I had never thought of my grandmother as a bury her head in the sand kind of woman. Learning of her judgment changed my view of her. I still loved her with all my heart, but she didn’t handle this right. She should have called the police.

  That’s not fair, Jayne in my head prodded, as she did every time I blamed Gran.

  She was right. It wasn’t fair. Gran thought she was protecting Rae. According to what Gran wrote in her journal, Effie, Rae’s mother, was nearly hysterical with fear that Rae would go to prison. Sending Rae away was Effie’s desperate attempt to save her daughter. Gran didn’t want Rae to be alone, however, so sent her then boyfriend, now ex-husband, Gabe, with her. One life ended, one life destroyed, another forever altered, and many others disrupted all because of Flavia’s selfishness. I had never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to punish Flavia for her actions.

  Rosalyn’s hand on my back startled me and made me jump. “Sorry. I’m going to visit Gran and Gramps now.”

  I gave Priscilla’s headstone a little pat and stood. “I’ll come with you.”

  We went to the mausoleum and stood before it like we were waiting to be invited in.

  “I’ve never been inside one of these things,” Roz whispered.

  “Neither have I. Ready?”

  She stepped up to the entrance, lifted the thick wrought-iron hook from the matching eye, and pushed the door open.

  We gasped, startled to find our grandparents staring at us from a gorgeous painting positioned directly across from the door. Gramps had died years before Gran did, but in that painting, his gray-blue eyes were clear, and he looked as happy and healthy as he did when we were young. Memories of our summer visits here flooded my mind. He took us boating or would stand between us and hold our hands as we jumped off the dock into the lake. Then we’d go into the village, where he would show off his granddaughters to everyone and get us ice cream cones from Treat Me Sweetly.

  “Wow,” Rosalyn whispered in a breathy voice, probably thinking of similar memories.

  The inside of the mausoleum was lined with gleaming off-white granite. Sitting below the painting were two rectangular pillars made of the same granite. The pillars were about four feet tall, two feet wide, and a foot and a half deep. Just large enough to encase urns. The pillar on my right had a plaque etched with Keven James O’Shea. The one on the left, Lucille Anne O’Shea.

  “Don’t think I ever knew their middle names,” Rosalyn commented.

  Willie must tend to the mausoleum as well because there were flowers in the vases sitting on top of both pillars. They were starting to wilt, so Rosalyn and I didn’t feel bad about removing them and putting our arrangements in their places.

  “Oh,” Rosalyn gasped, “that’s upsetting.”

  I turned left to see that the side wall held spots for the remains of six other family members. That wasn’t what had upset my sister, though. She pointed at plates affixed to two of those spots. Both had names and dates etched on them.

  “Who are Deirdre and Declan O’Shea?” She stepped closer and touched the dates. “Oh God, Jayne. They were babies.”

  “Both born after Dad. Both with a single date. For birth and death.” We stared at each other. “Gran and Gramps lost two babies.”

  Death had hovered near my grandparents since the start of their marriage. I knew that Gran’s mother had been hard on her. Maybe losing two children on top of an overbearing mother was too much for her. Another reason for her escape to the Northwoods. Except death followed her. Priscilla couldn’t have been the first villager to die here. Had she even been the first one murdered, or were there others hiding in Whispering Pines’ dark past? She hadn’t written about anything like that in her journals. Had she? Now I wanted to go back and re-read them.

  “Why didn’t Dad ever tell us?” Rosalyn asked.

  “According to the dates here, he would have only been four when the youngest, Declan, died. Maybe they never told him. I’m not sure he’s ever been here. To the mausoleum, I mean.” My heart clenched. “Poor Gran. All she wanted was to fill that house with a big family. I always wondered why Dad was an only child.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder who the remaining slots were meant for. Had she still been hopeful for more children? Or had she resigned these spots for family members that their only child would have one day?

  Rosalyn wiped tears from her eyes. “Yeah, I wish we knew what happened.”

  “Briar might know. Or Willie. He and Gran became close after Gramps died.” I stopped Rosalyn from making the accusation that was about to come out of her mouth. “I’m sure they were just friends. If there was more than that”—I shrugged—“good for her.”

  She blushed. “I guess.”

  After the shock of learning we had an aunt and uncle wore off, we sat on the marble bench placed along the right-hand side of the small building.

  “Jayne? Could I have a few minutes to myself?”

  I smiled. “You want to talk to Gran and Gramps alone?”

  “Do you mind? I’ll do the same for you.”

  I kissed her cheek. “Not at all. Take your time.”

  Although, I shouldn’t take too much time. It was only eight o’clock, and Martin Reed, my deputy, didn’t freak out unless it was eleven and I still hadn’t made it into the office. Today, I also needed to tour the setup in the village commons. Technically, this was my second opening day of the summer season in Whispering Pines. It was my first as sheriff, however, and we had a small ceremony planned for tomorrow night. I wanted to be sure everything was ready.

  With Meeka at my side, I wandered among the headstones. There were about a hundred of them, with lots of space between each. Not everyone who passed away here chose to stay in the village. Many had family elsewhere who wanted their loved ones to be with them. This meant we had plenty of space for those who wished to remain here. I did. I suspected Tripp and Rosalyn would too.

  Along with instructions for how to get here, Briar had explained that the Original families, those who moved here first, had a special section in the graveyard. A pentacle represented the five elements. The top point was spirit, left middle air, right middle water, lower left earth, and the lower right was fire. The Originals’ section was in the spirit point. This was where Priscilla and her mother Velma were buried. Sheriff Karl Brighton lay next to his parents, Kent and Yolanda. Horace Reed, Martin’s father, was with his fathers, Rupert and Gregor. There was a place saved for Martin, should he want it, with room for a future wife and children. Laurel had no kids or spouse but, according to the headstone awaiting a death date, would lie with her mother, Fern.

  Flowers in all colors and small shrubs were planted throughout the cemetery, but what had caught my eye now was a gorgeous lilac-colored wisteria that stood proudly by one grave.

  “Wisteria symbolizes longevity and immortality,” Morgan had told me one time when I asked about the beautiful flowers covering their small arbor out back.

  “What are the chances . . .” I murmured as I got close.

  Sitting at the base of the tree was an elegant black granite headstone etched with flowers and vines and in the center:

  Dulcie Barlow

  Making the gardens in Summerland more beautiful.

  There were no dates. Indicating that she had always been and always would be?

  I lowered to my knees and thought of how she was as responsible for this village as Gran had been. The two had been close friends fifty-some years ago. If Dulcie hadn’t agreed to move here, others wouldn’t have followed, and Whispering Pines wouldn’t exist.

  I placed my hands at the foot of her gravesite. “Thank you for being here for her and inspiring my grandmother in every aspect of her life. And thanks for bringing Briar into the world. She and your granddaughter saved my life.”

  That was a little dramatic, but only a little. I was in such a deep, dark place when I came here last year. My life had been a complete train wreck, and I’d had no idea how to get it back on track. Then came Tripp, Morgan, Briar, and others who had become like family to me. Now, my personal life was on the right track, but if I couldn’t take care of this Flavia problem, nothing would change for the villagers. They’d continue to live with the anxiety of wondering what she’d pull next. Not to mention the possibility of more murders. None of us could handle any more murders.

  “Thanks, Jayne.”

  For a split second, I thought Dulcie had spoken to me. Stranger things had happened here. I looked over my shoulder and saw Rosalyn standing a few feet away.

  “I said what I needed to say.” Her eyes were red. She’d been crying. “Oh, you found Dulcie. Get out of the way, sis. I’ve got some things to say to her too. If you’re done, that is.”

  While Roz dropped cross-legged to the ground, and Meeka wandered about, investigating . . . everything, I made my way back to the mausoleum and took a seat on the bench inside. Within seconds, I burst into tears. They were the stress-release kind, not tears of sorrow.

  “Sorry,” I apologized to my grandparents. “This has been an intense year, and I’m starting to think things will never be normal again.” I chuckled as I dried my tears. “Normal. Was this village ever normal?” I stared up at their picture, eyes darting between theirs. “Seriously, I’m asking. I know this isn’t how it was when Dulcie and Briar first came here, so at what point did the crazy take over?” I thought of what Gran had written in her journals. “Everything, for the most part, had been fine until Priscilla died. Right? Or was there something before that?”

  Oh, how I wished they could step out of that picture for just a few minutes.

  My gaze stayed on my grandfather’s face. “What do you think of what your two-thousand-acre haven has become, Gramps? I know you didn’t want Gran and Dad to be here alone, so were happy about Dulcie and Briar coming. Maybe you were okay with a few others. Laurel is a good person, so I assume Fern was too. But what about everyone else? And what about Gran’s decision regarding Rae, Gabe, and Flavia?”

  The wrong thing for the right reason, as I’d come to think of it. It’s amazing how that single event and her choice changed everything here in big ways and small. Did Gramps wish she had handled it differently? If he had been in the village to advise her at the time instead of away on business, what would have changed? How different would everything be now?

  I switched my focus. “Gran, you came to see me in my loft a few weeks ago. Maybe that was a dream, or maybe it was real. Either way, you told me there was one thing left on my to-do list. Restoring Whispering Pines to the safe place the two of you always intended it to be.” Gooseflesh covered my arms. I rubbed my hands over them. “I think it’s almost time to cross off that last item.”

  This wasn’t just about Flavia. It was also about relinquishing control.

  I stood from the bench and placed a hand on each of the pillars that held my grandparents’ remains. “You told me I was ready. Tripp, Rosalyn, River, and some of the others have convinced me I need to rally the troops this time. The other items on my list were just about me and my life, but this last thing affects . . . everyone. Peace for the villagers who are still here, and justice for you and the others who have passed. That’s what I was brought here to do, right? It’s what I’ve been preparing for. Right?” As though pumping myself up, I nodded my head over and over. “I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make the two of you proud.”

  I closed my eyes to get control over my rising emotions and heard what sounded like a woman’s voice calling out from far away, “Jayne.”

  My eyes snapped open, and I looked behind me, sure I’d see Rosalyn standing there. I rushed out the door and darted around the corner. She was clear over by the wall, her hand on a headstone like she was bestowing a blessing on the person resting there. She wasn’t even looking my way.

  I stepped back inside the mausoleum and looked up at Gran in the picture. “Was that you?”

  Again, from some faraway place, I swear I heard that same voice reply, “We’re already proud.”

  It had to be Gran. Who else could it be? Her message warmed a spot deep in my chest, like a little hug from the inside.

  This wasn’t the only message I’d been hearing lately, however. Every morning for the last seven straight days, a voice I couldn’t identify woke with a start to. I couldn’t even say if it had been a woman’s or a man’s voice. The message was upsetting and confusing, and now the same feeling of dread that made my stomach clench every morning flared up. A massive shiver wracked my body as I wondered for the umpteenth time what the message meant.

  What if staying in Whispering Pines was your worst decision ever?

  Chapter Three

  Rosalyn and I were quiet as we hiked out of the woods to her car waiting along the side of the road near the Meditation Circle. We were both deep in thought after the emotion of being with those who meant so much to us. I was also trying to figure out what the cryptic morning message was supposed to be telling me. Was it a warning of some kind? A suggestion? Some kind of practical joke from the great beyond?

  “It’s a nice cemetery,” Rosalyn murmured during the short drive back to Pine Time.

  “It is,” I agreed while staring out at the forest. “Willie does a great job there.”

  At the B&B, while Meeka patrolled the yard, the two of us took off in our own directions. Roz went to her first-floor bedroom to get some work done before helping Tripp with guests this afternoon. I found Tripp in the kitchen finalizing his list for this weekend’s breakfast menu. We’d have a full house starting tomorrow, and he wanted to have plenty of everything on hand.

  “Oh, hi,” he said in surprise as he stepped out of the pantry. “How was the hike? What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head and gave a little shrug. “We ended up at the graveyard.”

  He thought for a second. “Up near Willie’s place. Not good?”

  “It’s beautiful. So is the O’Shea mausoleum.” Then I told him about the markers for the babies. “And I talked to my grandparents. And Dulcie. It was all a bit overwhelming.”

  Would he believe me if I said I’d heard Gran’s voice? Did I really believe it? Speaking of voices, I hadn’t told him about my early-morning wakeups.

  He pulled me in for a hug. “I’m sorry. Especially about the babies. That’s rough.”

  “I’ll ask Dad about them sometime. I don’t know when the tomb was built, but they died before Gran and Gramps moved here.”

  “They must have wanted them close by.”

  I could see that. Much better than having them six hours away in Oconomowoc. Needing to change the subject, I glanced at his list on the counter and asked, “Are we ready for everyone?”

  “I am now. It’s good that I check this three times. One of our guests requested lactose-free milk. I forgot to put that on there. And I’m out of pecans. Can’t make sticky buns without pecans.”

  “You’re making sticky buns?” I rubbed my belly. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

  He closed his eyes and smiled as though savoring something delicious. “Yes. Say it again.”

  “I love you, Tripp Bennett.” Tipping my face up to him, I pooched my lips out for a kiss.

  While he finished in the kitchen, I let Meeka in through the patio doors and went upstairs to our attic apartment for a quick shower. Then I dressed in my uniform—a black T-shirt beneath a regulation black sheriff’s shirt, and tan cargo pants with plenty of pockets for all my tools. As I laced up my hiking shoes, I noticed my K-9’s tail wagging double time.

  “You’re excited to get back to work, too, aren’t you?”

  She pranced in place and gave a happy little ruff.

  Most police dogs were happiest when working. Meeka was, but with a twist. Of course. She loved to work but got bored easily. She liked diversity. Over the winter, Tripp and I did our best to keep her entertained, but it was a challenge at times. Tripp dug a maze through the snow in the side yard and hid her toys in it. That kept the kids of guests who stayed here busy as well. I hid things throughout the house and gave her the search command. We set up an obstacle course in the basement, but she quickly learned that she didn’t have to Army crawl through the tube to get the biscuit at the end. She could just run around it.

  “Ready to go, Deputy Meeka?”

  She didn’t even wait for me to give her the signal and instead raced down the stairs ahead of me. I found her at the front door.

  “We’re leaving,” I announced to Tripp.

  “I’ll follow you.” He handed me a full travel mug of coffee. “My list is absolutely—oranges.”

  I interpreted that to mean, “You forgot to put oranges on the list?”

  “Not a deal breaker. I’m going to leave a bowl of fruit on the sideboard, along with coffee, tea, and cookies, in the afternoons. Not everyone wants sugary treats.”

  “Blasphemy. I’ll never understand some people.”

  “You’ll be home for dinner.” It wasn’t a question. Not an order either. More of a strong wish.

  “Will there be sticky buns?” I folded my hands together, begging.

  “You’ll have to come see. You can have me as a consolation prize if there aren’t any.”

  “You’re never a consolation prize.” He kissed me deeply then, leaving me a little breathless. When he pulled away, I gasped, “I’ll be here. For dinner too.”

  He smiled, happy with himself, and flipped his keys around in his hand as he made his way to his rusty red F-350 pickup. When we got to the turnoff for me to enter the station parking lot, Tripp tapped his truck horn and gave a wave as he passed, continuing to Sundry. I chirped the siren at him.

  Inside the station, I found Reed setting a blanket and pillow at the foot of the cot bolted to the wall in one of our two holding cells.

 

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