Whispering Pines Mysteries Box Set 3

by Shawn McGuire

  “How do you know he’s in there?” Reed huddled in the passenger’s seat of my Cherokee, trying to stay warm.

  I turned the heater up a notch. “Remember when I came out here last month? I told you it felt like someone was watching me from the highest tower window?”

  “You think it was him?” Reed’s eyes bulged.

  “I was positive I saw someone in that window. Meeka sensed something too. I thought it was Blue because of the flash of white, but Donovan has white hair.”

  “Okay, not sure that’s enough to justify a search of the building.”

  “When I was here that day, Agnes told me a parishioner was inside the un-church and that he or she was her project. When I saw her at the Midwinter Celebration the other night, she said the parishioner was still there and she was still working on her project.”

  “How do you know the person is Donovan?”

  “Gut instinct. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s him.”

  “What if Agnes won’t let us in? It is a church, after all. Can’t he claim sanctuary?”

  “It’s not a legally recognized church. I was doing a little research one day, trying to figure out where the place was. This was before I realized she lived across the forest from you. Agnes Plunkett never declared her un-church to be a religious organization with the government. If the government doesn’t recognize it as such, neither do we. He can’t claim sanctuary. That doesn’t mean we can search without her permission, but I’m prepared to get a warrant if necessary.”

  We chatted while we waited, fine tuning our plan. Then, right on schedule, Atkins and his crew showed up.

  “What do you want us to do, Sheriff?” Atkins asked.

  “I want your team to secure the perimeter. Page is slippery. I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak out a window while we’re inside. Once your team is in place, you, Reed, Meeka, and I will go in and search.” I gazed fondly down at my K-9. “We’ve been working on new skills. I hide things in the house, and she searches for them. I’ve got two of the harlequin dolls for her to get Page’s scent off of.”

  In less than five minutes, Atkins’ team, dressed in head-to-toe white, gave him the signal that they were ready. Atkins hopped in the backseat of my SUV, and I started down the drive.

  Chapter 29

  The outside of the un-church reminded me of a carnival fun house. It looked like pine trees of varying diameters had been cut into long two-inch-thick planks and slapped into place against the house. The varying widths resulted in a wavy effect that made the structure look like it was leaning even though it was plumb and square. Furthering the illusion was that instead of being one cohesive structure, it was a collection of individual boxes joined together. If I had to guess, I’d say Sister Agnes hadn’t followed a blueprint and added a new room onto a side when she had time or the supplies.

  I knocked on the front door and waited thirty seconds for an answer, then knocked again. Finally the door opened and a woman in a full nun’s habit was standing before us.

  “Well, Sheriff O’Shea.” Sister Agnes took in Meeka, Reed, and Atkins behind me. “And Deputies. Blessed be. How can I help you?”

  “Can we come in, Agnes?” I asked. “We’ve got something to speak with you about.”

  “Oh.” She shuddered playfully. “Sounds serious. Please do come in.”

  She opened the door wide, and for a split second, I felt like we shouldn’t cross the threshold. Like if we did, we’d never be able to leave again. Meeka, however, trotted right in. Following her lead was always a safe bet, so in we went.

  “Can I offer you something to drink? Hot tea? Mulled wine?”

  “No, thank you.” The tea seemed innocent enough, but wine was a strange thing to offer officers on duty. “I’ll get right to it, Agnes. We think that Donovan Page may be staying here with you. Is he?”

  “Finally.” She clasped her hands and looked skyward with a radiant smile. “You finally figured out the right question. Good job, Sheriff O’Shea.”

  Not the response I expected. But this was Sister Agnes. For months, she had been accusing me of struggling with a question. Since I had no idea what she’d meant, I thought she was trying to recruit me into her un-church. Apparently, the “right question” had to do with Donovan.

  “Are you going to answer me?” I pushed after a few seconds.

  She released her hands suddenly, dropping them limply to her sides, and stared at me. Her dark side, almost an alternate personality that switched on without notice and totally freaked me out, seemed to be hovering behind her still-glowing face. “What was the question?”

  Clearly having less patience with the un-nun than me, Reed asked with a snarl, “Has Donovan Page been staying here, and is he here now?”

  “Yes, he has been,” Sister Agnes replied, mimicking his impatience, “and yes, he is.”

  Behind me, Deputy Atkins sucked in a little breath. Finally, after months of searching for the man who eluded law enforcement officers from here to Mackinac Island, Michigan, to International Falls, Minnesota, and through Canada, we had him. My heart raced, and it took all my control to not throw my arms in the air in victory. She said he was here, but we didn’t have him in custody yet.

  “We’d like to speak with him, please.” My heart pounded so loudly I wasn’t sure I’d hear her response.

  “Oh,” Agnes’ brow furrowed, “I don’t know where he is.”

  I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. “What do you mean you don’t know where he is? You said he’s here.”

  “He is.” Agnes lifted her arms and spun in a slow circle. “This is quite a confusing building. Just when you think you know where something is, it’s not there. Same is true with people. You’ll need to look for him.”

  “Do we have your permission to do that, ma’am?” Atkins asked.

  “So polite.” Agnes gave him a flirty smile. “And quite handsome. Yes, you may look around.”

  We split up but stayed within talking distance of each other. I held open one of the harlequin boxes for Meeka to sniff and she was off.

  As crazy as the exterior of this place was, the interior was equally bizarre. It was quite gothic with wood-paneled walls stained a brown so dark they were almost black. The floor was also wood, a herringbone pattern of three-inch by ten-inch strips stained a lighter medium brown. The foyer, where Agnes had greeted us, was circular, about twenty feet in diameter and twelve feet tall with a dark-paneled ceiling that made it feel shorter than it really was.

  Other rooms were significantly smaller, only about eight feet tall, and gave a claustrophobic vibe. There was only an occasional threadbare rug on the floor and minimal wood furniture, which meant the place echoed a lot. Instead of gothic-style chandeliers like I’d expect in a place like this, it was lit with dim bulbs from floor lamps tucked into corners. Every aspect of the place was dark and there were plenty of shadows for someone of even Donovan’s size to hide in.

  To the left of the entryway, we came to the tower which was where I’d seen Donovan in an upper window the last time I was here. I stood in the doorway—Hovering in doorways will lead to being stuck.—and found there wasn’t much to see. The tower was tall, nearly three standard stories, and was made of stacked, randomly shaped stones. An intricately carved circular staircase hugged the wall all the way to the peaked top. Windows were scattered irregularly and let in very little sunlight, making it almost impossible to tell if someone was on the staircase.

  “Want me to go up?” Reed looked at me for the go-ahead. Before I could answer, he started climbing, weapon drawn, finger near the trigger should he need to fire. I held my breath until he got to the top and called, “All clear.”

  The three of us methodically cleared all the rooms on the first floor, including a living room with a massive stone fireplace, a humble no-frills kitchen, and a dining room with a table and twelve chairs with carved legs that resembled the staircase balusters.

  Agnes’ bedroom was tucked at the farthest end of the main f
loor. It held a twin-size bed, a three-drawer dresser, and a three-foot-long wood writing desk with a straight-back wood chair. A rocking chair with an afghan folded neatly and draped over the back sat in the corner.

  “Is there a basement or lower level?” Atkins wanted to know.

  “Oh, no.” Agnes practically batted her eyelashes at the deputy. “I made this place by hand. I’d still be digging if I included a basement.”

  Atkins’ eyebrows arched. If she really had built this place by herself, I was impressed too.

  “You did all of this on your own?” I clarified.

  “The main structure, yes,” Agnes insisted. “I had a little help from some friends when it came to erecting the walls. A parishioner did all the carving in payment for staying here.”

  I looked at Reed. “How long has she been here?”

  He shook his head. “Five years? Eight? She must be paying rent for the land. The village council should have a record.”

  The carved main stairway stood directly across from the front door.

  “Remember that old television show?” Atkins asked us. “The Munsters?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Reed replied.

  I nodded, waiting for the stairs to lift and a fire breathing dragon to appear. “Let’s go up.”

  At the top, we found a crooked hallway with corners every eight feet or so. This was where the hobbled together boxes building style was most apparent. She must’ve done the main floor first and tacked on the rest. It was still cohesive, with the walls all paneled in the same dark brown, but the sheer number of corners made my heart rate speed up. I knew as I walked down that hallway, Donovan or someone would pop out and scare the crap out of me.

  I tried to get Meeka to go first, but she looked up at me like I was crazy.

  “Your job is to find this person.” I held the open doll box out to her again and then pointed down the hallway. “Working.”

  The Westie dropped her head and sighed, then trotted ahead, bravely searching around every bend in the wall. Each of the six rooms on the second floor was a bedroom that echoed Agnes’ in simplicity. No closets. No decorations. Not even any curtains covering the windows.

  “Sheriff?” Reed called from one of the bedrooms. “You may want to take a look in here.”

  Meeka and I rushed to the room at the farthest end of the hallway. There, the dresser was filled with clothes.

  “Silky fabrics,” I noted, not touching any of the items. “Bold colors. Harlequin diamond prints. Gee, I wonder who these belong to.”

  Reed snapped a few photos of each drawer. More concerning than the contents of the dresser was the collection of paints, brushes, and fabric swatches in the desk’s drawers.

  “Supplies for painting and dressing the dolls.” Atkins stood tall and inhaled sharply. “All right, where is he?”

  With the second floor clear, and no signs of the man himself, we crept back down the stairs to the entryway. As we stood there and discussed our options, something caught Meeka’s attention. She sniffed from the left side of the stairway to the right, backtracked to the center, and then continued to her right. She rounded the corner and took a great deal of interest in the area where the stairway butted against a coat closet. After another few seconds of sniffing, she gave a single bark and sat. Her signal that she’d found something.

  “You checked here earlier,” I told her. “Why didn’t you get anything then?”

  She wagged her tail happily, proud of herself for completing her assigned task. I praised her and gave her a biscuit from the bag Violet had given us on Thursday. I’d put the bag in my coat pocket and had forgotten to take it out.

  While Meeka sat by the front door, snacking on her biscuit, Atkins and Reed searched the closet and found only wire hangers on the bar and a single cardigan sweater. They pressed along the wall concealing the underside of the stairway looking for a hidden door. Nothing.

  Reed stood back, thinking. “Hang on.” He handed the camera to me and retrieved his flashlight from a pocket. Slowly, methodically, he inspected the interior of the closet. After checking the walls, he shined the light on the floor and froze. He looked over his shoulder at me and grinned. He then turned to Agnes who’d been following us from room to room.

  “What’s the all-clear signal?”

  She smiled as though anticipating his question. “Three short knocks, pause, one knock, pause, two knocks.”

  Atkins and I looked at each other, confused, as Reed rapped that combination on the floor. When nothing happened, I asked, “Reed, what are—”

  “Priest hole,” he said before I could finish my question. “In the sixteenth century, a bunch of stuff happened and it basically became illegal to be Catholic in England. That didn’t stop people from following their beliefs, though. Priest hunters were sent out to find the guilty vicars, so families built these tiny places called priest holes for the men to hide in while the home was being raided.”

  I nodded my approval. “I’m impressed, Deputy.”

  “Nice twist, hey?” He pushed his shoulders back. “Usually you’re the bearer of trivia.”

  Atkins stepped forward to get a closer look at the floor. “How do you know about these holes?”

  “My mother built one. Since the village has a definite old England feel, she thought being true to history would be quaint. Hers is also beneath the floor. It’s significantly larger than the tiny holes from the past, and she uses it as her altar room.” Reed stomped hard on the floor with his heavy boot and hollered, “Donovan Page, come out now.”

  All three of us drew our weapons, and a few seconds later, a section of the floor in the closet started to rise. After five months of frustrated searching, Donovan Page was suddenly right there in front of us.

  Chapter 30

  While Reed and Atkins brought Donovan to the station for processing, I chatted with Sister Agnes. As Reed suspected, she claimed she was offering him sanctuary.

  “The question you need to ask,” she said, “is why he chose me. I allowed him to stay because he was a soul in need and wanted my help. I don’t know how he ended up on my doorstep, however.”

  “Fair enough. You know that he was in trouble with the law, though, right?”

  “I heard that, yes. But he asked for sanctuary, and it was my duty to give it to him.”

  No matter how many times and ways I explained that her un-church wasn’t a legally recognized religious entity, she insisted it was. She couldn’t comprehend the accusation that she had been harboring a fugitive and not “helping a soul in need.” At least, she seemed to not comprehend. Agnes was good at playing ditzy when it suited her.

  The decision on how to deal with this warred inside me. In the end, I trusted my gut.

  “Listen to me, Agnes.” She stood directly in front of me, eyes locked on mine, hands clasped in front of her at her abdomen. “Donovan Page is a very dangerous person. He’s threatened people’s lives and has been running from the police for five months. I don’t know if you were in danger, but you very well could have been.”

  She shook her head. “Donovan wouldn’t have hurt me.”

  Again, she seemed to believe this with every ounce of her being.

  “I hope you’re right. That still doesn’t excuse the fact that you broke the law. You knew we’d been looking for him.” At her confused expression, I gave up. “I’m going to let it go this time, but I want to make something very clear to you. Are you listening?”

  This time, the alternate personality didn’t hover in the background. She changed before my eyes. Gone was the beatific un-nun, here to serve the greater good. Now, I was looking at a person I could only describe as diabolic. Her smile sent chills up my spine, and her voice lowered and took on a hiss. “I’m listening, Sheriff.”

  I swallowed, grateful that Meeka was at my side, as Sheriff Jayne whispered in my head. Get it together. You’re in charge here.

  “I won’t let you get away with something like this again,” I
insisted as she stood there blinking at me. “It’s allowable for you to let those in need of spiritual guidance stay with you. That’s not what you did with Donovan. I’m not going to press charges or even fine you this time. But let me be perfectly clear on this.” She rearranged her face into an angelic mask with a demon hiding behind it. I suddenly had the overwhelming desire to bathe in holy water. “Harboring a fugitive is a federal offense. If you do it again or break any other law, for that matter, I will charge you without thinking twice.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up as her eyes remained cold, dark, and almost lifeless. “I understand, Sheriff. If there’s nothing else, you should probably get over to the station now.”

  She was taunting me. Trying to make me think he’d get away again. There was no way that would happen. Reed and Atkins had cuffed and shackled him. There were six officers between three cars, two with Donovan in the back of the van Atkins was driving. Donovan Page wasn’t going anywhere except to prison.

  Still, I blew out a relieved breath when I entered my station to find him in the interview room, Atkins with him, Reed in the doorway, and the other four officers in the main room standing at the ready. No one was letting their guard down this time. Donovan wouldn’t be left alone until he was securely behind bars. And even then, they’d probably post a guard near him at all times. A camera with a live feed to the guards’ station at minimum.

  After taking off my coat and preparing a large cup of coffee, I entered the interview room and took a seat across from Donovan. I never kept a table between myself and my suspects like other officers tended to do. First, I’d seen suspects ram freestanding tables into unprepared officers. Second, tables tended to act as security blankets. I didn’t want my suspects to have anything to hide behind. This time, however, instead of sitting only a few inches away—getting in their personal space made them uncomfortable—I had Donovan positioned on the far side of the windowless room. I sat across from him with the door to my right and Deputy Atkins to my left.