenery every now and then. God knows I do after days on end of taking care of guests. Jola’s been asking you to come in for a massage. Call her and see if they can fit you in today.”
“You’re really pushing me to get over to the health center.”
“That’s because I’m worried about you. It’s crisp but beautiful outside today. Soon enough, the weather will keep us inside.”
“Together?” I waggled my eyebrows and glanced at the bed.
“You’re reading my mind.”
He moved in to kiss me, and I held my hand over my mouth. “Morning breath.”
He kissed my forehead instead. “Thanks for telling me about your nightmare. I wish you would’ve said something sooner, though.”
“Didn’t want to bother you.”
“You never bother me.” He opened the bottom dresser drawer and pulled out the thick olive-green hoodie I gave him as a moving in together present. It had Wayfaring Stranger . . . no more printed in bold ivory lettering. It signified that his days of wandering and looking for a permanent home were over. He loved it as much as I’d hoped he would. “Seriously, are you okay? We do have to go to Wausau, but if you need to talk more—”
I put a finger over his lips, stopping him from offering to stay. I knew he really wanted to get on the road with River. “I’m fine. Go. I promise I’ll leave the house today. Maybe Maeve needs help with the Thanksgiving prep.”
I’d been looking forward to tomorrow for weeks. Many of the villagers would stay home and have Thanksgiving dinner with their families. Others were going to gather at the village pub Grapes, Grains, and Grub for a Thanksgiving smorgasbord and the Packers game.
“Good.” He tugged on the sweatshirt. “You’re looking cheerier already.”
By the time I was showered and dressed, Tripp and River were long gone, leaving only Meeka and me to rattle around in the big seven-bedroom house. I found the little Westie lying in a patch of sun by the patio doors. As soon as she saw me, she rushed to my side and leaned against my leg. She could tell that I’d been having a rough couple of weeks and had been hovering near me constantly. Tripp drew the line at her sleeping in our bed between us, though.
“I thought we’d go into town today.” I’d said this as though it would be a major trek. It took all of five minutes to get from our driveway to the far side of Whispering Pines. “We can go visit Briar and Morgan.”
That set her tail wagging double time. She loved the mother-daughter green witch duo.
After a quick breakfast of toast with peanut butter and a drizzle of honey, an orange, and plenty of coffee, I loaded the two of us into my SUV and started for the Barlow cottage.
At the intersection of my quarter-mile-long driveway and the highway that divided the village in two, I had to wait for cars to pass. First, a silver-blue minivan and then a beige sedan. A rusty, beat-up and faded olive-green Excursion was next and caught my attention. It was loaded to capacity and driving slowly, a good five miles per hour below the speed limit. That was unusual. People usually flew through here. A man was driving, hunched over the wheel, hands at ten and two, gazing around as if looking for someone or something. The woman in the passenger’s seat next to him had bleached-blonde hair. While I couldn’t clearly see the people in the back, I was able to make out the heads of four more passengers between the second and third row of seats.
A newer model, two-door, royal-blue Nissan pickup truck followed the Excursion. They were close enough that either the pickup’s driver was a tailgater or the two were together. I counted only two people in the pickup, but the bed of the truck was filled with duffel bags and backpacks and what appeared to be camping gear. That couldn’t be right. Camping in northern Wisconsin in late-November? It might have been hunting equipment. It was deer hunting season, after all.
Neither vehicle was doing anything wrong, but something about them made my gut twist. While I couldn’t pull them over on the grounds of giving me a funny feeling, I could issue the Frontier a citation for the tailgating thing.
Meeka barked from her cage in the back.
She was right. They were headed out of town anyway.
“All right, I’m going.”
I turned right out of the drive, headed east on the highway, and was about to turn north onto the gravel road that led to the Barlow cottage when my walkie-talkie squawked.
“Sheriff O’Shea? This is Violet. Are you there?” She sounded frantic.
Damn. After days of doing nothing, I was finally ready to get out and have a little fun. Of course this was the time an incident would come up. I pulled to the side of the road, pushed the hazard lights button, and reached over to the passenger seat to retrieve my walkie-talkie.
“This is Sheriff O’Shea. What’s going on, Violet?”
“You’ve got to get over to the Grinder. Flavia and Reeva are about to go nuclear.”
Chapter 2
I pulled my Jeep Cherokee into my parking spot behind the sheriff’s station and let Meeka out of her cage. She studied me with her head cocked to the side as I stood there for a moment debating how to proceed. I wasn’t in uniform but was semi-prepared. It was a deeply ingrained habit to always have my badge on me, and it was currently in my inside jacket pocket. Having an easily accessible weapon was also a longstanding habit, so I had grabbed my gun case when I left the house and slid it under the driver’s seat. Around here, the Glock was rarely necessary. I’d only drawn it twice in the six months I’d been here.
It was highly unlikely Flavia and Reeva were doing something that would require me to need my weapon. I couldn’t take a chance with the villagers’ safety, though, so I shrugged out of my baggy fleece jacket, slid my shoulder holster into place, and retrieved my Glock from its case.
“Sheriff O’Shea for Violet,” I announced into the walkie-talkie. “Be there in two minutes.” To my K-9, who was also out of uniform and wearing only her collar today instead of her harness with insignia, I said, “Violet never gets freaked out. This can’t be good.”
We ran around to the front of the station and onto the Fairy Path, a wood plank path that wound through a thick grove of trees. As we jogged, I noticed squirrels racing around the grove, grabbing small pine boughs off the forest floor and scampering up trees to finish padding out thei
r nests. Before we knew it, the temperature would be permanently below freezing during the day and in the single digits or subzero at night.
We exited the Fairy Path and, like cars merging onto a freeway, entered the red brick walkway that circled the pentacle-shaped garden at the center of the village commons. Ye Olde Bean Grinder was the third cottage past the trailhead, so it took no time at all to reach. I climbed the stairs and nearly collided with a man wearing a brown jacket and a white hat coming out of the shop.
“Sorry.” I gave a distracted wave, turned back toward the door, and nearly got trampled by Violet.
“Thank the Goddess you’re here.” She stepped out onto her porch, practically vibrating with anger.
“Are they inside?”
“They are. Basil is making sure they don’t destroy my shop or kill each other.”
“It’s that bad? Was there a physical altercation?”
“Not yet, but there is a sister altercation in progress.” She inhaled deeply and blew out the breath. “Everything was fine. Flavia was there drinking tea and talking to that man who just left. Everything about that was weird.”
“Why?”
“Multiple reasons. First, Flavia never comes to the Grinder. Second, she was having an actual conversation with a stranger. Third, we rarely serve tea.”
I gave her a blank stare at the third point. “Tea is a weird thing?”
“This is a coffee shop. Except for chai, we only keep a small amount of Earl Grey and Chamomile on hand. Tea is Morgan’s thing. Anyway, Reeva came in a couple minutes after Flavia started talking to that guy, ordered a cappuccino, and sat down to read a novel. She’d been there for nearly ten minutes before Flavia noticed her. When she did, she went nuts.” Violet made explosion hands next to her head.
“What are they fighting about?”
“Martin.”
Not a surprise. The entire village knew a fight over Reeva trying to be more involved with her nephew’s life was coming. With Violet hot on my heels, I entered the Bean Grinder to find Reeva sitting in one of the comfy overstuffed leather chairs in the corner by the fireplace. A fire crackled happily in the hearth while Reeva attempted to ignore Flavia, who was hurling insults like only a sister could.
Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 1
