Chapter 1

The GPS indicated I should take a left when I got to the road that ran along the Mississippi River. I was about to do that but took a minute to take in the view first. The wide expanse of slow-moving deep-blue water was breathtaking. The bluffs covered with naked trees on the far side, not so much.

“It must be beautiful here spring through fall,” I said with a wistful sigh. “When all those trees have leaves . . . And just imagine the fall colors.”

“You’ve become spoiled by the constant green from the pine trees surrounding our village,” responded my friend, Morgan Barlow. “There’s beauty in every season, Jayne. Appreciate what is.”

Wise words from a woman who sometimes sounded like the human version of a fortune cookie.

Our lodging for the weekend was to be a two-bedroom suite at The Barge on Inn, which should be two blocks down after I turned.

“There it is.” Morgan pointed at the three-story building right across from the river. “Oh, how charming.”

Elaborate cream-colored cornices running along the roofline and medium-blue louvered shutters on either side of each window had turned a plain rectangular red-brick building into a very inviting and, indeed, charming place. The abundance of Yuletide decorations amplified the charm factor. It looked like my goal for this four-day girlfriends’ weekend just might happen. In no particular order, I wanted to rest, relax, get some Christmas shopping done, and spend uninterrupted time with my best friend.

My breath caught the moment we entered the inn’s lobby. It was Christmas to excess in a good way. Wreaths with candlesticks and big red bows hung in every window. Trees set up all around were covered in twinkling lights and ornaments in the traditional colors of red, green, silver, and gold. Santa Claus watched from pictures hanging in random spots and from embroidered pillows perched on wingback chairs next to an inviting fireplace. Pine garland had been draped across the mantel and up the staircase banister.

It all made me think back to when I was a kid and would spring excitedly out of bed on Christmas mornings. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that way about Christmas. When I was eight or ten? I loved giving gifts and had enjoyed learning about the Wiccan Yule traditions the people of Whispering Pines followed, but the holidays felt routine to me. Had for years. Like something I was supposed to do rather than a thing I eagerly awaited. Would I ever feel the magic of the season again, or was that just for little kids?

“You’re a bit early,” the innkeeper, Geoffrey, told us from the other side of the reservation desk. Check-in was at three, and it was almost two thirty. “Your room is ready, though, so I’m happy to check you in.”

“And that is a two-room suite, right?” I verified. Bedrooms to ourselves, where we didn’t have to worry about snoring and keeping each other awake, would go a long way toward me unwinding.

“Yes, Ms. O’Shea, we have you in the suite on the top floor for three nights. And as requested, Ms. Barlow, we’ve put a mini freezer in one of the bedrooms.”

“Bless you.” Morgan placed her palms together in thanks.

 “Our goal,” Geoffrey assured, “is to provide perfect comfort, no matter what that means.”

One thing Morgan was excited about for our weekend was getting a short break from her almost seven-month-old twins. She was breastfeeding them, though, and didn’t want to pump and dump if she didn’t have to. Bags of frozen milk would easily survive the three-hour return trip home in a cooler.

While completing the check-in process, Geoffrey explained that the inn was established in the mid-1800s and its quirky name was inspired by the barges that passed by on the river. “The massive flat-bottomed boats are pushed by little tugboats and transport goods like grain, coal, or building supplies. They float past almost daily from late spring through mid-November and always make me smile.” He handed us our keys. “Welcome to The Barge on Inn and Blackwood Grove. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay.”

As we climbed the stairs to the third floor, I observed the inn’s early American theme behind the holiday decorations. There was plenty of wood furniture, pieces upholstered in plaid or floral fabrics, braided rugs in various sizes, handmade baskets, wooden boxes, and wrought-iron hardware.

“Oh, wow,” I breathed as we entered our suite, which was also decorated for the holidays with a small tree, garland and stockings hung on the fireplace mantel, and candlesticks on the windowsills. One bedroom was painted a muted olive green. The other a muted burgundy red. Both had four-poster beds with patchwork quilts. The sitting room was cream with olive and burgundy hand-stenciling that looked like wallpaper. “I feel like I stepped back in time two hundred years.”

“Simpler times,” Morgan agreed. Then she winced and pressed her arms over her chest. “Although they didn’t have mini freezers and breast pumps back then. I’m going to take care of my milk, and then should we go for a walk?”

“Perfect. Neither of us sit this much at home. I’m starting to get hungry too.”

“We can ask Geoffrey where we should have dinner.”

Mine was the red room. I unpacked my one small bag and then flopped down on the bed. The extraordinarily comfortable bed. A sigh escaped me, and the exhaustion I’d been feeling for the past few months hit me hard.

The tourist season in Whispering Pines had officially ended with our annual Samhain celebration on October 31^st. It had been an extremely stressful five months. On top of the standard amount of crime that occurred when thousands of people descended on a small village at the same time, there had been a tragic amount of death. I not only owned and operated Pine Time Bed-and-Breakfast, I was also a sheriff’s deputy. It was my responsibility to keep the tourists and villagers safe. I’d failed miserably at that task and was having a hard time getting past it. When Morgan asked if I was interested in going on a road trip with her to Blackwood Grove, three hours south of us, I checked with my boyfriend, Tripp, to make sure he and my sister could handle our B&B without me for a few days.

“Four whole days of no B&B or deputy responsibilities?” he had asked while pulling me into his arms. “I think that’s exactly what you need. I’m a little jealous you’re going without me, but Rosalyn and I will be fine here.”

After okaying the leave with the sheriff, I practically ran to Morgan’s shop to let her know our girlfriends’ weekend was on.

A light rapping on my doorframe woke me. I blinked, took a second to figure out where I was, and saw Morgan standing there smiling at me. “Did I fall asleep?”

“It appears you did,” she said with a motherly tone. “It’s only been fifteen minutes, so if you want to nap longer—”

“Nope.” I groaned as I pushed myself into a sitting position. “I want to explore the town while it’s still light outside. I checked over the mall’s online map before we left; it’s got a ton of unique stores. Figured we could walk past them, and I can formulate a plan of attack for tomorrow.”

“Such a festive, relaxed approach to Yule shopping,” she teased. “All right, let’s go.”

After pausing at the registration desk, we walked two blocks to the start of the mall. Blackwood Grove, according to its website, had become a shopping mecca in west-central Wisconsin. The developer turned what had been small homes into individual stores. What used to be the street that ran between the homes was now a lovely park with a meandering walking path, a large playground, and dozens of benches, where shoppers could rest or simply enjoy the area.

“This is lovely,” Morgan declared of the park. “It speaks to my green witch self.”

Dozens of trees grew throughout the half-mile-long park with small gardens growing randomly between them. Strings of lights spanned the park’s width, draping from one old-fashioned lamppost to another. Wreaths with bows in red, green, or golden-brown hung from every lamppost as well. Small piles of snow added to the festive feel. And while every tree was decked out with lights, one huge pine tree at the center of the park was the focal point. It was covered in garland, large ornaments, and had a huge gold star on top.

“Golden-brown seems to be their prime color,” I noted, “with green and red accents.”

Morgan smiled. “This community isn’t Wiccan like Whispering Pines, but at least half of the people who live here are Pagan. Green symbolizes renewal or ongoing life. Red is for blood that gives us life. The winter solstice is in a couple of weeks, so the ochre color is a nod to the slow return of more hours of sunlight.”

“You like it here.”

She slid an arm through mine, hooking our elbows together. “There’s no place like Whispering Pines, but I feel very at home and welcome here.”

As we walked, we passed by women’s and men’s clothing stores, children’s clothing and toy stores, and others that sold plants, books, food, crafts, antiques . . . At the farthest end of the mall, next to an imposing-looking black hedge, we came to a rustic hut that would easily blend into a Louisiana bayou. It was painted emerald green and had gourds, tattered fabric garland, punched tin lanterns, and other voodoo-type adornments hanging from its porch. Then I saw the sign.

“That’s Silver Moon Apothecary.”

“Look at that.” Morgan clapped her hands. “The girls did a great job.”

Silver and Moon were the reason we were here this weekend. Or the reason Morgan was, at least. About two years ago, shortly after I moved to Whispering Pines, the two women came and spent a week with Morgan and her mother, Briar, learning how to run a New Age shop. They also got crash courses in blending herbs and oils, the best way to combine crystals and stones, and how to create an atmosphere that would keep customers coming back again and again. A few months ago, they sent Morgan and Briar an email inviting them to come and see what they’d created. Even though our tourist season was over, plenty of folks still came to shop for the holidays, so Briar opted to stay home and work in their store, Shoppe Mystique, and I took her place.

As I asked, “Do you want to go inside?” my stomach growled.

“I can wait. We’ll be meeting Silver and Moon for breakfast in the morning. And you’re clearly hungry.”

It was only four thirty, but we hadn’t stopped for lunch. “You don’t have to convince me. Let’s go get dinner.”