Family Secrets

by Shawn McGuire

  I froze. “What are those, sir?”

  “Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.”

  “There were a lot of years between Dulcie’s death and Briar’s stroke six months ago.” I couldn’t take my eyes off those capsules. “Did something significant happen six months ago, Sheriff?”

  “I’m not a strong person, Jayne.” He looked straight into my eyes, his own heavy with grief. “Dig into this, not that you’ll be able to stop yourself. The proof is out there; I just could never build a strong enough case. Be careful. Let Morgan and Briar protect you.”

  These sounded a little too much like last words.

  “Sheriff, please. Give me those pills.” I stepped closer to him, my hand outstretched.

  “Most in the coven are good. You’ll need to be wary of a few.” He shook the pills in his palm as though preparing to take them. “If anyone can catch her, you can.”

  I dropped my phone and lurched forward, desperate to strip the capsules from him, but I was a heartbeat too late. He popped the pills in his mouth and bit down.

  With his hands covering his face he mumbled, “I’m so sorry, Yasmine. I wish I could’ve been a real father for you.” He looked at me. “Tell Reeva I’ve never stopped loving her.”

  Then he clutched at his chest and fell to the ground.

  Chapter 36

  I dropped to Sheriff Brighton’s side and felt for a pulse. It was there but faint. The distinct aroma of almonds wafted from him. The capsules must have contained cyanide.

  The man and woman were, thankfully, still at their post along the path.

  “Is he okay now?” the woman asked as I ran up to them.

  “No, he just collapsed,” I said. “I don’t want to leave him and there’s no cell service here. Would you hurry to the village and call for help? Go to Ye Olde Bean Grinder, the coffee shop. Violet will help you. Ask her to contact the state police.”

  I did my best to make this sound urgent, but the sheriff was gone the second the cyanide hit his system. There was nothing that would have saved him out there in the middle of the woods, an hour away from serious medical care. The couple agreed and took off right away.

  I returned to his side, thoughts of what I could have done differently swirling in my mind. I’d been standing right at his side. I should have taken the vial the second he pulled it from his pocket. A man was dead, ultimately because I couldn’t keep my nose out of things.

  That might not be the truth, though. Yasmine’s death had been eating him up, I could see that. Uncovering her murder had been the right thing for Yasmine and the village . . . and myself.

  Sitting on one of the nearby benches, I couldn’t help but notice the position of the sheriff’s body. On his side, one hand to his chest, his skin cherry-pink. Just like the harlequin.

  Donovan was off my list again. Sheriff Brighton had committed suicide in front of me; Donovan had nothing to do with it. Still, these visions he claimed to have, his ability to foretell a person’s death, didn’t sit well with me. Whispering Pines was a great tourist destination. I’m sure that for many years it was even a great place to live. No, it was still a great place to live, but like anywhere it had a dark underbelly. Donovan, Flavia, and who knew how many others were a part of that darkness.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” I asked . . . no one. Guess I was talking to the trees surrounding the meditation circle. “There’s some cleaning up to do in this village, isn’t there?”

  An hour later, the state police arrived. Dr. Bundy and an ambulance shortly after that. The ME pronounced Sheriff Brighton dead and took his body away after the police had collected all that they needed from the scene. I led one of the officers to the sheriff’s station where I gave him a full statement. Then I played the recordings of Martin Reed’s statement and Karl Brighton’s confession.

  “Good work, Ms. O’Shea,” the officer said. “Not many would think to record the conversations. Everything else looks clean. You’ll be in Whispering Pines for a while?”

  I didn’t have the deputy assignment taking up my time now, so I could get started on packing up the house. Still, “I’ll be here for at least a month. Maybe longer. Not sure yet.”

  He took down my contact information and promised that since Whispering Pines no longer had a sheriff or deputy on duty, he and his fellow officers would wander through to check on us until someone was hired.

  ~~~

  Tripp and I sat on the sundeck, sipping beer and munching takeout from the Grapes, Grains, and Grub Pub. Well, Tripp munched. I didn’t have much of an appetite. Meeka lay next to me on the lounge chair. I rested a hand on her chest, letting her steady breathing soothe me as I told Tripp what had happened with Martin Reed and the sheriff.

  “Wasn’t that kind of dangerous for you?” he asked while investigating a chicken wing for more meat.

  “I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but in the realm of dangerous situations, this was maybe a three. The sheriff wasn’t going to hurt me.”

  Tripp frowned and slowly grew angry. I tensed, preparing for the kind of lecture Jonah used to give me about finding a safer job.

  “Why . . .” he began and paused. “How could he leave his wife and daughter that way?”

  Once again, the abandoned twelve-year-old was before me.

  “As an officer of the law,” I said, “Karl Brighton swore to protect and serve. I think that meant more to him than I gave him credit for. Something bad is going on around here, has been for a while. I think he knew Reeva and Yasmine were safe, probably safer in Milwaukee than here, so he chose to stay and protect the villagers from Flavia.”

  At least I assumed he meant Flavia. Even at the end, he wouldn’t implicate her.

  “Maybe he saw his family more than we think,” Tripp said, his expression hopeful. “Maybe he visited them on holidays or went to see Yasmine in school plays?”

  “Maybe.” My heart ached for Tripp. “You really want to find out what happened to your mom, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you ever think about looking for your dad? I mean, you moved a lot, right? Maybe he’s been looking for you.”

  “I agree that someone needs to protect the village.” Tripp slumped into his chair, ignoring my comment about his dad. “Something feels . . . off around here.”

  He was right about that, and it wasn’t just the people. The lake had turned a deep, moody blue and the trees swayed slowly, as though trying to soothe themselves. I understood now why Gran said the lake had a personality. The trees did, too.

  “It’s probably because in the last week two people died by unnatural causes,” I said.

  Of course, after talking with the sheriff at the Meditation Circle, death by unnatural causes might be more common around here than the good villagers of Whispering Pines realized.

  Headlights appeared from around the curve of the driveway, and Morgan’s little black Fiat pulled up between the Cherokee and Tripp’s old red Ford. She must’ve seen the fire burning in the pit on the sundeck because she headed straight for us.

  “What’s she doing here?” Tripp asked.

  “No clue.” I’d stopped by her shop after the state police left to tell her about the sheriff. Even though I was fine, she insisted on consecrating me with gardenia oil, claiming it would not only protect but bring me peace and harmony. It smelled pretty. That made me feel peaceful.

  “I just came from a council gathering,” Morgan announced when she was halfway up the stairs.

  “I thought you did rituals at midnight,” I said.

  She shook back her long raven-black hair, her earrings jangling. “Not a coven gathering. This was an emergency council meeting. We had something urgent to discuss and vote on.”

  I shifted positions, Meeka, limp like a ragdoll, moved along with me. She hadn’t left my side since Sheriff Brighton dropped to the ground. She was used to finding cadavers, not watching people become them.

  “What thing?” I asked.

  “With the
passing of Karl Brighton,” Morgan began, “there are only twelve on the council. We need an odd number and would like you to join us.”

  “Me?” I asked. “There must be a better option, someone who’s more familiar with the village and the locals.”

  “That’s exactly why we want you,” Morgan said. “We feel that someone with fresh ideas, who isn’t so ingrained with the inner-workings of the village, would be the best fit for Whispering Pines’ future. You haven’t been here in more than fifteen years, yet look how much you care about what happens here.”

  “She’s just nosey,” Tripp teased.

  “That’s true,” Morgan agreed and grinned. “Seriously, you and I both know that there have been some negative things going on. The villagers feel that energy, too, and they don’t like it.”

  “I feel it,” Tripp scooted to the edge of his chair. “There’s been a strange vibe.”

  “When do you think it started,” Morgan asked.

  He considered the question but not for long. “When Yasmine came to town.”

  Morgan nodded and looked at me. “If you hadn’t been here to figure this out, who knows what else would be brewing right now. The council needs you, and I want you there.”

  She didn’t need to work so hard to convince me. I tended to screw things up, but it seemed like this time my choices worked out well.

  “Just curious,” I said, “was the vote unanimous?”

  Morgan shook her head. “You know there are some here who aren’t in favor of your presence. If it helps, some members whom you haven’t even met voted yes immediately. The fortune tellers, Cybil and Effie, as well as Creed and Janessa, two of the carnies.”

  I hadn’t met any of the circus people, yet. A lot had happened this week, but there was a lot more about Whispering Pines I didn’t know.

  “Something else you’ll enjoy,” Morgan said. “The vote was in your favor even though Flavia got two votes.”

  “Why did she get two?” Tripp asked.

  “The council has thirteen members,” she said, “both for wide representation of villager interests and to insure there is never a tie. Years ago, Flavia decided someone should hold special privilege in case of special circumstances.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “She said she should hold that privilege? Being that she thinks she’s mayor and all.”

  “She what?” Tripp asked.

  “Tell you later,” I said.

  “We never thought the day would come.” Morgan shook her head and then flashed a dazzling grin at me. “Well? What do you think?”

  Tripp gave me a wink and a nod.

  “Okay,” I said, “you’ve got a new council member.”

  Morgan placed her palms together and clapped her fingers, then leaned down to give me a hug. When she pulled back, she asked, “You’re still wearing the amulet and talisman, right?”

  My smile faltered. “I am.”

  She nodded. “Keep them on.”

  I watched as the taillights of the Fiat disappeared down the driveway, wondering what I had just agreed to.

  “Village council, hey?” Tripp said. “That’s kinda cool.”

  “I guess.” Sheriff Brighton’s and Sugar’s warning about digging too deep sounded in my ears. “Hope it’s the right decision.”

  “Stop doubting yourself.” He got quiet and stared into the fire as he finished his plastic cup of potato salad.

  “What are you so deep in thought about?”

  He hesitated before admitting, “Turning the house into a bed-and-breakfast. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about it because it’s none of my business, but you know how perfect it would be. Seven bedrooms, room for eighteen. It’s perfect for couples or small families. We could also rent out the whole place to larger groups.”

  “We?” I laughed. “Maybe you forgot, but I don’t know anything about running a B&B. I could probably handle making reservations. I could clean the rooms and bathrooms. I could—”

  “Hire me,” Tripp said. “You could hire me, and I’ll take care of everything.”

  His request took me by surprise, and I responded with my best Southern belle, “Why, Mr. Bennett, is that a proposal?”

  Instantly, he flushed bright red. Was Tripp Bennett actually embarrassed? I hadn’t seen him unsure of a single thing in the past week. He really was serious about this.

  “No one else here will give me a job.” He jumped to his feet and paced around the sundeck. “I’m a really organized person; I know I can run a B&B. I can repair just about anything. I can cook.”

  “You can definitely cook,” I agreed.

  “I was thinking,” he continued as though it was a done deal, “I could turn the attic into living quarters for me. Or I’ll stay in my popup. That’s fine, too.”

  “You clearly haven’t experienced a northern Wisconsin winter yet.”

  “The attic it is, then.”

  “Tripp—”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve crossed way over the line.”

  I stood, placed a hand on each of his arms, and guided him to a chair. “Sit. Stay.”

  Meeka lifted her head and dropped it again when she realized I wasn’t talking to her. I went inside and came back out with the landline phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Tripp asked, confused.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said into the phone.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “It’s something with the house, isn’t it?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, but I am calling about the house.” I spent the next five minutes proposing the possibility of turning Gran’s house into a B&B while also trying to ignore the fact that Tripp’s gaze was locked on me.

  “No,” she said.

  “Will you at least think about it?” She had given me five minutes. If she really hated the idea she would have said no four minutes and forty-five seconds ago.

  “You know your father wants to be done with that house and that town.”

  “Neither of you would have to come here,” I reiterated, for the third time. I looked at Tripp and winked. “The guy I hired to do repairs is really interested in running it.”

  “And you’ll do what?” Mom asked. “Float around on the lake all day like a lady of leisure?”

  “Of course not.” I’d momentarily forgotten that I didn’t have a job. I’d let Yasmine Long’s murder occupy so much of my time, it had felt like I was still working. “How about I put some numbers together on what we could get in a sale versus how much we could get by renting the place out? If I do that, will you talk to Dad and give it serious consideration? Because I’m seriously proposing this.”

  She hummed for a few seconds and then blew out a deep exhale. “Fine. Put your numbers together. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  I hung up and Tripp jumped to his feet.

  “What did she say?”

  “She agreed to talk to Dad if the numbers look good. That’s all I can do for now.”

  He pulled me into a hug then released me and stepped back.

  “Sorry. I just . . . I really don’t want to leave here.”

  “I know.” I glanced out at the lake, dead calm after the day’s earlier rain. “I’m starting to think I’d like to stay here, too.”

  “Or you,” he blurted.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to leave you either.”

  I prayed I was misinterpreting that statement. I had enjoyed every moment with him over the last week, but I couldn’t handle anything more than friendship right now. The pain of Jonah was still too fresh, my life a little too unsteady.

  “I don’t want you to leave either.” I agreed and then pointedly added, “Good friends are hard to find.”

  He held my gaze for a little too long then nodded. “Yes, they are.”

  “I’ll start putting together that plan for a B&B tomorrow. I’m going to need really good numbers if I have any shot at convincing my parents.”

  “You say ‘I’ like you’re in this alone.” Tripp handed me my be
er. “I intend to be right here with you every step of the way.”

  One week ago, I drove into Whispering Pines with the goal of relaxing and trying to figure out how to get my life back on track. A week later, I hadn’t done either of those things. I was still here, though, and would be for a while, so I still had time. For the first time in quite a while, I felt a thrill of excitement for my life and my future.

  KEPT SECRETS

  A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 2

  Tucked next to a pristine lake, the part-Medieval Europe, part-Renaissance Faire hamlet of Whispering Pines, Wisconsin is a utopia . . . except for the recent murders.

  One month after arriving in the Northwoods, former detective Jayne O’Shea has settled comfortably into small town life and is making good progress with her task of getting her grandparents’ house ready for sale. Then the shocking death of one of the carnies rocks the community, and the villagers look to Jayne for help, placing her in an impossible middle ground of not wanting to get involved and needing to ensure justice is served.

  When a second carney turns up dead, and the newly hired sheriff—more concerned with ticketing tourists than catching the killer—dismisses the death as an accident, Jayne has no choice but to step in. Can she uncover the truth before the murderer strikes again?

  Chapter 1

  As the mid-June sky turned from dusk to dark, I smiled, amused by the nine-foot-tall clown wandering from pine tree to pine tree, switching on the solar lanterns that hung from random limbs. A dude on stilts; that answered my question as to how they powered up the lanterns. Some that automatically turned on as the light started to fade would be more practical, but this was far more entertaining.

  For nearly a month I’d heard about the Whispering Pines circus. Today, I finally got to experience it for myself, alongside my friend Tripp Bennett.

  “Do you want to ride the carousel next,” Tripp asked, “or get caramel corn?”

  This carousel was the most amazing I’d ever seen. The double-decker beauty had two rows of animals on the bottom, one on top. Like nearly any other merry-go-round there were horses, but this one also had rabbits, reindeer, camels, lions, cats, giraffes, frogs, and goats. For those who couldn’t climb up on an animal, there was a swan-shaped bench and a submarine that looked like it had come straight out of a Dr. Seuss undersea fantasy.