Why were they watching him? What happened?
I let Meeka out and jumped in the shower . . . and thought of Tripp being in here last night. A simultaneously pleasant and frustrating image. Once dressed, I dropped some kibble in Meeka’s dish, left the door open for her, and crossed the yard to the house to get some breakfast. I found Tripp in the kitchen and immediately pictured him naked in my shower.
Stop it. You need to be professional now.
“Are you making breakfast sandwiches?” My voice caught as I reached for a travel mug in the cupboard.
Tripp placed a neat disk of scrambled eggs on top of a biscuit along with a thick slice of ham and a square of cheese. “We’re getting closer to Pine Time’s opening. I figured I should start coming up with more breakfast options. I want to create a signature dish for us, but at the same time, we don’t want to have the same thing every day.”
“This is the right morning for a portable breakfast. I just got a call from Jola over at the health center. I need to run over there.”
“Problem?”
“I’m not sure. She says it isn’t an emergency, but she needs my help. Speaking of my help, do I need to be here at all today for the septic system work?”
“Nope, I’ve got it. If anything, other than what they already told us about, comes up I’ll call the station.”
He handed me a ham, egg, and cheese biscuit along with a cluster of green grapes tucked into a parchment paper sleeve.
I inspected his package. The package. Seriously, Jayne. Get a grip. I inspected the breakfast bag and wondered if the day was already getting hot or if it was just me.
“This is kind of swanky. Are you planning to have these available for the guests?”
“That was my thought. People like to get up early and go hiking or fishing or just get on the road. Send them off with a nice to-go breakfast, a cup of coffee or tea, and a smile . . .”
“They’ll remember you forever. I knew you’d be good at this.” I held up my breakfast-in-a-bag in thanks. “Hope everything goes well today. For both of us. See you later.”
I stepped outside and whistled for Meeka. While I was ready to hit the road, she wasn’t. She’d finished her breakfast but hadn’t finished her morning routine of inspecting the yard for whatever might have invaded the perimeter last night. I took that time to sit on the patio below the sundeck by the boathouse and watch the early morning sun sparkling off the small ripples on the lake. At that moment, I was grateful that Meeka was so particular about her schedule. Tripp had been right the other morning, it was nice to take in a few minutes of quiet and a little nature before starting the day. A line of heavy dark clouds was just starting to roll in on the horizon. Looked like we’d finally get some rain today.
It was also good to have a few minutes of quiet to think about my life. To take inventory, so to speak. Something I hadn’t done in a while. My professional life seemed to be back on track, which was great, but my personal life was still a mess. I liked Tripp, a lot, and he gave every indication of wanting to be with me. My inability to take a chance with him was making me crazy. He couldn’t be happy about it either. It was time I got out of my own way. Tonight. We’d talk tonight.
~~~
I parked the Cherokee in my spot behind the station, and we headed straight over to the healing center. The slightly crooked cottage echoed the others around the pentacle garden. Where each of the commons area buildings were surrounded with a riot of colors from overflowing flower beds, here the landscaping was natural, with weeds scattered among a few purposely placed plants, but still tidy and aesthetically pleasing.
Beneath nearly every pine tree was a small wooden meditation platform, most sized to fit one person but a few could fit two. Bamboo wind chimes hung from low hanging branches while small trickling water fountains created a peaceful atmosphere. Or so they claimed. Listening to trickling water just made me need to go to the bathroom.
Inside, wood accents, a big stone fireplace, and overstuffed leather furniture created a welcoming, rustic, log cabin feel.
“Jayne.” Jola appeared from down a hallway across from the door. “You’re here. Good.”
“What’s going on? Is Angel all right?”
She held her hands up in a not-sure shrug. “First, I should state that he asked me to call you and has given me permission to talk with you.”
“Why me?”
“You took the time to talk with him. He trusts you.”
“And all his friends left, making me the only one in the village he knows even a little bit?”
“Could be. Look, I’m worried about his mental state. You know he’s suffering from some pretty severe guilt. He feels like it’s his fault that his friend died.”
“That’s exactly why I suggested he come here.”
“He thinks that the man pushed himself when they were swimming that morning because he, Angel, was giving him a hard time.”
“Right. What is it that you want me to do?”
“A friend is coming to pick him up, but she’s coming from Kenosha which is a good six hours from here. We don’t really have a secure room for him to wait in.”
She let me connect the dots.
“You want me to put him in a cell? Do you think he’s going to hurt himself?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to take the chance. Guilt is a powerful emotion, Sheriff. When it’s severe like this, you can’t predict what the sufferer will do to either themself or someone else.”
“Going off the legal definition now, do you think he did something? As in, do you think he was in any way responsible for Barry’s death?”
If Dr. Bundy’s findings were accurate, and I had no reason to doubt them, there was nothing Angel could have done to cause this. The cop in me, however, couldn’t stop wondering about other possibilities.
“No, but he feels like it was his fault.”
Well, he made it this far because of my suggestion. I sure wasn’t going to abandon him now.
“All right. Hand him over, and I’ll keep an eye on him.”
When Angel appeared from one of the rooms down the hall, he looked sleep deprived. His hair was greasy, his beard thick, his eyes dark and heavy. Had he looked like that yesterday? Fortunately, he made it here in time.
“You’ll come quietly, right? I don’t need to slap the cuffs on you, do I?” I kept my voice light, trying to ease some of the heavy tension hovering around him like a storm cloud.
He gave a weak smile. “No cuffs.”
During my drive to the station, a gentle misty rain had started. While I was inside the healing center, it had turned into a downpour. Jola lent me an oversized umbrella that I promised to return.
As Angel and I walked along the Fairy Path toward the station, he said, “You were right about Jola. You probably can’t tell by looking at me, but I’m doing a little better. Thanks for suggesting her.”
I echoed Dr. Bundy’s words to me. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Angel. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know that here”—he tapped his head with a thick finger and then his chest over his heart—“but not here, yet. I’m so damn competitive. I couldn’t beat him in his finance world, so I figured I’d bring him into mine.”
“You’re the stronger athlete?”
“For sure. I mean, that’s what I do. It wasn’t a fair race, I knew that. Barry kept in shape, but he rode a desk chair all day.” He looked off into the woods and shook his head. “In college, he was as competitive as I am. That worked for us. At first, it was just fun stuff, but it turned ridiculous. It got to where our mutual friends chose sides.” He shook his head again. “So stupid. You know what I mean?”
Schoolyard squabbles that turn friends into enemies. For me, that was Melanie Coulter, my elementary school best friend. At least she was until I got picked to be pitcher for the kickball competition between the two fifth grade rooms, and she was sent to the outfield. Afterward, not only did she refuse to speak to
me, she spread the lie that I kissed Bobby Jenkins, our class captain, and let him touch my butt to get the pitcher position. Fortunately, there was only a week left of the school year to suffer the humiliation, but during that week Melanie stole half my friends and they treated me like a tramp. Then on the last day of school, Bobby Jenkins cracked from the teasing and redeemed my reputation by telling everyone loud and proud that he’d rather touch a steaming pile of poo than my butt. To this day, there are former classmates living in Madison who call me Janie-poo.
“I understand exactly.”
A quick sob escaped Angel. “What if this was my fault? I kept pushing and pushing . . . What if he died because he was determined to beat me?”
“Look, I understand why you’re feeling the way you are, but you’ve got to let it go. You can ask yourself ‘what if’ for the rest of your life and never know the truth. Barry died due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, not because you pushed him to race.”
Angel stared, devoid of expression, down the path. “I pushed him. Now he’s dead.”
He really was in this deep. “I agree with Jola, you need to talk with someone or this guilt will destroy you.”
A few yards later, we were on the covered front porch of the station. Meeka shook, spraying water droplets everywhere as I opened the door. Inside, we found a sopping wet deputy Reed and a familiar-looking man sitting in one of the jail cells.
“Why do I know him?” I asked. “And why are you all wet?”
“Downpour started when I was on the way back with this guy. Didn’t have my rain jacket. He was in earlier for the fight over the canoe.”
“Oh, yes.” I led Angel to the other empty cell and asked him, “Do you need anything? Water?”
“I’m good.” Angel sunk down and seemed to melt into the cot. “I just want to sleep.”
Two seconds later, he was out.
“What did he do?” Reed asked.
“Basically, we’re doing a psych hold.” I filled him in on the details. “What’s going on with our repeater?”
“He ran into the same guy he got into the fight with before. Apparently, the other guy was looking at this one’s girlfriend. Laurel called my walkie because no one was here yet and you weren’t answering yours.”
Reed gave me a pointed look.
Oops. “Sorry. Forgot mine at home. And yes, I see the irony.”
“Anyway,” Reed continued, “she said the two were getting into it in the middle of The Inn’s restaurant. Food went flying, Sylvie went flying.”
“Sylvie? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Ended up with oatmeal all over her uniform so had to go home and change. Other than a small bruise, that was the worst of it for her.”
I stood in front of the repeater’s cell. “I think it’s time for you to go back to your home.”
“Already goin’,” he growled.
“He and the girlfriend were staying at The Inn,” Reed explained. “Laurel gave her half an hour to pack up the room and get out.”
“Is she mad? The girlfriend.”
“Furious,” the guy in the cell called. “We were here for her birthday.”
“And you get to ride home with her?” I asked.
He nodded like he’d just received a ten-years-to-life sentence. “All the way to Chicago.”
I put a hand over my mouth to disguise a smile. “That’s a good eight hours. Trapped in a car with a ticked-off girlfriend. You better sit there and treat these next few minutes like a vacation, my friend.”
“Should we charge him with anything?” Reed asked.
“Nah. Laurel will bill him for damages. The girlfriend will take care of the rest.”
Reed’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You have an interesting way of executing justice.”
“Anytime we don’t have to be the bad guy, I’ll take it.”
Reed considered that and nodded. “Good plan.”
“I’ll be in my office if you need me for anything.”
Meeka, not happy that The Repeater was in her cell, preventing her from crawling beneath her preferred cot, sat outside the cell just out of arms reach and growled at him every time he moved.
“Is your dog gonna bite me?”
“Probably not,” I called from my desk. “I recommend not sticking your hands outside the cell, though. And don’t make her mad, she can squeeze between those bars.”
I replied to a few important emails and then dug out the journals from 1979.
Chapter 19
I saw nothing in the first weeks of the 1979 journal that would justify, to me, hiding the books. Then I came to mid-February and the entry Gran wrote after the monthly village council meeting.
It seems that this will be a year full of . . . excitement? Drama? Yes, drama is guaranteed, we do have a horde of teenagers living here, after all. Regarding one of those teenagers in particular, Velma dropped a bombshell on the council today. Turns out her daughter Priscilla is seven months pregnant. None of us suspected. The weather turned cold earlier than normal this year, so the girl has been able to disguise her condition by wearing baggy sweatshirts and heavy sweaters. They decided now was the time to let us know. They haven’t, however, told us who the father is. I’m not sure if they’re hiding this fact or if they don’t know. I sincerely hope it’s the former.
A scandal in the village. Oh my! I’m sure after twelve years there were plenty of other events of the scandalous variety that had happened around Whispering Pines, but nothing worthy of mention in Gran’s journal. And nothing between the children. For something to happen to one of the Original families made it all the more gossip-worthy, I’m sure.
A commotion in the main room caught my attention, so I went out to investigate and found that the repeater’s girlfriend had arrived. He’d been spot on; she was furious. She ranted and raged about how long they’d been planning the weekend and how much money they spent on it. Wisely, he said nothing. Then she’d say, “Come on, let’s go,” but would take two steps then turn and chew him out for a few more minutes. After this happened the third time, Reed stepped in.
“Go, both of you. No one pressed charges, so you’re free to leave. Don’t do anything stupid and turn this into a legal matter.” He guided them to the door. “Or if you do, wait until you’re way out of Whispering Pines’ jurisdiction.”
As the couple left, we could hear her yelling all the way around the building and to the parking lot. We stared at each other, burst out laughing, and then Reed said, “That wore me out. I’m going to go get lunch and patrol the commons.”
Before I could say a word, he was out the door.
Angel Delgado had his back turned to the chaos and continued to sleep. Meeka crawled under her cot the moment the repeater was out of the cell and was now also sleeping. I returned to 1979.
Turned out I was wrong about the “scandal” of pregnancy being an issue in this village. The villagers, the Wiccans in particular, didn’t have the same taboos around sex that the rest of society did. While everyone agreed it would have been better that Priscilla wait until she was at least out of high school to have a baby, no one chastised her. They did harass her about revealing who the father was, but the bigger problem that arose in the village had nothing to do with her.
Dillon tells me that Flavia has started experimenting with dark magic again. Or rather, negative magic. Dulcie doesn’t like me to call it dark. Whatever the term, Flavia has been trying to manipulate events again. Her latest obsession are her school grades. Reeva is not only the top of her grade, she’s the top of the school and always has been. That’s what Flavia is after, top ranking. The problem is, Flavia isn’t trying to help herself do better, she’s trying to make Reeva fail.
Sisterly rivalry. I could identify with that only too well. It wasn’t that I wanted to be like or be better than Rosalyn, it was that my mother wanted me to be more like her. Guess that wouldn’t be sisterly rivalry, then. It would be a child not living up to her parent’s expectations. I di
dn’t realize that was my responsibility.
Dillon reports that a rift has formed among the members of The Pack. Dillon, Briar, Sugar, Laurel, Rae, and Gabe are on one side. Flavia, Priscilla, Horace, Karl, and ten-year-old Honey whom, Dillon reports, has a crush on Horace are on the other. Reeva has not chosen a side. In fact, Dillon says it’s been weeks since she hung out with the group.
What could have caused this fracture? I wonder if it’s Flavia’s continuing fascination with darker spells. Dillon says her determination to outdo her sister is growing, although nothing she has tried is having an effect. Instead, it seems to be coming back on Flavia herself. Her grades have fallen instead of rising. It seems that Flavia will need to learn the lesson of negative intent the hard way before she’ll stop.
This had to be the do no harm rule of Wicca Morgan had told me about. She said that “The magic a witch performs comes back to her or him. If I were to perform negative magic, I would attract negativity and become negative myself.”
In other words, it was a karma thing. Forty years later, Flavia still hadn’t learned. She was still driven to control circumstances and be queen of the village. She’d be working through a backlog of bad karma until the end of her days.
A few entries later, Gran revealed that Flavia might be trying to manipulate more than just Reeva’s schoolwork.
Dillon feels that Priscilla is staying close to Flavia because Flavia protects her. From what, I don’t know. The fact that she won’t reveal the father’s name isn’t that big an issue. As for why Karl and Horace have taken Flavia’s side in this rift? Dillon thinks she offered them sex. I wish I could say this comment surprised me, but it doesn’t. Oksana and Juergen have been trying to get her on a straighter path, but so far nothing has worked.
“Hey. What are you doing in there?”
Voices from the main room pulled me from The Pack’s problems. I left my office and found Lori standing near Angel’s cell, talking with him.
Original Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 3 Page 15
