Page 1 of A Second Roar for Love

ONE

Elowen “Ellie” Theren sighed as her blue Prius crested the final hill, revealing the quaint town of Whispering Pines nestled in the valley below. A familiar pang of nostalgia mixed with anxiety stirred in her chest at the sight of the place she once called home. It had been over fifteen years since she last set foot here, and returning now as a widow felt surreal, like stepping into someone else’s life.

She had left all those years ago to marry Alistair Rikart, a human businessman, in an arrangement that saved her family’s struggling herbal shop. At the time, it seemed a necessary sacrifice. But the marriage proved utterly miserable, an endless parade of cold silences and colder beds. Some days, the only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that Alistair’s money ensured her parents could retire comfortably.

When Alistair passed away from a heart attack two months ago, she felt more relief than grief. With him gone, she was finally free to come back to Whispering Pines and reclaim her life. Start fresh.

She shook her head, dispelling that train of thought as her car rolled down Main Street. Best not to get ahead of herself. Too much had changed.

As if to punctuate that fact, Elowen noticed several new shops lining the thoroughfare - a tea house called The Sipping Siren and a shop peddling crystals and tarot cards. But many of the old stalwarts remained. Molly’s Bewitched Bakery still stood on the corner of Elm, the mouthwatering scent of her famous lavender scones perfuming the air. And across the way, the Lone Wolf Cafe’s neon sign blinked invitingly, no doubt serving up Elsie’s legendary coffee and conversations to the breakfast crowd.

Before long, the road narrowed and began to wind through stands of towering pines. She turned down an unmarked dirt lane, the Prius bouncing over potholes as dense forest pressed in from both sides. Then the trees parted to reveal a familiar whitewashed cottage with a slate blue door.

Grandma Iris’s house. Her house now.

Unbuckling her seat belt with hands that shook only slightly, Elowen stepped out of the car and took a long, steadying breath of balsam-scented air. Even after over a decade away, the house still exuded a sense of sanctuary. Of coming home.

“I’m back, Grandma,” she said softly. “Hope you left some of your feisty spirit behind to guide me.”

The key turned smoothly in the lock, and the door swung open on perfectly oiled hinges. She allowed herself a small smile. Trust Grandma Iris to enchant the hinges against squeaking even from beyond the grave.

Crossing the threshold felt like stepping into a memory. Everything looked exactly the same as when she helped Grandma pack up to move into the retirement community outside of Portland five years ago. The same faded floral couch sagged in the small living room, and the same assortment of crystals and dried herbs cluttered every surface. Even the air smelled the same - like sage smoke and lemon furniture polish.

Wandering from room to room, Elowen brushed her fingertips over the back of Grandma’s favorite reading chair, the one with the hand-stitched primrose cushion. In the kitchen, a faint ring stained the countertop where the kettle always rested, ready to brew a fresh pot at a moment’s notice. She could almost hear the reedy warble of her grandmother’s voice, telling stories over lavender tea and ginger snaps...

A sudden creak from the guest room made her jump. Her heartbeat quickened. Was someone else in the house?

“Hello?” she called out, hating the tremor in her voice. “Is anyone there?”

No response.

Sternly telling herself to stop being paranoid, she marched to the guest room door. Just a loose floorboard, that’s all. This cottage was older than dirt; creaks were to be expected.

She pushed the door open.

And froze.

Lying face-down in the middle of the floor, limbs askew like a broken marionette, was a body. A man, judging by the size and clothing. He wasn’t moving. And from the way his head was twisted...

She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Her stomach lurched and she had to lean against the doorframe as a wave of nausea left her dizzy. This couldn’t be happening. There couldn’t be a dead body in her house. Maybe it was a prank or some sort of sick welcome-home gesture?

But deep down, she knew that wasn’t the case. The wrongness of it thrummed through her like a plucked guitar string. Death had visited her home today. Violent, unnatural death.

Stumbling backward on unsteady legs, Elowen fumbled her cell phone out of her purse. It took three tries with shaking fingers to dial 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm, professional voice answered.

“I need the sheriff,” she said, struggling to keep her own voice level. “There’s a... a body. In my house. I think he’s dead.”

“What’s the address, ma’am?”

Elowen recited her grandmother’s address from memory. “The old house off Whispering Pine Lane. Please hurry.”

“A deputy is being dispatched to your location now. Are you safe? Is the perpetrator still on the premises?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She edged further away from the guest room, not taking her eyes off the motionless figure on the floor. “I just got here and found him like this.”

“All right, ma’am, please stay on the line with me until the deputy arrives. Can you tell me your name?”

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