Justified Secrets - A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 9 (EBOOK)
Justified Secrets - A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 9 (EBOOK)
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A dangerous storm, a wounded stranger, and a ghost from the past. Just another Thursday in Whispering Pines.
A monster of a blizzard is on the way, but the hardy folks of Whispering Pines aren’t bothered by the weather. Not when there are supplies to gather and neighbors to catch up with.
As everyone finally settles in to ride out the storm, Sheriff Jayne O’Shea gets a phone call. A stranger has stumbled into the village. She’s covered in bruises and mumbling about a car crash. Determined to figure out what happened to her, and to rescue any other potential victims still out there, Jayne braves the howling winds and arctic temperatures. Then another call comes in. An elderly villager is missing in the storm.
Jayne can handle this. She can handle pretty much anything. But when a ghost from her past shows up at the bed-and-breakfast and tries to uncover Jayne’s long-buried secrets, she may have reached her breaking point.
JUSTIFIED SECRETS is the ninth book in the Whispering Pines mystery series about a woman determined to return her grandmother's village to the idyllic haven it used to be ... before all the secrets started rising to the surface.
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Chapter 1
RAISE THE HEDDLE AND SEND the yarn-filled shuttle through the warp. Adjust the outside edge so it’s even with the others. Position the yarn to form a V with the weft below and beat the strand into place. Lower the heddle. Send the shuttle through. Repeat.
I understood why there was a waiting list of villagers to use the weaving looms at The Twisty Skein. Once I’d gotten comfortable with the steps—raise, send, beat, lower—I got into a rhythm, and instead of being repetitive or monotonous, the motion became meditative. It allowed me to clear my mind and disappear into the satisfaction of doing a project. In this case, a table runner. And disappearing was just what I needed and wanted to do after the events of last week.
Raise heddle.
I anticipated long nights afterward of lying awake trying to figure out what I could have done differently.
Send shuttle.
Everyone insisted nothing would have changed the outcome.
Beat weft.
I can’t know that for sure because I didn’t listen to my gut.
Lower heddle.
My gut had whispered something was wrong.
Send shuttle.
I never could have guessed he’d show up here.
Beat weft.
I never once thought he had that gun.
Raise heddle.
Or that he’d fire it.
And never in my wildest dreams had I thought there would be a dead woman in my garage.
“Good morning, Sheriff.”
Despite Ruby McLaughlin’s attempt to enter without scaring us, my West Highland White Terrier Meeka jolted awake from a dead sleep in the corner by the spinning wheel. I jumped, sending the shuttle flying five feet and leaving a trail of deep-brown cotton yarn across the floor.
“Oh, good Goddess,” she exclaimed, “I’m so sorry. Let me get that.”
Ruby retrieved the oak shuttle from where it had come to rest beneath the loom and wound the yarn back on in a figure eight. She held it out to me but didn’t release it when I took hold. Concern etched her pretty ivory face, her mouth with the signature ruby-red lipstick set in a tight line.
“How long have you been here, Jayne?”
I glanced at the clock over the craft shop door. The hands were paintbrushes and Rorschach-like paint splatters in twelve different colors took the place of actual numbers.
