Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  I pointed at the little red Honda CRV parked in the driveway. “My sister’s speeding habit strikes again.”

  Chapter 4

  I pulled into my spot in front of the garage and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “They’re not supposed to be here for another thirty minutes.”

  “Maybe they just got here.” Tripp reached over and shoved the gearshift into park, then turned off the engine. “Either way, we should get in there.”

  “Yeah. Maybe they haven’t even taken their coats off yet.” I spun to look at him. “You left the back door open, didn’t you?”

  He smiled in response and went to retrieve Meeka from the cargo area. Once she was free, he opened the driver’s side door and peeled my hands off the wheel.

  “Come on.”

  “What if he hates what we did to the place?” I asked as I got out of the driver’s seat.

  “You told him what we were doing every step of the way. You sent him pictures. He said he was fine with it.”

  “Seeing something in person is different.”

  Meeka trotted over to her racetrack/trench. Instead of entering it as usual, she took a sharp left and climbed the pile of snow that had accumulated at the edge of the driveway.

  “Don’t you do it,” Tripp hollered in warning.

  She turned, her tail wagging at top speed, and then took a flying leap into the near two feet of soft snow covering the lawn.

  “Great.” Tripp handed me the package of meat pies. “Now I have to pull her out.”

  The little snow-colored dog’s head popped up, but Tripp was right about needing to rescue her. He had a hard time trekking through the knee-deep snow. There was no way she’d get through all that.

  “Why do you do this?” he grumbled. “You know you’ll get stuck.”

  “Jayne?”

  I looked toward the house to see Rosalyn standing on the back patio. When I waved, she ran over, greeted me with what was more a tackle than a hug, and nearly dropped us into the snow too.

  “He’s home,” she murmured into my neck. “Daddy’s really home. I can hardly believe it. I was pinching myself all the way here.” She stood back at arms’ length. “You don’t seem excited.”

  “No, I am.” I couldn’t explain exactly what I was feeling. My emotions were all over the place. Of course I was excited to see him. I was also a little nervous and unsure of what to expect after two years. So much had happened in that time.

  Tripp came up behind us, Meeka clutched tight against his side with one arm. He gave Rosalyn a hug with the other. “Good to see you. Let’s go inside. It’s too cold to stand out here.”

  I let them go in first, giving my pulse an extra few seconds to slow.

  “There you all are.” A voice as dusty as the sand he’d been digging in for the last two years came from somewhere in the great room. Rosalyn and Tripp stood next to each other, blocking my view. “I stepped into the bathroom, and Rozzie was gone when I came out. You must be Tripper Bennett. I’m Dillon O’Shea.”

  The slap of skin on skin told me they were shaking hands. “Nice to meet you, sir. And call me Tripp.”

  “How’s my granddog?”

  I couldn’t get a deep enough breath as I watched Meeka’s tail wag tentatively. I hadn’t adopted her from the police force yet when Dad was last home. They’d never had an in-person meeting, only heard voices and seen faces over video calls. The wagging of Meeka’s tail grew a little stronger as he ruffled her ears.

  Tripp stepped aside then, clearing my view, and all of a sudden, there was my dad. He wore olive-green cargo pants and a thick brown-plaid flannel shirt over a tan T-shirt. The beat-up hiking boots by the door must have been his. The intense desert sun had dried out his skin, turning it wrinkled and leathery and making him look far older than his fifty-seven years. During our calls, I’d seen that his hair held more silver than black now, but I’d only seen it from the front. I hadn’t realized he wore it long and pulled back in a ponytail.

  Just like Donovan, his son. My scummy half-brother.

  “There’s my girl.” He held his arms wide for a hug.

  Tripp or Rosalyn, I didn’t notice who, pulled the pack of hand pies out of my arms as Dad pulled me in close. He smelled of sand and sun and a hint of sunscreen. When Tripp hugged me, I felt safe, secure, and like all was right in my world. Being wrapped in my dad’s arms this way, I felt like a little girl again. Equally protected and like everything was okay, but in a very different way than with Tripp’s hugs.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I swallowed and tried again. “You trimmed your beard.”

  The last time we’d done a video chat, his silver-and-black beard was a good three inches long. Now, it was maybe a half-inch long and made him look like an ivy league college professor, distinguished and wise.

  He leaned back and stroked his chin. “I wanted to be more presentable for my girls.”

  I pulled into him again. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Sorry about that. Time got away from me.”

  I paused at the response. Two years away from his family got away from him?

  “How was your flight?”

  “Luxurious. I’m used to bouncing around in old open-air Jeeps and two-seater planes. Coming to see my girls is something I’ve been saving up a while for. I treated myself to business class.”

  “And then you had to get into my beat-up old car.” Rosalyn flushed a deep pink.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He swatted a hand at her. “I’d ride on the back of a donkey to get to my girls if necessary.”

  But you didn’t need to do that. You flew business class.

  Where had that thought come from? Was I judging my father?

  “Did you want to take the tour, Mr. O’Shea?” Tripp asked. “Jayne and I are anxious to show you what we’ve done to the place.”

  “Call me Dillon. Say Mr. O’Shea and I’ll be looking around for my father.” The dustiness in his voice grew thicker. “I’m pretty familiar with this house so wouldn’t say you need to tour me. I’m curious about the updates, though. I was looking around down here a bit while we waited for you.” He gestured at the bedroom on the far side of the kitchen. The one that his parents had stayed in while the rest of the house was being finished. “That room doesn’t look any different. The kitchen was nicely updated. New appliances?”

  “We resurfaced the kitchen cabinets rather than replacing them,” I explained. “The appliances are new, yes.”

  “I like the more modern furniture in the great room. My mother wasn’t much of a decorator.”

  Rosalyn linked an arm with his as we wandered around the main level.

  “You saw the pictures of the damage from the break-in, right?” I asked.

  “I did. Quite a mess. Did they ever catch who did it?”

  I shook my head, feeling guilty about not having closed that still-open case. In my gut, I knew Flavia Reed was behind it, but there was no proof. Not a single thing linked back to her or anyone else.

  In the dining room, the furniture had been repaired and refinished. In the sitting room to the left of the front door, the fabric on Gran’s beloved sofa from Ireland had to be replaced.

  “I like this fabric better,” Dad said of the new floral tapestry covering the sofa’s cushions. “Never cared for that blue stuff.”

  Had he always been this critical of his mother? “Really? I loved that old damask.”

  He shrugged. “To each their own.”

  At the top of the stairs, he bypassed his parents’ bedroom.

  “River Carr is renting that room from us on a monthly basis,” I explained, “but he won’t mind if you want to take a peek.”

  Dad shook his head. “Not necessary. I saw the pictures you sent.”

  Rosalyn and I exchanged a look as we continued down the hall. Both she and I had a hard time going into that room so understood his reluctance. It had been full of Gran’s clothes and other
personal items when I got here, and I had to sort through and box up all of it. Her things were gone now, but we left her furniture, so there was still a lot of Gran in there. I had saved it for last when I was going through the rooms. Rosalyn waited until it was almost time to leave when she was here in October before she could enter. Dad just needed more time.

  “Good that you got rid of the peach tile,” Dad noted when inspecting the bathroom shared by the Jack and Jill rooms.

  “Couldn’t get it out of here fast enough,” I agreed. “The day the last of that stuff ended up in the dumpster, we celebrated.”

  “I like the changes you made. I assume you put the same tile in all the bathrooms?”

  His compliment made my heart swell. “Pretty much. They all have different accent tiles.”

  “No need to show me every room, then. You were working on the attic last we talked. Did you finish it?”

  “We did. Do you want to see it?”

  “I do.” Rosalyn took Dad’s hand and half dragged him up the stairs.

  It wasn’t a huge space, but plenty big enough for Tripp and me. Especially since we really only slept and hung out there at night. In the summer, we’d be outside every chance we got, soaking in the lake-scented air and shush of the whispering trees.

  “The alcove is the perfect spot for your bed.” Dad nodded at the elevated platform along the right-hand side.

  The bathroom was straight across from the stairs. A small kitchenette took up the far left-hand corner, our living room the front left.

  “I love the wall and floor colors,” Rosalyn said of the dusty-blue walls and medium-brown hardwood on the floor. “Very soothing.”

  “Taking cues from nature tends to work.” I waved a hand at the row of four-foot by two-foot dormer windows that gave us a great view of the lake. “Blue sky and water go well with brown earth and tree trunks.”

  “Very impressive.” Dad yawned. “You and Tripp are good at this.”

  “Are you tired, Dad?” I asked.

  “Jet lag is catching up. A quick nap might be a good idea.”

  “I’ll go grab the bags,” Tripp offered, “and meet you at the rooms.”

  “I’m taking the one off the kitchen,” Rosalyn reminded, scampering after him. “I’ve been thinking about that room since I was here for Halloween.”

  “I’ll take that front corner room.” Dad pointed toward the one we called the Treehouse because the only thing occupants could see out the windows was pine trees.

  “I figured you’d want your old room. We updated the carpeting and bathroom and painted the walls. It’s still got your furniture, but we also added a bunk bed, so it sleeps four. It’s really popular with families. I left out a few of your things from when you were little. Remember your pyramid models on the bookshelf?”

  He’d started shaking his head before I finished talking. “I spend every day of my life around old things, Jayne. This isn’t my house anymore. No need to try and relive the past.”

  “But it is your house.”

  “Only in that I have to decide what to do with it.” He sighed, a sound that seemed to come from his toes. He amended his request. “You lived in the space over the boathouse for a while, right? Maybe I’ll stay there.”

  As far away from the memories as he could get?

  “We closed it up for the winter,” I explained. “No sense heating two buildings. And Tripp’s worried that the pipes might freeze because the floor isn’t very well insulated. We’ll take care of that in the spring.”

  “That corner room will be fine, then,” he said and started down the attic stairs.

  Tripp looked as confused as I felt when we met him in the hallway and Dad asked him to put his luggage in the Treehouse.

  “I understand if you don’t want to stay in your old room,” I began, even though I didn’t understand at all, “but there are some people from your past who are looking forward to getting together with you.”

  He turned, his eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  I smiled, anticipating some excitement from him finally. “Laurel, Reeva, Flavia, Honey, and Sugar.”

  My heart sank when he growled, “Reeva Long? I thought she left the village.”

  “She did for twenty years but came back in June, after Karl died, and decided to stay.”

  He nodded, surely contemplating all that her return must mean. “What about Briar? I thought you told me she’s still around. Also something about her having had a stroke?”

  “She’s still here. The only lingering results from the stroke are that she gets tired easily and then her words slur a little.” The woman had become like a surrogate mother to me over the past seven months. “You may not see her until the celebration tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I have to go to that too?”

  I couldn’t hold my frustration back any longer. “You don’t seem to care at all about the house. You’re not excited to see your old friends. You don’t want to go to the celebration. I don’t get it. Why are you here?”

  “To see my daughters,” he barked. “Nothing else matters.” He stared at his feet, getting control over his emotions. “But because it will probably make your life easier, I’ll do the other things expected of me. I don’t really care about any of it, though.”

  He was avoiding . . . everything. Why? I knew that the last time he saw Gran was at my grandfather’s funeral ten years ago. The service was held in Madison because Gramps had so many professional connections there. Dad and Gran argued about that, and she finally relented, deciding a ceremony there would be fine. She brought his remains back to Whispering Pines for burial and had a small service with the villagers afterward. Dad didn’t attend his father’s service here and barely acknowledged his mother’s death. Something else I couldn’t fathom.

  “They’d like to meet with you at Treat Me Sweetly,” I told him. “I didn’t give them an exact time.”

  He rubbed his hands over his face. “Give me an hour to rest up.”

  “You want to meet them today? I figured tomorrow before the celebration.”

  “No. Best to get it over with before the thing tomorrow.”

  The thing. Like he had no idea how important these gatherings were to the villagers. Did he really not remember? Or did he simply not care anymore?

  “Okay. You go rest. I’ll call everyone.”

  He took his bags from Tripp and thanked him for bringing them up.

  “I told you not to stress over the pyramids,” Tripp said, trying to lighten the tense situation.

  “Not funny.” I stood in the doorway of Dad’s old room, wondering why he’d choose a view of pine trees when he could be looking out at the lake. “I don’t get it. Of course, there seems to be a lot about my dad I don’t understand anymore.”

  Like how he could stay away from his family for two years and his friends for two decades.

  “He’s probably tired,” Tripp suggested. “Or overwhelmed. He spends most of his time digging up lost civilizations with a handful of other people. And doesn’t he live in a tent?” We stared at each other, neither of us knowing that answer. “My point being, he’s used to a simple life without a lot of people around. Not to mention, there’s a lot of expectation and emotion behind returning here.”

  Couldn’t disagree with that. But something told me there was more to Dad’s lack of excitement at being back in the village than jet lag.

  Chapter 5

  Tripp might have been right about his guess that Dad was tired. After an hour to himself in his room, my father was significantly cheerier.

  “Good comfortable mattress on that bed,” he noted when he found me in the kitchen.

  “Comfortable guests are happy guests. Must be good to sleep in an actual bed instead of a cot.”

  His brow creased with confusion. “What makes you think I sleep on a cot?”

  Suddenly feeling a little stupid, I replied, “Don’t you live in a tent?”

  He laughed a good long belly laugh at that. “My dear, we
do have a lot to catch up on. I have an actual house. It’s small but has four walls and a roof. Occasionally I stay in a tent, but my house is home base.”

  That should have been comforting. While Dad was anything but elderly, I didn’t like to think of him living like a nomad. Not when he had a beautiful home with Mom in Madison. And he always had this house in Whispering Pines as well. Knowing he had a settled life I knew very little about on the other side of the world, with possessions I’d never seen and friends I’d never met, made me feel like we were afterthoughts in his otherwise full life. Or the second family he came to visit out of obligation rather than desire. When had my father become such a stranger to me?

  I held up my mug to him. “I’m making hot cocoa. Would you like some?”

  “That sounds good. I’m not used to this kind of damp, cold weather. Not sure I’ll warm up before I leave again.”

  I paused, the scoopful of cocoa mix hovering over the mug. “How long are you staying? Business is a little slow right now, so we’ve got rooms available for as long as you want.”

  Did that sound desperate? I hadn’t wanted to come across that way, but I was pretty sure I did.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Dad said noncommittally. “I’ll be in the States for a while, not sure how long exactly. I have some business to take care of in Madison on Wednesday, so I’ll need to leave Tuesday. The University also emailed me about doing a lecture or two.”

  Today was Thursday, Tuesday Christmas day. That meant he wasn’t even staying a week and he wouldn’t actually be here for Christmas.

  Don’t act like a child, Logical Jayne scolded. He’s here now.

  She was right. Enjoy the now. Maybe he’d come back here again before returning to the desert.

  “We’ve got guests checking in at three.” I put the mug in front of him. “I told Sugar we’d be to Treat Me Sweetly around four. Does that work?”

  Dad wrapped his hands around the mug. I couldn’t help but notice the dirt permanently embedded in the creases. He carried a bit of his other life with him everywhere. Did he carry anything of us with him over there? He took a sip and sighed. “Good stuff. I haven’t had a cup of cocoa in years.”