Returning Secrets - Whispering Pines Mysteries, Book 18 (EBOOK)

Chapter 1
I stepped out of the sheriff’s station and into the pine-scented air. That glorious smell was one of the things I loved most about living in the Northwoods. After this morning’s quick, light rain shower, the smell had grown stronger and now encircled me like a comforting hug. Nice.
“Work your magic,” I told my trees. “And share a little of it with everyone else around here, please.”
Visitors were a requirement for a village that relied on tourism for its survival. We knew that and always welcomed the tourists with enthusiasm. This year, however, the crowds were larger, louder, and more intense than ever before. Which was making the village residents unusually crabby. And the season was only three weeks old. Goddess help us.
As I veered left at the intersection of the station’s sidewalk and the Fairy Path, I glanced upward, hoping for a response from the trees. The tops swayed softly, but I couldn’t hear their whispers. I swallowed hard then tried to force a yawn to unclog my ears. Something had been going on with them for a couple of weeks. Maybe I had allergies. I should stop at Unity for a checkup.
A few seconds later, a pinecone dropped from above and landed inches in front of me on the wood plank pathway. My West Highland White Terrier, Meeka, who was snuffling around the forest floor instead of walking on the path with me, let out a yelp when another tree bomb caught the tip of her tail.
“Not funny,” I told the pines.
An immediate reply came in the form of a loud caw-caw-caw. A pair of beautiful black birds were perched high above us. I might not be able to hear my trees, but I sure heard those crows. Were they laughing at us? One of them dropped a third pinecone that nearly landed on Meeka’s head, cawed his or her laugh again, and then the two birds flew off in a flapping of wings.
“Knock it off.”
“Jayne? Who are you talking to?”
Startled by the voice, I pulled my attention away from the treetops to find hearth witch Reeva Long coming toward me.
“Birds.” I pointed skyward. “They’re bombing us with pinecones. One landed on Meeka. Just her tail, but still . . .”
“Ah, yes. The pranksters are quite active this morning.” Meeka darted over to her, so Reeva bent and gave my K-9 a comforting ear scratch after her traumatic encounter.
“When did this start?” I hadn’t heard about crow problems yesterday. “And what do you mean by active? Just dropping pinecones?”