Wayward Secrets, page 6
“I remember. For now, I’m at the campground again.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I asked for the spot where Yasmine had pitched her tent. It’s sort of a reminder to keep myself on track.”
“I get it, but for the record, Yasmine never went off track. All she wanted was to reunite with her birth parents. Her demise was on them, not her.”
Keiko covered her heart with her hands. “That’s so tragic.”
It was. Poor Yasmine never stood a chance. Not with such a controlling mother and spineless father.
“I’ll let you get back to Morgan.” She gave a little finger wave at them. “You’ll open the door for me?”
“I promise.” I turned and turned back. “Keiko, I’m glad you pulled yourself together. Good luck.”
A happy ending. Or maybe this was a happy new beginning.
Chapter Seven
What if staying in Whispering Pines was your worst decision ever?
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding, my breathing shallow.
Dammit. Why? What was the message I clearly wasn’t understanding?
It might not be a message, Jayne in my head suggested. Maybe it’s some sort of subconscious fear worming its way to the surface.
That’s not helping, I thought back at her.
At least Tripp had already headed downstairs to prepare breakfast for our guests. He told me yesterday he was concerned about me. As I figured, that meant his weekend psychologist-self wanted to analyze me and dig into my problem. He’d insist I tell him about my dream, or whatever it was. I couldn’t tell him this, though. If he thought I had second thoughts about the village, the B&B, or him, he’d be devastated.
Maybe it’s a warning.
That would be about right for here. Things had been going so well recently. Morgan and River had handfasted. River saved the village from sliding into a corporation’s control. The twins were born. Rosalyn graduated, found a job she could do online, and moved in with us. No one had been murdered since poor Maewyn Barnes in March. We’d made it almost two full months.
That photographer died. And Reeva almost did.
I threw back the covers, stormed over to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. “The photographer fell out of a tree. Very sad, but purely an accident. And Reeva didn’t die. That’s a good thing.”
You didn’t do anything to Flavia for trying to kill her. You barely even gave her a warning. And you wonder why the Big Bad is waking you up?
Whose voice was this one? Mine? Sheriff Jayne’s? Rosalyn’s? The Big Bad itself?
I shoved the bathroom door shut, stepped into the shower, and yelped. I hadn’t given the water anywhere near enough time to warm up. This day was not starting out well.
Fifteen minutes later, after I’d warmed up and got dressed, I made it downstairs with enough time to have breakfast with Tripp.
“Omelets?” I stared at the ham, cheese, and veggie-stuffed beauty he set before me. “Are you going to make individual omelets for the guests?”
“No,” he admitted, and sat next to me at the kitchen bar. “They’ll get to choose between frittatas—veggie and goat cheese or Denver with ham, peppers, and cheddar. Similar to omelets but not so labor intensive.”
“Smart,” I praised and shoveled a forkful into my mouth. There were also orange sections on my plate. “You spoil me. I never ate this well before you came into my life.”
“It’s in my best interest for you to eat healthy. I want you to be around for a long time. If that means I’m the one to put a good meal in front of you a couple times a day, I have no issue with that.”
I gave him a look that said, quit being sappy.
“Seriously, babe”—he took a lemon-blueberry muffin from the tin, unwrapped it, and set it on my plate—“you know I love to cook. I’d be doing this whether you ate it or not.”
He was meant to run a B&B.
“Any plans for today?” I asked. “After breakfast is done, I mean.”
Tripp decided he’d let Rosalyn, Arden, and Holly help with anything but the cooking. Breakfast and the wine and cheese gatherings were his. He loved interacting with our guests.
“You inspired me to go for a hike,” he announced.
“Really?”
He ate better than I did, but I got more exercise. Somewhere between the two of us was the right mix.
“Thought I’d visit that graveyard. I want to thank your grandparents for creating the village and for having your dad so he could have you.” He winked at me, sending a little thrill through me like every time he did that. “Does Meeka have to go to work with you this morning? If not, I’ll take her with me and drop her at the station later.”
“Sheriff O’Shea?” A voice I couldn’t quite place echoed between the walkie-talkie at my waist and the one sitting on the counter in the corner.
I pulled the unit off my belt and pressed the talk button. “Sheriff O’Shea here.”
“Sheriff, this is Janessa. We’ve got an issue up here. Can you come?”
The circus was a well-run, self-sufficient community within Whispering Pines. They took care of most problems by themselves and with great efficiency, only calling us when a legal issue arose, so this was concerning.
Why hadn’t she called Reed? The circus was his baby. And what could possibly be going on up there that they needed our help? And so early in the day. I knew better than to ask. There were too many villagers tuned in on their personal walkie-talkies. That was great when I needed to issue village-wide announcements, but not so great when we were trying to keep things quiet.
“I’ll be right there.” I looked down at Meeka and thought of how she teased the tigers last time we were up there. “You can take her hiking. She does more playing with the animals than investigating when we go up there.” I bent down and gave her a scratch on the head. “Not a lot of help.”
She sneezed and then leaned against my leg for more scratching.
I took two minutes to finish my omelet while Tripp loaded my orange slices and muffin into a parchment sack along with a compostable napkin. We were trying to get Pine Time as green as possible.
“Have a good hike,” I told him.
“We will. You be safe.”
“Always.” I kissed him goodbye. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
Chapter Eight
Tendrils of smoke were rising from the treetops just as I made the turn to the circus’s front gate.
“Fires at the circus?” I asked Meeka before remembering she was spending the morning with Tripp.
I flashed back a few weeks to the teenage firebug, Lane Cordick, who’d terrified the entire village by setting fires in random locations. He’d destroyed a picnic table at the campground, Reeva’s soap shack, and a meditation swing at Unity. And started a fairy chair at the Beltane celebration on fire, but we caught that before it was a total loss.
Cordick wasn’t back, was he? Deputy Atkins from county assured me this kid would be locked up tight while getting counseling for his arson habit. Not that I didn’t trust Atkins, but Donovan had escaped while in his custody.
At the front gate, I leapt out of the Tahoe and ran to the ticket booth where Colette, a seven-foot-tall redhead, was waiting for me.
“They’re breaking out all over the circus grounds,” she reported when I got close. “Janessa just told me she finally got in touch with Deputy Reed. He’s on his way.”
Finally? What was going on with him? “Is anyone hurt?”
“No,” she assured, shaking her head, “everyone’s fine and there’s no major damage so far.”
Two checks in the positive column. “Show me where the fires are.”
Colette pointed. “I need to stay here and keep tourists out for now. Some of the crew is putting signs along the highway and walking path. We’ll have to wait to open until tomorrow. Creed is somewhere between here and the big top if you want to find them. There was a fire near the horse barn and another by the animal enclosures north of the midway. The rest have been in random spots along the midway. You can’t miss them.”
“How many fires are we talking about?”
“At least six so far. The carnies are searching for more.”
As I made my way slowly up the wide red brick paved midway, an echo to the path surrounding the pentacle garden, I scanned for any signs of smoke or flames. Carnies scurried about doing the same thing. Smoke from one tent caught my attention, but I quickly realized it was the dining tent, and the smoke was coming from the grill. From the way chairs were pushed away from tables, some tipped over, it looked like a call for help had gone out, and everyone sprang to action.
A woman was there, righting the fallen chairs. I gave her a wave as I passed.
“Everyone just got up and left,” she called to me and seemed a little in shock. “I don’t know what to do with their food.”
I veered over to her and discovered the tables covered in paper plates with the remains of uneaten breakfast and cups still filled with beverages. I didn’t recognize the woman. She must be new here.
“I hate to throw it all out. Some of them only took a bite or two.” She indicated a box of foil sheets under her arm. “Should I cover them?”
“How long have they been gone?”
“Ten minutes.” She considered that. “Maybe a little longer.”
Everything would be cold, and most of it already looked unpalatable. “I know it’s a waste, but you wouldn’t want anyone to get sick from food that has gone bad.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I’ll toss it all out.”
A few dozen feet up the midway on the left, a small food cart serving giant pretzels had suffered some damage.
“Is it bad?” I asked the man there. He wore clown pants, a tank undershirt, and had painted most of his face with clown white.
“Not too bad. I stepped into my tent over there to start on my makeup.” He flung a hand at the tree line about twenty yards west. The large, heavy canvas tents that served as the carnies’ homes during the season were scattered throughout the woods over there. “I forgot to turn on the steamer so came back and found the flames just starting to singe the paint on the cart. There’s a hose I use to fill the steamer reservoir over there.” He pointed to his left instead of behind him. “Used that to put it out.”
I noted a blackened and bubbled paint in a V shape on the side of the cart starting at the bottom edge. The flames must have been spreading as they worked their way up. It was great that the man had acted quickly and dowsed the fire, but he’d also washed away any evidence of what had started it.
“How long were you away?” I asked him.
“Six, seven minutes.” He tilted his chin up, revealing skin not covered by the white makeup. “I was partway done with my neck when I remembered the steamer.”
“The fire didn’t damage the inside of the cart?”
“No. I’ll toss out the pretzels that were in there to be safe. Britta should be able to touch up the paint in no time.”
“Britta? Igor’s wife?” Not that there was anyone else named Britta here.
“Yes, ma’am. She’s real talented. You name it, she can paint it. Including carny faces. She helped me design my look and taught me how to apply the makeup.”
“Hold off on adding new pretzels. Colette said something about pushing opening day until tomorrow, which makes sense. Deputy Reed and I will be investigating for a while. And it sounds like there will be repairs to make other than to your cart.”
“Oh yes. Creed won’t let us open if anything is less than perfect.” He reached up to his face, his fingers prepared to squeeze his squeaky red rubber nose, or so it appeared, and then he remembered he hadn’t put on his nose yet. He gave a salute instead. “See ya later, Sheriff.”
I moved along, watching as carnies rushed about with buckets of either sand or water, searching for more fires. Some were frozen in place, seemingly in shock, like the woman at the dining tent. And a boy, approximately ten or eleven years old, who stood to the side and chewed his nails. I took a few steps toward him to see if he was okay, and he ran away.
A juggler who normally dressed as a jester sat slumped forward with his head in his hands next to what looked like a wooden steamer trunk. Or the charred remains of what used to be a trunk.
“Total loss?” I asked with compassion.
“All my props. Just got them and the trunk cleaned up and organized yesterday. I was ready to perform, so was helping with the tension on the high wire when the fire started.”
He pointed at the wire overhead. It started at the ticket booth and zigzagged from one tall pole to the next all the way to the big top tent. Up and down the midway, acrobats entertained attendees with their daring tricks.
“How long had you been away from your trunk?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Ten minutes? A little more? Someone called out that it was on fire and by the time I got here, the entire thing was engulfed. Dry old wood. Flammable coating. The only things to survive were these.”
As I watched, he tossed metal rings high in the air, sending smaller ones through bigger ones in a blur of hands and hoops.
“You can get more.” It was half question, half encouragement.
“Sure, I can. But the trunk and everything in it was my grandfather’s.”
That explained his reaction. Sentimental losses could hurt far worse than monetary ones.
“I’m sorry. Other than your trunk, I know of fires at the horse barn, animal enclosure, and pretzel cart. Do you know where any others were?”
“The merry-go-round,” he blurted. My question seemed to snap him back to the present danger. “I should be over there helping.”
He ran off, leaving me standing there with a knot in my gut. The double-decker carousel? Tripp and I had ridden the carousel the night of our first official date. I rode the zebra. He took the seahorse-dragon. It wasn’t just a ride, it was a work of art, glorious in its craftsmanship and detail. If the circus advertised, the merry-go-round would be the second image used to lure people here, right behind the red-and-white-striped big top tent. If the ride was destroyed, it would be an awful loss for the carnies.
“Can’t know if you don’t look.” I made my way up the midway, hugging the right-hand side, and as the carousel came into view, my pulse quickened. I didn’t see any damage. Yet.
“Thank the Goddess,” Creed told me when they saw me. “Not only that you’re here, of course, but because the only harm was to the electrical box.”
When it came to electricity, I knew that I liked it and not a lot more. Still, I stepped forward and inspected the blackened box. “Did the fire start inside?”
“Yes,” Creed replied, “but not from the wiring. The operators were doing a routine check and discovered a breaker that needed replacing. They went to get the new one—”
“And didn’t lock the panel cover,” I supplied.
“Right. I had words with them.”
“The fire was set intentionally. To your knowledge, were there any tourists or villagers on the grounds?”
“No,” Creed replied after a moment’s thought, “not to my knowledge. There aren’t that many of us here. One of us would have noticed someone who shouldn’t be here.”
“That means one of your carnies did this.”
Creed paled. “I can’t imagine that. We’re a family.” They held up a hand. “I know, families are far from perfect, but it’s more believable to me that we’ve got another fire bug wandering around.” They returned their attention to the electrical box. “We’ll need to replace the entire thing, but at least the carousel is unscathed. Take a look. It appears that someone purposely started a fire in it.”
I stepped closer and found a perfect circle of ashes inside the box. What would create that?
“Hey, boss.”
I looked over my shoulder at Reed standing behind me.
“What do you suppose would make this?” I pointed out the circle.
His face went neutral, and I could practically see the gears of his brain spinning. Having worked with Mr. Powell, the village’s handiest handyman, Reed knew quite a bit about home repairs and such. While he checked over the box, I noted that the same boy from earlier was chewing on his thumbnail while peering at us from behind the ostrich on the carousel.
“If I had to guess,” Reed began, “I’d say it was a paper cylinder of some kind.”
“A cylinder?”
He leaned closer. “Like a paper towel or toilet paper tube but larger in diameter. It probably held whatever fuel was used.”
“Sheriff O’Shea?” Violet’s voice echoed between my walkie-talkie and Reed’s, and my heart sank. Violet was the village go-to for anyone who needed to relay a message.
“Sheriff O’Shea here,” I reported into my unit. “What’s up, Violet?”
“Effie just called. I don’t know what’s going on, but they need you over at the Triangle.”
My heart rate sped up again. In the year I’d been here, there had never been a problem at the Fortune Tellers’ Triangle. “On my way.”
“Sorry to take so long getting here,” Reed apologized. “I followed your lead and went for a morning walk.”
“Both you and Tripp. Didn’t realize I was such a trendsetter.”
“Nice way to start the day, but I didn’t even think to take a talkie with me. I’ll make sure to from now on. Got back and found three voicemail messages from Janessa at my cottage.”
“Well, that’s why there are two of us,” I replied. “You can handle things on your own here?”
“On it. Check in at the station later?”
I nodded and stepped closer to him. “You might want to talk to the little boy hiding on the carousel. This is the second time I’ve seen him. He may know something. Call if you need my help.”
As I made my way back down the midway, I switched gears to the fortune tellers. The more I thought of them, the more concerned I became, and my pace quickened. Then I broke into a run.
Chapter Nine
