Chapter 1

“Just give it a good shove,” Keiko Shen suggested.

“I don’t want to break anything.” Sighing hard, I stood back and peeled my shirt away from my back. I’d worked up a sweat. “That’s it, I’m calling it. We can only fit one more thing.”

I reached for the pair of accent lamps I’d found at an estate sale a couple of years ago. They sported crackled amber glass cylinders instead of traditional shades and cast an orangey glow that would be the perfect addition to a seasonal display. And they made me smile every time I looked at them.

“The color is perfect for this time of year,” I insisted. “Labor Day weekend starts in two days, and shoppers are thinking fall.”

My shop assistant and boarder held up a set of antique candle molds she was sure would sell in a heartbeat. Tapers and votives made from these tin molds would have a slightly rustic appearance, and although I agreed they probably would sell quickly, so would the lamps. The problem was the cargo area of my SUV was packed so full there was only room for one or the other.

Voices coming from somewhere nearby stalled our debate. We walked around to the back of my storage locker and found a man, a woman, and a small white dog gathered near another unit.

Keiko pointed. “Isn’t that—”

“Yes.”

Instead of a single larger building providing storage for the people of Whispering Pines, Wisconsin, small ones scattered throughout the woods were more in keeping with the village’s aesthetic. All the units looked like small log cabins and were placed eight to ten feet apart. This one that Deputy Jayne O’Shea and Mr. Powell were standing near was different, however. It was a simple, steel shipping container that held my sister’s belongings and was set twenty feet away from the next closest locker.

“What’s going on?” I called out as we closed the distance.

“We’ve got a bit of a problem,” Jayne answered. “Guess that’s obvious. Why would I be here otherwise?”

Mr. Powell spun to face me, got his feet twisted together, and ended up in a heap on the ground. The owner/operator of The Busted Knuckle, the jack-of-all-trades village services business that kept Whispering Pines operating seamlessly, was the most accident-prone person I’d ever met.

“I’m all right.”

The dear man. Fortunately, he rarely ended up with anything more than a bump or bruise. Or a busted knuckle.

Jayne helped him to his feet while he explained, “There was a break-in last night.”

My eyes bugged out. “Here? At Flavia’s unit?”

Jayne nodded and frowned. “And at a second unit down at the other end.”

“Fortunately, we have a top-notch security system.” Mr. Powell pointed out an owl sitting on a branch of a nearby tree. Then another a few trees away. And another.

“Owls? How do they—” Then I realized the birds weren’t moving and was even more confused.

“Cameras,” Mr. Powell explained. “Blind Willie carved them, mounted lenses in their eyes, and scattered them all around the property. They’re motion sensitive.” He chuckled. “At first, every squirrel and rabbit set the things off. Willie adjusted them so now it needs to be something with mass like a deer or black bear.”

With a smart-aleck grin, Keiko asked, “Have a lot of problems with deer breaking into the units, do you?”

“No, but we had bears get in a few times.” He slapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other, making a point. “I keep telling people, nothing smelly. No scented toiletries. Absolutely no food. The bears have a whole forest to forage in, but if they get a scent of something different and potentially tasty, they’ll work at any little opening they find until they get in.”

“Is that what happened here?” I asked.

“Only if the bears figured out how to use bolt cutters,” Jayne said. “The padlocks were cut off the doors of both units.”

“Is anything missing?” My mind spun as I mentally reviewed the contents of the container. My sister’s home had been the epitome of minimalism. She purchased only what was necessary and didn’t bother with trivial things like throw pillows or family pictures. A single twenty-foot-long shipping container was more than big enough for the contents of her entire cottage.

Jayne pulled on latex gloves. “I haven’t looked inside yet. Let’s take a peek.”

When she opened the double doors, I swear I heard a hiss, like the seal on a tomb had just been broken. After everything had been placed inside the container, my coven encircled it, and we chanted a blessing to banish any negative energy that might be lingering around the items. Maybe we’d only sealed it inside.

“The renter of the other unit is coming to take a look, but I didn’t see anything obvious there.” Jayne shined her flashlight slowly from back to front, side to side. “Same here. I can’t tell. You were the last one inside, Reeva. What do you think?”

I stood in the doorway and let my gaze roam over the contents. Best as I could recall, everything was still in the same place. The boxes were all in neat stacks. None of them were open.

“Looks exactly as I remember it.” I faced Mr. Powell. “Did your security video show the person entering the unit?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. They had on a big sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and loose pants. The cameras never got a shot of their face. They cut off the locks, rummaged around inside for a while, and then left.”

Jayne added, “They didn’t appear to be carrying anything but those cutters.”

Keiko propped her hands on her hips. “Why would someone break into two different places and not take anything?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jayne said.

“Josephine made that spreadsheet,” I reminded her. “If you want, we could go through every box and see if anything’s missing.”

Josephine Allison, the executive assistant to village owner, River Carr, had supervised the packing of Flavia’s cottage. She kept a spreadsheet that listed every single item Flavia owned. I remembered seeing things like 1 pair of tweezers on the bathroom list and 3 soupspoons on the kitchen list. Josephine’s attention to detail was astounding.

“It’s Wednesday before Labor Day,” Jayne pondered aloud. “Sheriff Reed, Deputy Jagger, and I are already committed. I can’t even imagine how many miles I’ll put on patrolling the village over the next few days.”

Was she second-guessing her decision to come back to work part time at the sheriff’s station? Especially considering the bed-and-breakfast she ran with her boyfriend would also be at maximum occupancy for the long weekend.

“Do you know anyone who has time to check through the boxes?” Jayne glanced at Keiko.

“Not me.” Keiko held her hands up. “Reeva’s got me putting away a Highlander-full of inventory. When I’m done with that, Ruby is obsessed with eliminating every speck of dust inside The Twisty Skein before her son gets here.”

I couldn’t do it either. On top of the upcoming Labor Day crowd about to descend on our village, my uncle was coming for a visit on Friday. I’d been a teenager the last time I saw him.

“I’m not sure how beneficial it’ll be,” Jayne studied the container’s door handle, “but I’ll dust for prints. Mr. Powell, do you have more security cameras? The kinds that look like cameras, not owls.”

“Sure do. Think we should put some up?”

“I’m thinking whoever broke in here could have gotten scared off before they found what they were looking for and might come back. Let’s put a camera on every corner of the unit. Make it obvious we’re watching.”

“On it.” Mr. Powell gave her a salute . . . and poked himself in the eye with his thumb.

Jayne waited to be sure he was okay. He was. “Meanwhile, I’ll get that spreadsheet from Josephine, so we’ve got it if we need it.”

Mr. Powell went off toward his office to assign the camera task to one of his crew.

As Jayne walked the few feet to her car, I recalled Mr. Powell’s earlier description. “A hoodie and loose pants. Sound familiar?”

“The Gators.” Jayne dug through a big black case and pulled out her fingerprint kit. “They could be up to something again.”

The Instigators, a group of villagers unhappy with many things in our little hamlet, expressed their frustration in random, out of the blue ways. They’d been quiet for three weeks since one of their members, April O’Connor, was arrested for murder.

Jayne took a feathery brush, small jar of dusting powder, and small squares of clear tape to the storage unit door. “This kind of thing is exactly what these folks do. Acts of random chaos to keep us off balance.”

“We need to leave, but if I have time to look through the boxes . . .”

“I’ll let Mr. Powell know you’re free to come and go as you please.”

I locked up my unit, then put the candle molds in the back of the SUV and shut the door. I found Keiko in the passenger’s seat holding my lamps.

“We were up way too early this morning.” She nodded at the lamps in her lap. “Seems like a pretty obvious solution now.”

Martin, the village’s sheriff and my nephew, let me park my vehicle in one of the three spots behind the sheriff’s station when I had inventory to bring to my shop. Motorized vehicles were only allowed in the village for special circumstances like injuries or moving especially heavy items. This meant everything had to be carted in and out by hand. Parking at the station saved me a good quarter mile per wagon load.

We hadn’t taken a dozen steps along the wooden Fairy Path that wound through the woods when we spotted more evidence of Gator chaos.