Crime in the cabin a whi.., p.1
Crime in the Cabin: A Whisper Creek Mystery Book Five, page 1
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Crime in the Cabin – A Whisper Creek Mystery
Book Five
©2024 by Jennifer C. Wing. All Rights Reserved.
Contents
FOR TINA AND HER FATHER
1. FROM ACROSS THE POND
2. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
3. FAMILIAL CONTRACT
4. THE BIG CLEAN OUT
5. UNDERWATER BOWLING
6. ALL TIED UP
7. PAST TENSE
8. FROZEN DINNER
9. DECK THE HALLS
10. HOME AGAIN
11. THE REILLY BOYS
12. WAKE
13. BACK TO THE MADELEINE
14. FIVE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS
15. MOTORIST
16. CABIN NUMBER FOUR
17. KATIE WHO?
18. PAYBACK
19. HOUSE CALL
20. THE GIFT
21. CHRISTMAS EVE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY J.C. WING
SNEAK PEEK AT PERIL IN THE PAR
K
FOR TINA AND HER FATHER
1. FROM ACROSS THE POND
Theo was awake, but she had her eyes closed. It was early morning, and only the slightest bit of light was peeking through the bedroom window, but Jordan had already gotten up, taken his shower and headed to the farm. December was only a few days away, and the busiest time of the year for the owner of a Christmas tree farm.
She rolled over and buried her face into Jordan’s pillow, breathing deep. She smiled. There it was, the intoxicating mixture of musky leather scented soap and pine trees that he always wore on his skin. He’d only been gone thirty minutes and she missed him already.
“Mrow.”
There were five cats who shared Theo’s home. All of them seemed to rather like their humans, and each one always had a lot to say. Jitterbug was young at just over a year old. She’d delivered her four kittens six months ago in a nesting box Jordan had set up for her in Theo’s bedroom closet. She was a small cat, not too much bigger than her still growing brood. She was a gorgeous tortoiseshell with long whiskers and an even longer tail. Theo recognized the cat by the sound of her voice, and when Jitterbug jumped up onto the bed, Theo smiled, feeling the slight weight of paws as the feline walked closer.
“Good morning, Mama,” Theo said, moving slightly so she could wrap her arm around Jitterbug and bring her close to her chest. The cat began to purr, and Theo buried her nose in the soft multi-colored fur.
Theo heard her phone chime quietly and she remained still, focusing on the vibrating furball cuddled next to her.
“You know I have to get that, right?”
Jitterbug continued to purr.
“Someone left me an email,” she told the cat. “Perhaps not as demanding as a phone call, but still, someone wants to tell me something. It would be rude for me to ignore it.”
“Mrow.” Jitterbug slow blinked before she pushed her face forward and licked Theo’s nose with a sandpaper tongue.
“Thank you,” Theo told the cat. “You’re very sweet. Now hang on. I’ll try not to bump you or anything.”
Theo reached over and took her laptop from the nightstand. She settled it on the bed and opened it just as Macarena hopped up and sank into the comforter. She was the color of a stormy sky, and her eyes looked like shiny gold coins.
“Well, it’s about time,” she told the small, gray cat. “You’re late, gorgeous girl. Come on,” she said, booting up her computer and moving her arm so that Mac could snuggle in. Theo glanced at her phone to check the time before she opened her email on the laptop. So far, this morning was progressing like most of the mornings before it. Theo had nothing against spontaneity, but there was something rather comforting about routine.
“Look, furfaces,” she told the cats. “There’s a message from Glory.”
She scratched Mac behind the ear as the cat made biscuits on Theo’s belly. She began to read.
My dearest Theodora,
I have a confession to make. I hate to admit it, but I do believe I have finally reached adulthood. I’d hate for this awful news to spread, but I fear it’s possible that I’ve been an adult for some time now. There is one thing I promised I would never do as an adult. I’m ninety-five years old, and so far I’ve managed to keep that promise. Because you, too, are an adult—albeit a very young one, and almost not yet qualified for the title in my opinion—I am going to share something with you. And because you aren’t a child, I’ll consider my record of unbroken promises still intact. Life passes in the blink of an eye, granddaughter, and there’s never enough time to do all you want, or to show those important to you just how much you love them.
When I was small, I remember the adults around me declaring how fast time moved. I was no different than any other young person who felt that the reality was just the opposite. When you are a kid, the passage of time is almost painfully slow. I remember school letting out at the beginning of June, and the days between then and Labor Day when the new academic year would begin felt like they lasted an eternity. My classmates and I couldn’t wait for that final bell to ring, and the first few weeks were pure joy … but as the summer wore on, the break began to feel almost too long, and I found myself yearning for the trip to Colorado Springs to buy clothes for a new school year.
It was frustrating, downright infuriating to hear adults who seemed to be unable to understand how unbelievably slow things happened. A day was long enough for me as a child, but a week felt like it stretched on and on. Waiting a year for something was nearly unbearable. It’s been nearly a year since I left Whisper Creek and damn it all if it seems as if I packed up my things just a few days ago. If the wrinkles I see on my face when I look in the mirror, or the distressing sounds my physicians make when I visit their sterile offices aren’t enough to convince me of my advanced age, it’s the fact that nothing at all takes as long as it should.
There was always something about every month that made it my favorite in Whisper Creek—every month except January and February. I think those months have always been the exception to the ‘time moves too quickly when you’re an adult’ rule. There is always too much snow and too much cold during those fifty-nine wretchedly long days. I love March and April because—while technically still winter—Mother Nature manages to push the season of spring forward, and there are signs everywhere you look that eventually, the earth will turn green again. In May, the snow still comes, but it melts quickly, and then the storms give way to rain. In June the lilacs bloom, and if you’re lucky, you get both lilacs and the Harison’s Yellows, even if it’s only for a week or two. There’s no better time of year for a cold glass of wine or raspberry lemonade out on the porch than July or August, especially as the sun is creeping toward the horizon and the sky is lit up with the millions of stars that shine down on the town. Need I mention how generous with the autumn colors the good Lord is in September and October? And I’m not sure there’s anything better than loading up the pit in the backyard with wood and watching the sparks from a fire float upward into a cold November night while you sit in an Adirondack chair with a blanket snuggled up beneath your chin. Campfires in the summer are fantastic, but they don’t quite possess the magic a near wintertime blaze holds. That brings me to December, and really the main reason for what’s become a very long-winded email.
London is truly remarkable at this time of the year. I know that we visited this city when you and I came to Europe the summer before your senior year of high school. I’ve always been grateful we were able to travel together but have often wished it had been over the holidays. This makes me wonder if you still have that enormous snow globe your seventeen-year-old self could not live without. I remember the song it played … “A Foggy Day (In London Town)”. When we came home, we sat down together and watched A Damsel in Distress and listened to Fred Astaire sing the song. London wasn’t foggy when we visited all those years ago, but it oftentimes is in December.
While I am tucking into mince pies, enjoying mulled wine and visiting Oxford Street with all of its glittering Christmas lights, I will be thinking of you tying bows on countless wreaths at Fireweed Farm and hanging the ornaments I’ve stashed in the attic on a tree you and our sweet Indigo Blue chose together—and one, no doubt, that Jordan Reilly planted, cared for and then cut—to stand in the living room that all of you share.
Theo shook her head and chuckled. “Well, it looks like Glory didn’t get the memo about cats and Christmas trees, huh?”
While the thought of five cats running around a tree made Indigo giggle, it was decided that the lights might be hazardous to the felines, especially when they decided the cords and bulbs would be fun to chew on, and said felines would definitely be hazardous to Glory’s collection of Christmas decorations. There were no cats at the Brubaker Building, however, and no one but the office staff was allowed access upstairs, so Jordan suggested they decorate the upper meeting room for the holiday.
I believe the time of the year has me feeling nostalgic. I have my friends and caregi
A reminder, then, before I end this note. Take a million pictures, and when you think you’ve taken a ridiculous amount, take some more. And when the urge to say something about how quickly time seems to be passing bumps up against your lips, make sure your sweet blue bird isn’t anywhere near. She’s still a child. Those words aren’t meant for her ears. Right now, her minutes, her weeks, her years are long, just as they’re meant to be.
Theo heard the scurrying of paws on the hardwood, and she braced herself. When Jupiter jumped on the bed, she and both cats moved as though they were in a boat on the ocean.
“Hold on,” Theo said, dramatically, and loudly enough that she was sure Indigo could hear her. “I do believe Indigo and Jupiter have arrived!”
“Hi, Antee,” Indigo said brightly as she ran in after the dog. She climbed up onto the bed and reached for Macarena who was still balanced on top of Theo’s belly. “Hi, Mac.”
The cat looked at Indigo through softly slitted eyes, and she began to purr the moment Indigo buried her small fingers into her silky fur.
“Good morning,” Theo told her niece.
“Do you have Jitterbug, too?”
“Right here, tucked in like a bug in a rug.” This made Indigo giggle. “Hello, Jupe.”
The black and white border collie’s ears perked up at the mention of his name and he tilted his head to the side. “Chuff,” he whispered.
“Did you have a good night?” Theo asked the dog. “Did you sleep well?”
A quiet whine emerged from the back of Jupiter’s throat.
Theo gave the dog a nod. “Excellent. I’m happy to hear it. Who’s hungry?”
“I am!” Indigo hopped up onto her knees and Jupiter moved to boop the child’s cheek with his cold, black nose. “That was wet, Jupe,” she giggled again as she swiped at her face with her palm.
Theo closed her laptop and stretched to place it back on the nightstand. Jitterbug took this as an indication that soon her breakfast would be served and she stood up, arching her back in a mighty cat stretch.
“Okay,” Theo said, lifting Macarena and bringing the cat to her face as she sat up. She rained kisses on her furry gray face before placing Mac on the bed beside her. “Let’s go eat. Then it’s time for school.”
“Ah, man,” Indigo groused, sliding from the side of the bed. Her bare feet landed on the rug covering the wood floor. “But school takes so long. It lasts forever.”
Theo smiled, thinking about Glory’s email. “Somehow I knew you were gonna say that,” she said as Jupiter jumped off the bed and ran toward the landing. She followed Indigo out of the room and watched as the child made her way down the stairs. Things were as they were supposed to be. At least for the moment, anyway.
2. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
Theodora guided Daisy, her bright blue Jeep, east on SH-96, keeping her eyes straight ahead as she passed Hardscrabble Mountain. She hadn’t counted how many times she’d driven this road since her sister, Cleopatra, had been involved in a head on collision three months previous, but it had been a lot, and every time she passed the section of highway where Patty’s mangled Subaru Outback had landed after the crash, Theo made sure to keep her gaze averted. The car had been squashed, then what remained of it had been cut open by the Jaws of Life before Patty’s broken body had been extricated from it. She’d been lucky to come out of the accident alive. Now, it felt as if the rest of her family would be lucky if they survived her rehabilitation.
Theo moved her eyes up to catch a glimpse of her niece, Indigo, in the rearview mirror. The now four-year-old was reading a favorite picture book to the tie-dyed stuffed cat she’d named Pickles who sat in her lap. The child’s voice was lyrical, and Theo let it wash over her much like the sunshine that fell through the windshield and onto her face.
There was something magical about both Indigo’s lilting tones and the way the winter sun felt on her skin, and she took a deep breath as they drove further east on SH-96 toward Wetmore and CO-115. She and Indigo had made this seventy-eight-mile trip to the rehabilitation wing of Abbey Heights Hospital in Colorado Springs twice a week for the last three weeks. Today was Thursday, which meant it was milkshake day. Indigo was still learning the days of the week, but Theo was sure the child knew it was milkshake day.
Not quite an hour and a half later, the two of them made their way through the front door of the hospital, both of them carrying backpacks—Theo’s a plain navy blue, and Indigo’s a bright lime green. They held hands, and in Indigo’s free arm, she cradled Pickles. Theo carried four tall, domed cups from Sonic in a brown cardboard beverage holder in hers.
“Well, what do we have here?” Theo heard as the two of them walked through Patty’s door. “It’s the milkshake brigade.”
Indigo looked up at the dark-haired woman wearing turquoise-colored scrubs who stood in her mother’s hospital room. She smiled up at her and gave her a nod. “Hi, Birdie.”
“And hello to you, too, Miss Blue. Can I help you hand out your treats?”
“Yes, please.” Indigo’s attention moved from the therapist to her mother who sat propped up in her bed. “Hi, Mama,” she greeted, walking cautiously to Patty’s bedside.
“Hello, sugar,” Patty responded. “How are you today?”
“I’m good. It’s Thursday, so there was no school.”
“Oh, lord,” Mamie said, shaking her head. “She sounds a lot like her mother already.”
“I’m so sorry, Birdie,” Theo apologized. “If I’d known we were going to see you today we would have brought you a milkshake.”
“Mmmm…” Birdie said, taking the beverage carrier from Theo’s grasp. “And what flavor would you have chosen for me?” Theo watched her, trying to determine the answer to the woman’s question. Birdie pulled one of the cups from the holder and handed it to Mamie who sat in a recliner next to Patty’s bed. “Vanilla,” she said, “without whipped cream or cherries. No frills. Quite tasty, but no nonsense.”
“Down to business,” Mamie agreed. “When things get too complicated, I get suspicious.”
“You think someone’s hiding something behind all that whipped cream and those cherries?” Patty teased.
“If you’ve got to sweeten something up, it’s because it’s rotten on its own.”
“I’m not so sure that way of thinking should pertain to ice cream, but whatever floats your boat.”
Birdie pulled another cup and presented it to Theo. “Hot fudge.” The therapist smiled. “Whipped cream and a single cherry. You love food, and you love chocolate.”
“Who doesn’t?” Theo asked.
“Apparently Mamie,” Patty said.
“Well, I agree with Theodora, here. I love chocolate, but this girl goes one step further.” She looked at Theo. “You know how therapeutic food can be. This shake is just like you. Classic with just a little bit extra.”
“Extra,” Cleopatra said. “That’s our Theo alright.”
Theo ignored her sister and gave Birdie a smile, unwrapping her straw.
“And then there’s this gorgeous little thing.” Birdie turned and looked at Indigo who had put her backpack on the small table that sat in the corner of the room. The little girl had climbed into a chair and her feet swung above the floor. “Strawberry with whipped cream, and let’s see,” she looked down into the plastic dome lid and tried to count. “There must be at least six cherries in here.”
“I love cherries.”
“As you should,” Birdie told her. “All sweetness and light—”
“Or,” Patty interrupted, “if you think like Mamie, rotten to the core.”
“Shut up, Cleopatra.”
“No,” Birdie said, shaking her head. “These two are a match made in heaven.” Birdie put the cup down on the table in front of Indigo. “And then there’s Cleopatra.” She pulled the last cup from the holder. “Peanut butter. Whipped cream and a cherry.”
“Well, that one’s not difficult.” Mamie was fanning herself with a bedraggled copy of US Weekly, and while everyone else in the room was wearing winter apparel, she was dressed in a short-sleeved T-shirt. “This is also a match. They’re both completely nuts.”
