The only room we hadn’t done anything to on the first floor was my grandfather’s den at the front right corner. We’d re-stain the floor in there along with the rest, but that room would be the bed-and-breakfast office so there was no rush. Maybe we’d leave it in its original state. It made me feel like Gramps was there with me when I sat at his beautiful roll top desk. I liked that.
The last room Tripp had to finish on the main level was a nice size bedroom next to the kitchen. Also nice was the fact we didn’t have to do anything to the bathroom in there. Every other bathroom in the house needed refurbishing.
“If they would’ve used the same tile they used in here upstairs,” I said of the simple, classic white tiles, “we’d be almost ready to open.”
“Possibly. You’ll be happy to know that all of the dreaded peachy-pink tile upstairs is gone.”
“Oh my god, really?” I nearly choked on a baby carrot. “Show me.”
We left the only bedroom on the main floor, one we thought would be perfect for any visitors who couldn’t manage the stairs, and went to the second floor. By this time, Meeka had found us, raced ahead, and was sitting at the top of the stairs looking smug that she beat us.
To the right of the stairs was my grandmother’s bedroom suite.
“Where’s the bathtub?” I asked.
“We took it out,” Tripp explained. “I didn’t want anything to happen to it during renovation, and it was in the way. We put it in the garage and will reinstall it once everything else is done.”
I had mixed feelings about Gran’s prized antique clawfoot bathtub. While it was a beautiful piece that I knew she loved and used every single night before going to bed, it was where she had died five months earlier. The police report stated she had fallen, struck her head, and drowned when she fell into the already-filled tub. I could barely wait to get my hands on that autopsy report. I was sure someone had removed the original report from her file, which meant someone was hiding something. Hopefully Dr. Bundy could push that along for me.
Since Gran’s bedroom was the largest and grandest in the house, we were going to go above and beyond with the bathroom as well. Marble tiles would be installed on the floor and halfway up the wall. Mr. Powell, the owner of The Busted Knuckle, the village repair/maintenance/construction/you-name-it business, had shown up one day with a beautiful, petitely proportioned crystal chandelier that he thought would look perfect hanging over that tub. He was right. I could hardly wait to see it there. When done, this bathroom would rival even my mother’s day spa, Melt Your Cares, in Madison.
“It’s kind of a disaster in here.” I slid some tiny peach shards of tile aside with my foot. The walls were down to the studs in places, the floors bare, and dust was everywhere. “But it actually looks better than it did before you removed the tile.”
I grinned at Tripp and took another big bite of my sandwich.
“You really hated the peach, didn’t you?”
“I can’t even express how much.”
Walking down the hall, our footsteps echoed since they had also removed all the ancient carpeting and padding today. We paused at each of the other five bedrooms so I could see the destruction in each bathroom.
“You’re right,” I said. “You guys did get a lot done today.”
“Destruction is the easy part. And the fun part. Nothing like hitting stuff with a sledgehammer.”
“I’m glad you brought on Mr. Powell’s men to help. This would’ve taken you a year to complete by yourself.”
“Or more,” Tripp agreed. “Tomorrow, we’ll address any questionable plumbing or electrical issues, reinsulate, and then get it ready for the new tile.”
“I can hardly wait. What’s your best guess? When will we be ready to let in guests?”
“A few weeks if everything goes smoothly. We should pad that out and plan on at least a month and a half.”
That long? I was anxious to open. “The website is ready, with the exception of pictures. Once we have those, all I have to do is hit publish. I’ve also got flyers ready to hand out around the village and post on the village bulletin board. I also have ads ready to run on vacation rental websites.”
“Impressive. You’ve been busy, too.”
“And you thought all I did was sheriff stuff.” I stared down the hallway, pondering. “No reason we can’t start taking reservations, though, right? Six weeks?”
“These things never go the way you think they will. Might be best to wait a little while longer.”
I nodded, but felt like I should start planning. Having the grand opening in six weeks put us toward the end of the summer season. For most, that meant Labor Day weekend, but Whispering Pines followed a Wiccan calendar. “End of summer” here meant the autumnal equinox on or about September 22. If we opened in six weeks, we’d still have three or four weeks of prime tourist time left.
Done with the tour, Tripp was ready to head back downstairs, but I paused outside the door that led to the attic on the third floor. On normal nights, when I made it home in time to have dinner with Tripp, I spent time going through Gran’s things up there. Mostly, it was furniture and boxes of holiday decorations. Some of it we’d be able to use in the B&B, some of it could be taken to the resale shop near the pentacle garden, and the rest was getting deposited into the ever-present dumpster in front of the house.
“It’s late, Jayne. You can skip the attic for one night.”
He was right, I could. The thing was, I was hoping to come across something that could tell me about the history of Whispering Pines. A few of the villagers had told me that if I wanted to know the truth behind my grandmother’s death, I had to look back to the village’s inception. I was positive there were records of some kind somewhere in the house that would help me with that. It was almost becoming an obsession. So while the research wasn’t urgent, especially considering everything else we had going on, part of me was saying, but tonight could be the night everything starts falling together.
Tripp placed a hand on my lower back, sending shivers through my body, and steered me away from the attic door.
“Let’s go relax for a while,” he said. “We’ll sit by the fire until we’re ready for bed.”
“I’ve got paperwork to do,” I said with a groan. “I was too tired and hungry to do it at the station, so I brought the computer home to work on it here.”
“How about,” he suggested, still steering, “you work on that by the fire? I promise I won’t bother you.”
A yawn snuck up on me. “We can give that a try.”
I put my sandwich plate in the dishwasher and grabbed my beverage from the counter, topping it off with more lemonade. I grabbed the laptop from my apartment while Tripp re-started the fire in his portable fire pit. I got myself situated in the yard chair, opened the laptop, and immediately forgot what I was about to do.
“Jayne? Are you with me?”
I looked at him and blinked. “Hmm?”
He stood and took the computer from me. “We’re going to set this aside. You can work on it tomorrow. I’m pretty sure anything you typed up tonight would just get deleted in the morning anyway.”
He was right. Why was I pushing myself so hard?
I sank into the chair and took in the night noises—the water sloshing against the dock, the chirping of crickets, and the mournful cry of a wolf far in the distance. The wolf was probably one of the animals up at the Whispering Pines circus, but Meeka went on high alert for predators just in case. There was also the whispering of the trees. When the wind blew through the pines, the branches waved back and forth and rubbed together, making it sound like the trees were talking.
“What are they telling you?” Tripp asked. I had expected him to think I was nuts the first time I told him they spoke, but he said that he could hear it, too.
“Nothing tonight.”
“You’re more tired than you look. And you look exhausted. Why don’t you go to bed? Everything will be waiting for you in the morning.”<
br />
He stood, walked behind me, and put his hands on my shoulders. He squeezed my tight, sore neck muscles for a few minutes, relaxing me to the point that I almost fell asleep right there in the chair. I felt him kiss the top of my head, then he pulled me to my feet and walked me home.
“Good night, Jayne.” His voice held that husky, sexy quality that made me shiver again. Not for the first time, I thought about what it would be like if he were to just come inside with me, slip into my bed, and hold me all night. Then I gave myself a mental head slap, knowing darn well it wouldn’t stop at just holding.
“Good night, Tripp. Thanks for everything today.”
Less than a minute later, I was in bed, my body getting heavier by the moment but my mind thinking about the attic and Whispering Pines’ history. How had these two thousand acres gone from the three O’Sheas to hundreds of villagers? And what could have happened way back then that resulted in Gran’s death five months ago?
Chapter 6
My cell phone woke me to the sound of chirping songbirds at five o’clock the next morning. Not because I preferred to get up at this ungodly hour, or because I had to type up the paperwork for yesterday’s investigation, which I did, but because this morning was the regular bi-weekly village council meeting. I had completely forgotten. Tripp, however, knew my schedule better than I did and was waiting for me on the patio below the boathouse sundeck.
“You forgot, didn’t you? I knew you’d forget today.” He pointed at a steaming mug of coffee sitting on a table then to the chair next to him. “Sit a while before you go.”
All the attention he paid to me and my needs confused me at first. Now, I realized that Tripp wanted someone to take care of and to create the family life he never had as a kid. His mother left him with his aunt and uncle when he was thirteen years old, and he never saw her again. His aunt and uncle loved him dearly but living with them was unsettled and far from the hearth-and-home vision in his head. I think he was trying to create that vision with us.
Many women would consider this a blessing, and I was beyond grateful for every effort he made. Meeting me with coffee in the morning and having dinner ready for me almost every day was very sweet, but at times I felt almost smothered by the attention and could barely breathe. Maybe it was because here was another man trying to fit me into his version of home life. I needed to get past this. But what if this was all an act to hook me? Would this attention stick around, or would it disappear if I let a relationship happen?
Good lord. What was wrong with me?
“Strawberries and blackberries, too.” I snagged a couple berries from the bowl on the table. “Why are you up so early this morning?”
“I’ve been getting up this early for the last week or so. It’s a big relief to have the crew here to help with the renovations, but you know me; I’m not used to having people around all the time. So, I get up early, have some coffee, and spend a few minutes with the lake before they get here. You’d know this if you got up before seven-thirty.”
“Why should I do that? Nothing happens around the village until later in the afternoon, mid-morning at the earliest. Getting to the station by eight or eight-thirty is fine. Besides, if I got up that early, I’d interfere with your alone time.”
“I think I could handle being alone with you.”
There was that sexy, husky voice again. As usual, I stepped right into it.
I took a sip from my mug, let out a coffee sigh, and then popped another strawberry into my mouth. The morning was slightly overcast, but it didn’t look like it would rain. That was both a blessing and a curse. Tourists tended to stay inside when it rained, which meant the local businesses wouldn’t get as much traffic. However, the greenery around the village looked like it was struggling a bit.
“What’s on the docket for this morning’s meeting?” Tripp wanted to know.
Before I could respond, three pickup trucks loaded with ten crew members between them pulled up to the house.
Tripp’s shoulders dropped. “They’re over an hour early. I told them they didn’t have to be here until seven.”
“Pine time. You know folks here work on their own clocks.”
He stood, waved, and called out, “Go on in, I’ll be there in a minute.” Then to me, “I could handle fifteen minutes early. Not an hour and fifteen, though.”
Even this early in the morning, the guys were loud, cracking jokes and laughing. Since this was how they were every time I saw them, I had to assume this was how they were all day long.
“We’re used to it being quiet here,” I said. “It’ll be nice when this is done and it’s just us again.”
I did it again. Fortunately, he let the “us” comment slide this time.
“Once the work is done, the house will be full of visitors,” he reminded me. “Especially during the summer. There won’t be a lot of quiet here anymore.”
“The blessing and the curse of getting what you ask for.” I took another long sip of coffee. “Thank you for this and the berries. I hope you have another productive day.”
He held my gaze for a second, and I swear he was about to lean in and give me a goodbye kiss. At that moment, Meeka charged across the yard, breaking the spell with her intruder alert bark.
“You know who they are,” Tripp told her. “They help me here while you’re off being a K-9.”
It was funny how he had taken to talking to her the way I did.
Meeka looked up at Tripp, ran to the middle of the yard, and tilted her head as though trying to place the trucks. She gave another soft bark, one that sounded like right, and returned to patrolling the yard.
“Time to get to that meeting.” I swallowed the last of my coffee and handed him the mug. “I’ll do my best to be home in time for dinner tonight.”
“Then I’ll do my best to have something ready.”
I ran upstairs to get Meeka’s harness and leash, loaded my cargo pockets with the items I carried around with me all day, and shrugged into my Glock holster. When Meeka and I rounded the corner of the garage, we both paused, momentarily confused by the station’s van sitting there.
“We have to remember to pick up the kayak tonight.”
She sneezed in agreement.
Twenty minutes later, after dropping the van off at the station, Meeka and I were approaching The Inn. Effie and Cybil, fortune tellers and two of the thirteen council members, were just entering the building. Since no one else was outside, I assumed we were the last to arrive.
Echoing its exterior, the inside of The Inn had the appearance of being at least two hundred years old. The ceilings were short, the floors crooked, the atmosphere cozy and inviting. The lobby was empty except for an older couple sitting near the large stone fireplace reading a newspaper, probably waiting for the restaurant to open for breakfast, and the pock-faced young man behind the registration desk.
“Good morning, Emery. How are the plans coming along?”
He sat tall and proud. “I finally have enough to put a down payment on my land. I was worried someone would snatch it from me. Now I can start with the blueprints and putting together a supply list with Mr. Powell.”
“Congratulations. Where exactly are you planning to build this dream cottage?”
“About half a mile north and a little east of the Meditation Circle.” His grin was huge. “It’s got a little pond.”
I bit my lip as I crossed behind the registration desk to the doorway to the conference room. I didn’t want to tell him that the pond would probably turn into a mosquito pit in the summer. Which was likely why no one snatched his land. Maybe Morgan or one of the other green witches in town could come up with a mosquito solution for him.
“I’m happy for you, Emery. Keep up the hard work.” I slipped into the conference room, and as I figured, everyone else had arrived.
“Finally.” Flavia, the village’s self-appointed mayor, sniffed at me.
This was how she greeted me at every single meeting whether I was the l
ast to arrive or not. I responded with my own standard greeting of ignoring her.
“What kind of scones do we have today?” I asked Honey, co-owner of Treat Me Sweetly, as I peeked in the box on the chrome and glass conference table.
“The wild raspberries are perfect for picking right now,” she explained. “There are a ton of them, so we have raspberry-almond buttermilk today.”
My stomach rumbled, always a good sign. I chose a scone, filled a paper cup with the coffee Violet had brought over from Ye Olde Bean Grinder, and took my seat at the far end of the table across from Flavia.
“We have three items on the schedule for today.” Flavia turned her head slightly to the two people on my left. “Creed and Janessa—”
“Credence,” Janessa announced and tilted her head toward the woman sitting next to her.
The fact that Credence, the transgender ringmaster for the Whispering Pines circus, was with us today instead of Creed told me they had something emotional to talk about. Credence was more nurturing than Creed.
Annoyed with the correction, Flavia cleared her throat. “Janessa and Credence requested to speak with us. Second, Effie’s granddaughter, Jola, has officially started at the healing center and has some items regarding that to tell us about. Finally, Sheriff O’Shea will give us her blotter update of the last two weeks.” She held out a hand to Janessa and Credence. “You have the floor.”
Janessa, who suffered from a birth defect called phocomelia which meant her arms extended only six or eight inches from her shoulders, struggled slightly as she pushed away from the table to stand. I’d never seen her struggle with anything. What was going on?
“There’s no point dragging this out.” Janessa’s voice broke.
Credence took over for her. “Janessa would like to step down from the council.”
“Why?” Laurel, Maeve, and Morgan asked in unison.
Janessa cleared her throat. “Everything around here is growing. As more and more tourists come to visit us each season, the businesses are becoming busier. Litha and Lughnasad are almost blending right into Mabon.”
Original Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 3 Page 5
