Family Mysterious- Pinehurst Secret
If you enjoy little towns with eccentric inhabitants, slow-burn romances, and witchy conspiracies, this is the series for you.
Caroline, welcome to Pinehurst. A haven for people who don't fit in.
Former investigator Elsie Lakin returns to prepare her grandparents' lake property for sale, sixteen years after a family quarrel forced her from the quiet Northwoods community of Pinehurst, Caroline. When she arrives, she learns that the house has been damaged and that her dog has discovered a dead corpse in the backyard.
Elsie plans to remain out of it, but when it becomes clear that the sheriff isn't interested in looking into the death, Elsie can't help but get involved. Her list of suspects increases quicker than the plants in the pentacle garden at the commons. Is it the local Wiccan green witch with her poisonous plant stash? The shopkeeper who enters trances and predicts death? Is the visitor determined to use black magic?
Elsie is confident that the closer she gets to solving this crime, the more the sheriff wants her to back off. And when a local fortune teller gives Elsie a critical clue, she realizes it's up to her to solve this crime.
To Get This eBook is available at Amazon.
Link: https://www.amazon.com/Family-Mysterious-Pinehurst-Peter-Hermann-ebook/dp/B09SGDJHC8
Chapter 1
"Bandit, Bandit"
My West Highland white terrier sneeze. She probably agreed with me, but at the same time, I wasn't sure because she was angry. She loved to travel by car. For her, it meant going around the city and meeting people often. Five hours spent in the cargo hold of a 10-year-old Jeep Cherokee made an angry puppy.
Have we walked 15 miles yet? I forgot to check my odometer against that last sign. It had probably only been five. All I knew for sure was that I’d been driving on the two-lane country road through Carolines Northwood’s for so long, a funhouse effect had settled in. The never-ending tunnel of pines, oaks, maples, birches and other species I couldn’t identify was not my normal. I was used to row after row of houses crammed close together. Rows after rows of trees, not so many. Another few minutes later, we passed 5 miles of Pinehurst, a small sign we almost missed. "We're almost there, miss. You'll be running around on your legs in less than ten minutes." My phone rang, and the phone in the holder was pressed against the vent, so my mother's face was staring at me. I put my finger on the answer button, but it stopped before I touched it. I said I would call my grandmother if I called her. I think she thought I should be there by now. I was twenty-six years old. When will she stop taking control of my life? The phone rings for the fourth time and then goes silent. I clenched my fists and waited for her inevitable answer. A minute later, without her call, I quietly promised her to call her as soon as I got home to relax her and her. A sign has appeared on the right-pointing to the beginning of the village boundary. I slowed down, made sure no one was behind me and stopped. Impressive wooden markers had to be at least 10 feet wide and 8 feet high, had logged on either side and had to be between 0.5 and 2 feet in diameter. It appeared to have been hand-carved by an artisan rather than machine lathed. Welcome to Pinehurst Est. 1970 A symbol was etched into the wood below the date—a circle with a pentacle in the center and a crescent moon flanking either side. When I was little, I thought the symbol represented the sun, moon, and stars. Now I knew that it was the Triple Moon Goddess symbol and meant the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. Pinehurst, Caroline was founded by the followers of the Wiccan religion and as far as I know the Wiccans still make up half of the population. A narrow four-foot two-foot-wide sign hangs from the bottom of the sign and reads, "Bless you - enjoy your visit." The The welcome sign triggered an unexpected flood of memories. I was ten the last time I came, but I remember this sign as if I saw it yesterday. Not only was it a sign to me and my sister Doyle that we were just minutes from her grandparents' house, but it also made me feel better. I liked the feeling of being blessed. She nearly missed her turn as she kept walking down the street, reminiscing on her happy times with her grandparents. "First track right after the welcome sign." Even though I was sure the Maps app would get me there, my mother reminded me several times. "Make sure you stand at the fork on the left after the turn, Elsie, otherwise you will come to this campground." She said, "This camp," as if lepers were living there. Passing by, the campsite was about half full. Pinehurst's tourist season started in six days with Memorial Day weekend. Every spot would be full then. Every hotel room and rental cottage booked. My plan was to do what I could with the house and head back to Madison early Friday morning before the highways were clogged with holiday traffic. As the landscape changed from dense forest to a clearing, the edge of the lake house came into view. I hit the brake hard and came to a sudden stop that I wasn't ready to see yet. After thinking for a moment if I could do it, I let the car crawl forward. Most of the man's childhood looks small as an adult, but the house seems to have grown in 16 years since I was last here. The seven-bedroom, nine-bath house was huge, covering almost half an acre. The steel gray cedar siding and white trim are badly weathered. Winters in Northwood could be harsh, and the house seemed to be struggling to survive the past few days. "She hasn't done anything to this house in years," Dad warned in an email. . . In a Middle Eastern country, he found a buried civilization. “Were not going to get anything for it. Empty it and do the bare minimum to get it on the market. The sooner we get rid of it, the better.”
But as I stared at the house I hadn’t seen in sixteen years, a sense of nostalgia flooded me. This was my grandparentshome. Despite my parents refusal to remember, I had warm fuzzy memories of being here.
"Don't worry, Grandma." I ignored my father's orders and told the house. “You can't fix it with a few screws and fresh paint. I'll take care of you. A sudden wind blew in off the lake, making the trees sway as though waving or bowing. Or was I nodding with approval?
Bandit barked from her backseat prison, snapping me fully into the present.
“Okay, okay.”
I pulled forward and parked in front of the garage. As soon as the door on Bandit`s crate was unlatched, she burst free from the SUV like a flare from a gun. She ran once around the car, then raced in big circles around the perimeter of the near quarter acre of lawn, barking at invisible pursuers and burning off the energy built up from the five-hour drive.
As I watched her, laughing at her antics, another gentle breeze blew through. The air smelled earthy, like pine trees with a hint of fish, and the sun sparkled off the rippling water. I closed my eyes and faced the sun where it hung in the western sky, letting the rays soak in and warm me. An unexpected sense of serenity filled me, and for the first time in months, I felt my shoulders relax and drop from their permanently hunched position.
I didn't want to run a food stall at home. It must be very difficult at Grandma's house. Doyle took her final exams at the University of Washington in Madison this week and summer break starts next week. Her mom was always busy and couldn't go on her vacation. Her father, as always, was abroad. Since I had been unemployed for the past six months, my mother and Doyle decided this was my job. Now that I was here, with the fresh air and sun on my face, there was literally no place else in the world I’d rather be.
Next to the boathouse on my left was the pier. Didn’t it use to be much longer? Doyle and I used to run the length of it and, shrieking, jump into the lake. I had a sudden need to dangle my feet in the water. When Bandit started barking, I took three steps down the grassy path. Naughty boy, this isn't a squirrel barking. It's an editorial. Something's wrong. Come on, bark quickly.
"What is it?" I sighed as if waiting for the little terrier's response. I hadn't slept well at night for weeks, and finally, the fatigue overtook me and made me irritable. Now I started to relax, and that was all I wanted to do.
But I turned to the far right of the lot. No, it wasn't accurate. The property is spread over 10 acres. About two of these acres were occupied by houses and lawns. The other eight or so were covered with giant pine trees and the occasional fall foliage, with bright green foliage signaling the return of spring: Revival and renewal. Bandit was suitable where the lawn intersects the line of trees.
Worried, I ran across the grass. . . Topdressing and weed control were desperately needed. I've mentally added gardening to my list of chores that will probably be longer than my arm in a day or two.
When I approached Bandit, she sat down but kept barking.
"It must be important."
And I saw what she found. It's definitely important. There was a body 5 feet away from my dog.