Family Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery by Shawn McGuire

Author:Shawn McGuire [McGuire, Shawn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brown Bag Books
Published: 2017-07-02T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 19

I woke, after nowhere near enough sleep, to a beeping sound. After quickly pulling on some clothes, I went out onto the sundeck to see what was going on. A flatbed truck, with an enormous, rusty red garbage bin on the back, was in the driveway. When Mr. Powell said early, he meant early; it wasn’t even eight o’clock. I padded barefoot down the boathouse stairs and across the yard to the truck.

“Where do you want it?” the driver called from the cab.

The circular driveway made a loop in front of the house and garage before meeting itself back at the main drive. I pointed to the area closest to the house’s front door. “There, I guess.”

Clearly a pro, the driver spun the truck around and had the huge bin in place in no time. “That good?”

“As a yard ornament, not so much. As a refuse collector, it’s perfect.”

“Sign this, please.” He chuckled and handed me a clipboard with a multi-part invoice attached. He tore off the bottom copy and handed it to me. “Give a call when you’re ready for me to come get it.”

I had gotten halfway to the boathouse when Sheriff Brighton’s Tahoe pulled up. I figured Pine time meant slow and late, not whenever they were ready even if that meant the crack of dawn.

“Y’all sure are early birds around here,” I called out as I crossed the yard again. “Haven’t even had my first cup of coffee and you’re my second visitor.”

Sheriff Brighton got out of his truck and pulled a cardboard box out of the back.

“These were delivered late yesterday. I ordered two uniform shirts for you. Thought I’d drop them off on my way to the office.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a badge with a gold star, and placed it on top of the box. “Welcome to our little station. Glad to have you.”

My emotions unexpectedly got the best of me. I blinked and cleared my throat. “Thank you, sir. Happy to be here.”

“The number of tourists is starting to rise.” Sheriff Brighton said this with the same tone he’d likely use if concerned about the body count at a massacre. “Start patrolling the village today. The sooner you make your appearance known, the sooner we’ll keep the stupid stuff under control.” He stuck his right leg in his truck, winced as he pulled it out again, and rubbed his hip.

“Sheriff? Are you okay?”

“Had this bum leg my whole life,” he explained. “My left leg is a little shorter, a little weaker. The right one has had to compensate for fifty-seven years. It’s been complaining for the last five.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe Morgan has an herb blend for you.”

“Oh, Morgan’s got about a dozen remedies for me. I’ve tried a few and they help a little, but nothing takes it away completely.” Slower this time, he lifted his right leg into his truck. “Stop by the station later to pick up your belt and service weapon.”

I flinched internally.

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