Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE

16 Lighthouse Road

204 Rosewood Lane

311 Pelican Court

44 Cranberry Point

50 Harbor Street

6 Rainier Drive

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

BLOSSOM STREET

The Shop on Blossom Street

A Good Yarn

Susannah’s Garden

(previously published as Old Boyfriends) Back on Blossom Street (previously published as Wednesdays at Four) Twenty Wishes Summer on Blossom Street Hannah’s List

Thursdays at Eight

Christmas in Seattle

Falling for Christmas

A Mother’s Gift

92 Pacific Boulevard

Debbie

Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To

Jerry Childs

and

Cindy Lucarelli

For making the dream of Cedar Cove Days

a reality

And to the board members who

worked so hard to

make it possible:

Gil and Kathy Michael

Dana Harmon and John Phillips

Gerry Harmon

Mary and Gary Johnson

Shannon Childs

and

Ron Johnson

Dear Friends,

The number nine has long held special significance for me. It all started in an algebra class when the professor said that those of us who wished to bypass the final could write an essay on anything to do with mathematics instead. I leaped at the opportunity—need I mention that working with numbers makes my blood pressure rise?

An essay sounded like an easy out—until I spoke with other students in my class. One young man had decided to write about mathematics in World War II and another chose the probability of solving a complicated conjecture in our lifetime. I gulped, visited the local library and prayed for inspiration. I found it in the number nine.

Yes, I wrote my entire essay on the number nine and how it’s used in literature, Scripture, the classroom and daily life. Not only did I receive a top grade for the essay, the instructor asked me to share with the class everything I’d uncovered. And so you see, I have a special bond with the number nine.

Maybe that’s why it’s not surprising that the ninth book in the Cedar Cove series proved to be special. The entire town of Cedar Cove (aka Port Orchard, Washington) celebrated Cedar Cove Days from August 26 to August 30, 2009. Our little town had worked for two years preparing for this event. I can’t begin to tell you how excited we were to welcome you to the real Cedar Cove.

Sheriff Troy Davis has his hands full with the goings-on around town. His heart was broken after Faith decided it would be best if they didn’t continue their relationship. In addition, there’s the mystery of those skeletal remains in the cave outside town. Olivia’s undergoing chemotherapy and doing well, and Grace has started a wonderful new programme at the library … Settle back, grab yourself a glass of iced tea and join Troy and your other friends in Cedar Cove.

P.S I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me in two ways: through my website (www.debbiemacomber.com) and by mail (PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA).

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family Court judge in Cedar Cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. They live at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, who has sons David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. The Gundersons owned The Lighthouse restaurant, recently destroyed by fire. They live at 6 Rainier Drive.

James Lockhart: Olivia’s son and Justine’s younger brother. In the Navy. Lives in San Diego with his wife, Selina, daughter, Isabella, and son, Adam.

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Divorced, retired and back in Cedar Cove, where he recently bought the local gallery.

Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a retired engineer who is now a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Grace’s previous address: 204 Rosewood Lane (now a rental property).

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.

Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox. The family lives at 311 Pelican Court. Allison is attending university in Seattle, while her boyfriend, Anson Butler, has joined the military.

Rachel Pendergast: Works at the Get Nailed salon. Engaged to widower Bruce Peyton, who has a daughter, Jolene.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own the Thyme and Tide bed-and-breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.

Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children, Mack and Linnette. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Lived in Cedar Cove and worked as a physician assistant in the new medical clinic. Now living in North Dakota. Her brother, Mack, a fireman in training, is moving to Cedar Cove.

Gloria Ashton: Sheriff’s deputy in Cedar Cove. Biological daughter of Roy and Corrie McAfee.

Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff. Married to Sandy, now deceased. Father of Megan.

Faith Beckwith: Troy Davis’s high-school girlfriend, now a widow. Moving back to Cedar Cove.

Bobby Polgar and Teri Miller Polgar: He is an international chess champion; she’s a hair stylist at Get Nailed. Their home is at 74 Seaside Avenue.

Christie Levitt: Sister of Teri Polgar, living in Cedar Cove.

James Wilbur: Bobby Polgar’s driver.

Pastor Dave Flemming: Local Methodist minister. He and his wife, Emily, are the parents of Matthew and Mark.

Shirley Bliss: Widow and fabric artist, mother of Tannith (Tanni) Bliss.

Shaw Wilson: Friend of Anson Butler, Allison Cox and Tanni Bliss.

One

Troy Davis had been with the sheriff’s department in Cedar Cove for most of his working life. He knew this town and he knew these people; he was one of them. Four times now he’d been elected to the office of sheriff by an overwhelming majority.

Sitting at his desk on this bleak January day, he let his mind wander as he sipped stale coffee. The department stuff was never good, no matter how recently it’d been brewed. As he sat there, he thought about Sandy, his wife of more than thirty years. She’d died last year of complications related to MS. Her death had left a gaping hole in his life. He’d often discussed his cases with her and had come to appreciate her insights. She usually had opinions, carefully considered ones, on what led people to commit the crimes that brought them to his attention.

Troy would’ve been interested in her views on one of his current cases. A couple of local teenagers had come upon skeletal remains in a cave not far from the road leading out of town. Partial results of the autopsy were finally in, but they raised more questions than they answered. Additional tests were forthcoming, and they might provide further information.

He could only hope… . Hard though it was to believe, the body had gone all this time without discovery, and no one seemed to know who it was.

Despite this perplexing—and very cold—case and, of course, the loss of his wife, Troy had reason to count his blessings. He had a comfortable life, good friends and his only child, Megan, was married to a fine young man. In fact, Troy couldn’t have chosen a better husband for his daughter had he handpicked Craig himself. In a few months, Megan would give birth to his first grandchild.

As far as finances went, Troy had no complaints. His house was paid off and so was his car. He enjoyed his work and had strong ties to the community.

And yet … he was miserable.

That misery could be attributed to one source.

Faith Beckwith.

Troy had reconnected with his high-school girlfriend, and almost before he realized what was happening, he’d fallen in love with her all over again.

Neither of them possessed an impulsive personality. They were adults; they’d known what they wanted and what they were doing.

Then the relationship that had seemed so promising had come to a sudden end—thanks to his daughter’s reaction and to some undeniably bad judgment on Troy’s part.

When Megan learned he was dating again so soon after her mother’s death, she’d been very upset. Troy understood his daughter’s feelings. It had only been a few months since they’d buried Sandy; however, Sandy had been ill for years, and in some ways, their farewells had been said long before. But the fact that Troy had hidden his relationship with Faith from his daughter had contributed significantly to the whole mess.

On the evening of Troy’s first visit to Faith’s home in Seattle, the first time he’d kissed her, Megan had been at the hospital. She’d had a miscarriage. And while she and Craig were at the hospital, they couldn’t reach Troy—because he’d turned off his cell phone. Because he hadn’t wanted his hours with Faith interrupted.

His guilt had been overwhelming. The baby had meant everything to Megan and Craig, especially so soon after Sandy’s death.

In retrospect Troy saw that he’d completely mishandled the situation. Immediately after Megan’s miscarriage he’d broken off the relationship with Faith. He’d acted out of remorse but he hadn’t taken Faith’s feelings into account; her shock and pain haunted him to this day.

He’d dedicated himself to his daughter and her needs ever since. That didn’t mean he’d stopped thinking about Faith—far from it. Thoughts of her filled his every waking moment.

To complicate this already complicated situation, Faith had sold her Seattle home and moved to Cedar Cove to be closer to her son, Scott—and to Troy. Seeing her around town these days was torture. Faith had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Troy didn’t blame her.

“I have that missing-persons file for you, Sheriff.” Cody Woodchase stepped into his office and set the folder in Troy’s in-basket.

“Thanks,” Troy murmured. “You checked the appropriate dates?”

Cody nodded, dutifully efficient. “And came up blank. The only major case I can personally recall was Daniel Sherman a few years back.”

Troy was well aware of the outcome. His old high-school friend had walked away from his family for no apparent reason. He’d simply vanished. The case had bothered Troy for well over a year. As it turned out, Dan had committed suicide, his body eventually found in the woods.

“That one was solved,” Troy pointed out.

“I remember,” Cody said. “Anyway, I pulled all the pertinent missing-persons files and printed them out for you.”

“Thanks.” Troy reached for the folder as soon as Cody left his office. Cedar Cove was fortunate enough to have a low crime rate. Oh, there was the occasional public disturbance, domestic violence now and then, a break-in, a drunk driver—the sort of crime common to any small town. There was a mystery every once in a while, too. The biggest that came to mind was the man who’d shown up at Thyme and Tide, the Beldons’ B and B. The stranger had the misfortune to die that very night. But that case, which was actually a murder, had been solved, too.

And now … the human remains, found just before Christmas.

According to the autopsy, they were those of a young man. A teenage boy between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. Based on those bones, there was no obvious cause of death. No blunt-force trauma, for instance. He’d been dead as long as twenty-five to thirty years.

Twenty-five to thirty years!

Troy had been with the department back then, untested and eager to prove himself. Sandy was pregnant after miscarrying twice, optimistic that this time they’d have their baby.

If a missing teenager had been reported in the late ‘70s or early ‘80s, Troy was confident he would’ve remembered it. The files Cody had printed out indicated that he was right. Not a single case involving a missing teenager, male or female, had been left unresolved.

To be on the safe side, he checked five years before and five years after. Twelve boys, mostly runaways, had been reported missing in that time. They’d all been found, either returning of their own accord or located by friends, relatives or the authorities.

Surely this young man had family, a mother and father, who must have wondered and waited in anguish. Troy closed his eyes and tried to think of boys he’d known during that time. Random names and faces rushed through his mind.

Around 1985, he recalled, Cedar Cove High School had won the state baseball championship. He could picture the first baseman, Robbie something, and Weaver, one of his deputies now, who’d been the team’s star pitcher. Troy had attended all the play-off games. Sandy had gone with him and, although she wasn’t a real baseball fan, she’d clapped and yelled her heart out.

Oh, how he missed Sandy… .

Troy had visited her grave a couple of times over the holidays. Even at the end, when her body had failed her and MS had stolen much of her dignity, she’d been cheerful. He missed her appreciation of life’s simple joys.

At least he and Megan were over the firsts—the first Thanksgiving without Sandy. The first Christmas. The first birthday, wedding anniversary and Mother’s Day. Those were the big ones, when her loss felt like a burden that would never grow lighter. When he and his daughter both acknowledged that nothing would ever be the same.

Troy was startled out of his reverie by someone calling his name.

“Am I interrupting anything important?” Louie Benson asked, standing in the office doorway.

“Louie.” Troy rose to his feet. It wasn’t every day he received a visit from the mayor of Cedar Cove. “Come on in. Good to see you.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

“Happy New Year,” Louie said as he slid into the seat. He rested one ankle on the opposite knee, striking a relaxed pose.

“Same to you,” Troy said and sat back down. “What can I do for you?” The mayor was a busy man and didn’t waste time on unnecessary visits. The fact was, Troy couldn’t remember when Louie had last sought him out. Oh, they ran into each other often enough; that was unavoidable, since they worked in the same office complex. Socially they were acquaintances and he saw Louie at civic functions or the occasional party.

Louie’s expression grew serious, and he leaned forward. “I’ve got a couple of things I want to discuss with you.”

“Sure.”

Louie looked down at the floor. “First, I want to remind you that I’m up for reelection this November. I was hoping for an endorsement.”

“It’s yours.” Troy was surprised the other man felt the need to bring it up so early in the year. Besides, he’d supported Louie’s previous campaigns. Nothing had changed. To the best of his knowledge, no other candidates had declared their intentions to run against him.

“I value your support,” Louie said. “And of course you have mine.” His gaze fell on Troy’s desk. “On another matter … What can you tell me about those remains that were recently discovered?”

“I got the autopsy report a few days ago,” Troy told him. “Jack Griffin ran an article about it in the Chronicle over the weekend. I’d hoped someone might step forward with information as a result. Dental evidence is useless because without a name we can’t get a chart for comparison. To date, I have nothing.”

Louie leaned back in his chair and eyed the open folder on Troy’s desk. “So … no clue who that unfortunate soul might be?”

“None whatsoever.”

This didn’t appear to please the mayor. “The reason I’m pushing you on this is that I got a call from the Seattle paper. Apparently Jack’s story aroused some interest there. They want to do a piece on those unidentified remains.” The mayor’s frown deepened. “I tried to steer the reporter away from the subject, but she seems determined to find out whatever she can. I gave her your contact information, so expect a call.”

“Must be a slow news day.” Troy appreciated getting advance notice. “Thanks for the heads-up.” Over the years he’d dealt with the press many times and was accustomed to handling reporters. He had nothing against them as long as they didn’t probe where they didn’t belong or print misinformation.

“My fear,” Louie went on to explain, “is that a negative story will hurt Cedar Cove’s reputation. We want to attract tourists, not drive them away with … with ghoulish stories about our town.”

“At this point there’s nothing for them to report,” Troy reassured him.

“Have you found out anything?” Louie inquired.

“Not really.” Troy shrugged. “Pretty much what Jack wrote in that article. The remains are those of a male, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. He’s been dead since 1980, give or take a few years. No indication how he died.”

Louie seemed uninterested in the details. “The thing is, Cedar Cove doesn’t need any bad press. Our initiative this year is to attract more tourists to the area. I hate the thought of Cedar Cove becoming the center of some macabre story about unidentified remains and an unsolved mystery.”

Troy nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Good.” Louie rose to his feet. “Do your best to solve this as quickly as possible.”

Standing up, too, Troy opened his mouth to assure the mayor he was doing the best he could, but he wasn’t given the opportunity.

“I’m not saying I want you to sweep anything under the rug, you understand?” the mayor said.

“Of course I won’t.”

“Good.” Louie extended his hand and Troy shook it. “Make sure nothing sensational or misleading gets printed, okay? Like I said, I want Cedar Cove to become a tourist destination, not some freak sideshow.”

“Do you remember the reporter’s name?” Troy asked.

“I doubt I’d forget it. Kathleen Sadler.”

“Kathleen Sadler,” Troy repeated. “Not to worry, I’ll set her straight.”

“Thanks.” Louie gave him a relieved smile. “I knew I could count on you.”

When the mayor had left, Troy went back to the paperwork on his desk. The phone rang frequently that afternoon, but there was no call from the reporter. He just hoped Kathleen Sadler hadn’t taken it upon herself to investigate the actual location. The cave was still taped off, but a piece of yellow crime-scene tape wasn’t always a deterrent to determined reporters.

Troy had kept the names of the two teenagers who’d discovered the body out of the Chronicle. However, that didn’t mean Sadler wouldn’t be able to track them down.

After they’d stumbled upon the remains, Troy had spoken to the teens twice. He was confident Philip “Shaw” Wilson and Tannith Bliss had told him everything they knew, which wasn’t much. The conversations had been straightforward. Although Tannith—Tanni—had done a good job of pretending to shrug off the incident, Troy could tell she’d been badly shaken. He was glad to turn the sixteen-year-old over to her mother.

The last thing Tanni needed was to be questioned by the Seattle press. Shaw was a bit older and Troy felt the young man would cope admirably with a barrage of questions. It might not hurt to give the two of them some warning.

His phone rang and Troy grabbed it, prepared to talk to the elusive Kathleen Sadler. “Sheriff Davis.”

“Uh, I hope I’m not disturbing you unnecessarily.” It was Cody Woodchase.

Troy caught the hesitation in his voice. “You’re not. What’s up?”

“I just got a call from the 9-1-1 dispatcher and apparently there’s been a break-and-enter at 204 Rosewood Lane.”

“Faith?” Troy’s reaction was immediate as he bolted to his feet. That was the address of the rental house where Faith had recently moved. She’d been there a little more than two months.

“I believe I heard she might be a … friend of yours.”

“Yes,” Troy said curtly, his throat muscles tight.

“I thought you’d want to know.”

“I do, Cody. Thank you.” Within seconds, Troy had thrown on his coat and reached for his hat. He charged out the office door, unable to think of anything but Faith. He needed to know she hadn’t been hurt, that she was safe from harm.

Two

The moment Faith Beckwith approached her home she recognized that something was wrong. A sense of foreboding stopped her even before she’d unlocked the kitchen door. She shivered but it wasn’t because of the damp chill of early January, although it’d been raining on and off all day, and the wind cut through her winter coat. Her indecision didn’t last long; she shook it off, turned the key and stepped into—chaos.

Her kitchen floor was strewn with garbage. Someone had upended the trash bin all over the linoleum. Coffee grounds, eggshells and an empty frozen orange-juice container left a trail of grime and filth. Footprints of coffee grounds led into the living room.

Without thinking, Faith reached for the phone. She managed to restrain herself from calling Troy Davis, pausing before she hit the first number, which she’d memorized long ago. Instead, she punched out her son’s home number, praying he was back from work.

The relief that cascaded through her at the sound of Scott’s voice nearly buckled her knees. “Scottie … someone broke into the house.”

“Mom? What do you mean?”

“Someone broke into the house,” she repeated, surprised that she was able to keep her voice level, although she’d begun to tremble with shock.

“You’re sure?”

“There’s garbage all over the kitchen floor!”

“Mom,” Scottie said calmly. “Put down the phone and dial 9-1-1, then call me back.”

“Oh, of course.” She should’ve thought of that. Normally she was a clear-thinking woman; however, stepping into this mess had completely unsettled her.

“Call me back as soon as you do.”

“Okay,” she promised Scottie, then pushed the disconnect button. Taking a deep breath she called emergency services and waited for the operator’s voice.

“This is 9-1-1. How may I assist you?”

“My house has been broken into,” Faith blurted. “I haven’t gone any farther than the kitchen. Whoever was here made a terrible mess.”

“Are you sure the intruder isn’t still in the house?”

That hadn’t even occurred to Faith. Oh, dear.

“No …” The chill she’d experienced earlier returned. It felt as if her feet were frozen to the floor. For all she knew, someone could be standing in the other room.

“Are you on a portable phone?” the operator asked, breaking into the frightening scenarios racing through her mind.

“Yes …”

“Go outside and remain on the line,” the operator continued.

Faith forced herself to hurry to the door, moving as quietly as she could, which was probably ridiculous since she’d been speaking in a normal tone earlier. Surely if the person responsible was in the house, he or she would’ve already overheard.

“I’m outside,” she whispered.

“Good,” the 9-1-1 operator told her in a reassuring voice. “I have a patrol car on the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Deputy Weaver’s estimated time of arrival is three minutes.”

“I’m a friend of Sheriff Troy Davis’s,” she said and instantly regretted it. Troy was out of her life. Yet he was the person she’d wanted to contact when she realized there’d been a break-in. “I was a friend,” she amended.

The phone beeped, indicating that there was another caller.

“I think that’s my son,” Faith told the operator. “He wanted me to phone him back as soon as I’d reported the … crime.” She wasn’t even sure how to refer to it.

“You can return the call in a moment,” the operator told her. “Deputy Weaver should be there soon.”

Faith sighed in relief when she saw the patrol car round the corner. “He’s here now.”

The phone beeped again. “I’ll need to take this, otherwise Scottie will be worried.” She thanked the operator and clicked off, then waited to connect with her son.

“Mom, is everything okay?”

“The deputy’s here,” she assured her son.

“All right. I’m leaving now.” Unfortunately, Scott’s house was some distance from Rosewood Lane, and it would be at least fifteen minutes before he arrived.

Still, once she knew Scott was coming, she felt as though she might collapse. As though she didn’t have the strength to remain upright.

The deputy parked his vehicle at the curb and after she’d spoken with him, he stalked into the house with his weapon drawn.

Clutching her purse, Faith stood in the driveway that led to the garage. Not more than a minute passed, although it seemed much longer before Deputy Weaver reappeared.

“All clear,” he told her.

Nodding, Faith started for the house, but Deputy Weaver placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Do you have family in the area?” he asked.

Faith nodded again. “My son, Scott, is on his way.”

“Then I’d recommend you wait until he can accompany you inside,” the deputy said.

She didn’t understand. “But why? You said whoever did this isn’t in the house anymore.”

The deputy paused. “I don’t believe this is something you’d want to see by yourself,” he said. “I can go in with you, too… .”

Faith had trouble taking in his words. “You mean … the damage is extensive?”

“You’ll need to judge that for yourself.”

“Oh.” Faith didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?” the deputy asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, taken aback by his question. “I’ve only been living in the area for a couple of months. This is a rental. I.I didn’t want to inconvenience my son and his family by living with them while I searched for a house to buy.”

Deputy Weaver nodded thoughtfully.

“Why?” she asked anxiously.

His gaze was sympathetic. “I’m sorry to say it, but this looks personal.”

“Personal? My goodness, it can’t be! I lived in Cedar Cove years and years ago, but I don’t know many people here these days. I’m working at the medical clinic and, well …” Faith stopped in midsentence when she saw Troy Davis’s vehicle.

He pulled up and parked behind Deputy Weaver, then climbed out of his car. It took every bit of her self-control not to rush toward him.

Troy’s eyes immediately sought hers. Despite her best efforts, Faith started to tear up. She hadn’t seen him since before Christmas, and in that time she’d struggled hard to cast memories of him out of her mind. Her success had been limited. Whole days would pass when she hardly thought of him. That was progress, and yet the first person she’d wanted to turn to in this crisis had been Troy.

Deputy Weaver stepped forward; he and Troy spoke briefly. Then the deputy ambled over to the house next door and Troy started walking toward her.

“Are you all right?” Troy asked, quickly assessing her.

She lowered her eyes rather than reveal how glad she was to see him. “I … I don’t know yet.” Somehow she managed a feeble smile that probably didn’t fool him.

“Does Scott know?”

“I … I called him right away. He’s the one who told me to contact emergency services. He said he was leaving the office.”

“Good.”

“He won’t get here for another ten minutes, though.”

“Would you rather wait for him or would you like me to do a walk-through of the house with you now?”

It must be bad. “Would you come with me?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

He clasped her elbow and together they headed toward the door off the kitchen. “I guess it’s a terrible mess.” The deputy’s reaction had implied as much.

As if touching her was a painful reminder that they’d severed their relationship, Troy dropped his hand. Trying to hide the bereft feeling that came over her, Faith opened the narrow closet next to the laundry and reached for the broom.

“I suggest we take a look at the damage before you attempt any cleanup.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

He walked into the living room, and when she followed him in, Faith gasped. It was as though a cyclone had gone through, leaving its devastation behind. The furniture was toppled and yellow spray paint had been blasted across her piano and bookcase.

Most distressing of all was what they’d done to the family photos displayed along the fireplace mantel. Shocked, Faith covered her mouth with both hands.

“This has to be personal,” Troy muttered. He reached for the picture of Scott and his wife and children. Each face had an X through it, drawn in bright red ink. The photo of Faith’s daughter, Jay Lynn, and her family, had received the same treatment. But a photograph of her late husband, Carl, had come in for the most brutal destruction. His image had been utterly blotted out.

“Who would do such a thing?” Faith cried.

“Have you argued with anyone lately?” Troy asked.

That was basically the same question Deputy Weaver had asked and the answer hadn’t changed. “No …”

“Think, Faith,” Troy insisted. “Whoever’s responsible for this—and it could be more than one person—is trying to hurt you.”

“In that case,” she snapped, “they’ve succeeded.”

“I’m so sorry this happened.” Troy’s words were gentle, kind. For a moment it looked as if he wanted to take her in his arms.

Weak and vulnerable as she felt just then, Faith would gladly have slipped into his embrace. She would’ve welcomed the comfort he offered, the reassurance that, in his arms, she was safe and secure.

Thankfully he remembered that they weren’t a couple anymore, and that his touch was no longer appropriate. He dropped his arm and took a small step in retreat.

“What about the bedroom?” Faith asked in an effort to disguise the uncertainty of her resolve.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Troy asked.

Would anyone be? “I … I’ll need to face it sooner or later.”

“True.” Again he led the way.

They were forced to step over drawers that had been dragged into the hallway, over chair cushions and books and lamps—and what appeared to be every piece of clothing she owned. It seemed as though the contents of her entire home had been emptied in the hallway.

When she saw her bedroom and the chaos there, tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t stand to look at any more. With a sob, she turned and hurried out of the room.

Anger surged through her. She couldn’t imagine who’d done this. Whoever it was wanted to disrupt the peace and serenity she’d worked so hard to achieve since moving to Cedar Cove.

“Can you tell if anything’s been taken?” Troy asked. She suspected he was trying to distract her from all the wreckage.

She walked into the living room and took several deep breaths. “No… not yet.” The knowledge that this might be more than vandalism upset her all over again. Whoever had broken in had probably taken whatever valuables they could find.

Why target her? Faith didn’t own more than a few pieces of expensive jewelry, some of which she was wearing. The other pieces—her wedding band and the pearls that had been her mother’s—were tucked away in a safety-deposit box at the bank.

“Is anything obvious missing?” he continued.

She shook her head.

“First thing I want you to do is get a new lock,” Troy said, examining the front door. “Make it a dead bolt. Consider an alarm system, too.”

“I’ll look into it.” His suggestion kept her from dwelling on what had happened, but not for long.

“My family,” she whispered. She stared at the photographs of her children and grandchildren. “Are they safe?”

Troy shrugged uncomfortably. “My guess is this is a scare tactic.”

“But why?”

Troy’s face creased in a dark frown. “I can’t answer that. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.”

“I want to know why …“

“I do, too,” he said, “and I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to find whoever’s responsible.”

That was fine, but Faith’s biggest concern remained her family. “Why would anyone cross out their faces? I won’t be able to sleep at night if there’s any chance my grandchildren might be at risk… . It’s all because of me,” she said in a rush. “What could I have possibly done to deserve this?”

Troy took her by the shoulders and his hold was all that kept her from collapsing.

“Faith, listen,” he said, sounding stern and official. “Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll schedule patrol cars to drive past your place and Scott’s, too. I don’t want you to worry, understand?”

It was almost more than she could do to nod in simple acknowledgment.

“Mom!” She heard Scott’s voice coming from the front porch.

When she didn’t immediately answer, Troy spoke on her behalf. “We’re inside the house,” he called out. Releasing her, he moved toward the door and opened it.

Scott charged into the house and did a double take. He was struck silent, his eyes wide with shock and dismay. Once he’d recovered, he turned to Troy to supply answers, the same way Faith had moments earlier.

Faith reached out to her son. She was close to both her children and her grandchildren, too, but refused to be a burden to them. Her independence meant everything, and she was determined to preserve it. After Carl’s death, she’d adjusted to being a widow, rambling around that large Seattle house on her own. Now she’d come back to Cedar Cove, but as much as possible, she still took care of whatever needed attention without calling her children for assistance.

So far she’d managed well, but this … this monster who’d invaded her home had overturned more than her furniture, he’d unsettled her entire world and destroyed her peace of mind.

“Deputy Weaver’s talking to the neighbors,” Troy said. “I’ll check with him and see if he has any information.”

“Whoever did this came through the front door?” Scott asked incredulously. He slid one arm around Faith’s shoulders. She was grateful for his support.

“It appears that way,” Troy answered.

“In broad daylight? Wasn’t anyone on the street home?”

Faith looked up. “The Vesseys are in Arizona for the winter and … and—” she faltered a bit “—everyone else on the block is either at work or at school.”

“Will you be okay?” Troy asked, his eyes revealing his reluctance to leave. But now that Scott had arrived, there was no reason for him to stay. He’d done his duty. No, he’d gone above and beyond anything duty required.

Calling on all her strength—and an acting ability she hadn’t known she possessed—Faith reassured him with a smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Troy. It … it meant a great deal that you came yourself.”

He touched the brim of his hat and, with a nod in Scott’s direction, turned and walked out the door.

Three

Olivia Griffin spooned up the last of her soup and set the empty bowl in the kitchen sink. The homemade tomato basil was one of her favorites and her mother made sure she had an abundant supply every week. Jack would be pleased that she’d finished her lunch. She’d received her first chemotherapy treatment the previous week and it had gone better than she’d expected.

But then her expectations hadn’t been optimistic. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before, Olivia had been afraid her life was almost over. To say the news had shocked her was putting it mildly. She’d always eaten properly, exercised regularly and taken all the recommended vitamins.

The important lesson she’d learned about cancer was that the disease wasn’t fair; for that matter, life wasn’t fair. And at her age, that was something she certainly should’ve known. Did know. Losing one of her children at thirteen, the failure of her first marriage. But somehow, she’d foolishly come to believe she could control her body, her health, if she did the right things. That loss of control was difficult to accept, yet she had no choice.

She was a woman who rigorously managed her environment—no clutter in her house. She realized she’d become more that way after Jordan’s death.

She’d taken a leave from her position as a family court judge and was gearing up, both emotionally and physically, for the treatments scheduled during the next three months. She knew some people worked through their chemo, but everyone had urged her not to. “Give yourself a break,” Jack said, and so she had.

The sound of a car door closing alerted Olivia to the fact that she had company. Glancing out the large kitchen window, she noticed that her visitor was none other than her mother. No surprise there.

Olivia frowned slightly when she saw that Charlotte was alone. Since her mother had married Ben several years ago, they were practically always together. They’d returned from a Caribbean cruise on Christmas Day and her mother had been a daily visitor ever since.

Knowing Charlotte preferred to park at the side of the house and use the back entrance, Olivia opened the door off the kitchen.

Her mother smiled as she entered the house. “I hoped I’d catch you before you had a nap,” she said. She placed the basket on the table and quickly divested herself of purse and coat, hanging them on the hook by the door. Charlotte rarely stopped by without bringing some kind of treat, generally something homemade.

“Mom,” Olivia joked, “I outgrew naps when I was four, remember?”

“I know, dear,” Charlotte said, without taking offense, “but you need your rest, especially now.”

“I slept in this morning.” Olivia’s normal routine had her out of bed at six and in the courthouse by eight-thirty.

The sheer luxury of not setting the alarm each night could become habit-forming, she thought.

“Slept in until what time?” Charlotte asked as she folded back the basket’s red-checkered cloth and brought out a tin of cookies and an orange Bundt cake that just happened to be one of Jack’s favorites.

“Nearly eight.”

Her mother looked over her shoulder and pretended to gasp. “My, that’s so late.”

Olivia laughed. “Well, for me it is—and it was divine.”

“Jack got ready for work on his own and didn’t wake you?”

As a matter of fact, her husband had awakened her, but in the most romantic way. Jack had brought her a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Then he’d kissed her—repeatedly—before he’d left for the newspaper office. The memory of his kisses stirring her from a deep sleep filled her with a warm glow of happiness.

“Would you like some tea, Mom?” Olivia asked. Usually she had coffee only in the morning and tea after that.

“I’ll make it,” Charlotte said.

“I’m not an invalid,” Olivia protested, although she knew it was pointless to argue. Without waiting for a reply, she pulled out a chair and sat down, watching as her mother bustled about the kitchen.

Olivia tended to let Jack and her mother pamper her these days. There was so little either of them could do for her, and these small indulgences—coffee in bed, some home-baked goodies—made them feel better, too.

“Where’s Ben?” she asked as her mother put water on to boil and added tea bags to the pot.

“Home, in his lazy chair,” Charlotte said. “He’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Did you make him some of your chicken noodle soup?” This was her mother’s surefire remedy for just about anything that ailed the people she loved.

Charlotte nodded. “It’s simmering in the Crock-Pot at this very moment.” She took two teacups and saucers from the cupboard as she spoke. “Ben’s tired out from the cruise, and then, well, this whole business with David and the baby has really upset him.”

On Christmas Eve, a young pregnant woman by the name of Mary Jo Wyse had arrived in Cedar Cove looking for David Rhodes, Ben’s youngest son. David was the father of her child, and he’d told the naive young woman a pack of lies. Aside from the more serious lies—like telling her he loved her and wanted the baby—he’d led Mary Jo to believe he’d be spending the holidays with Charlotte and Ben. David knew very well that his father and stepmother would be on a cruise; he’d obviously assumed that Mary Jo wouldn’t try to find him.

What he hadn’t expected was that she’d actually come to town, let alone that she’d go into labor and give birth to her daughter here, in Cedar Cove. It turned out to be a miraculous night, one Olivia and her best friend, Grace Harding, would long remember.

“Has Ben been in touch with David?” Olivia asked. The last she’d heard, no one had reached David to tell him Mary Jo had given birth to a daughter.

Charlotte nodded just as the kettle started to whistle. She lifted it off the burner and filled the teapot, which she covered with a cozy and carried to the kitchen table. Next, she brought over the cups and saucers. All her movements were economical and precise, Olivia thought, testament to all those years of working in the kitchen, bringing comfort to others.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t a pleasant conversation,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “Ben is dreadfully disappointed in his son.”

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time. Far from it.

“David tried to deny that he even knew Mary Jo.”

The weasel. The jerk! Attempting to squirm his way out of responsibility was typical, of course. Olivia’s first exposure to David had been when he’d attempted to swindle Charlotte out of several thousand dollars. Thankfully, Justine, Olivia’s daughter, had managed to thwart him.

Charlotte released another deep sigh. “I’m afraid Ben and David argued. Ben didn’t say much afterward and I didn’t pressure him, but you can imagine how he feels.”

“He got a beautiful granddaughter out of this mess, though,” Olivia reminded her mother.

“Oh, yes, and he’s thrilled about Noelle. I know he’s already had his will revised.”

“Have you heard from Mary Jo?” Olivia asked.

“We’ve talked to her a couple of times this week. She sounds well, and the baby’s thriving.”

“That’s good news.”

“And her brothers are crazy about little Noelle.”

The memory of Christmas Eve produced a smile as Olivia recalled the three Wyse brothers rushing to Grace and Cliff’s ranch in an effort to find their little sister. They’d fumbled and bumbled their way across the Puget Sound area and eventually arrived, just in time to see their newborn niece. Mary Jo had been staying in the apartment above Cliff’s barn at the ranch, where she’d gone into labor.

“When we spoke yesterday, Mary Jo said Mack McAfee had stopped by to see the baby,” Charlotte told her.

“He went over to Seattle, then?” The young firefighter had been with Mary Jo during much of her labor and had delivered the baby. It was his first birth. Olivia could clearly recall how excited he’d been. Mack’s face had shone with such joy, you’d almost think he’d been the child’s father.

“Yes, and Mary Jo said he brought Noelle another stuffed animal.” Charlotte removed the cozy and picked up the pot, pouring them each a cup of steaming green tea. Shaking her head in amusement, she looked up at Olivia. “Between Mack and Mary Jo’s brothers, that baby has enough toys to last her whole childhood.”

“That’s so nice,” Olivia said, reaching for her cup.

“Did you hear about Faith Beckwith?” Charlotte opened the tin and offered Olivia an oatmeal-raisin cookie.

“That she moved back to town, you mean?” This was old news as far as Olivia was concerned. She bit into her cookie, which as always was just right.

“No.” Charlotte took a sip of tea. “That her home was vandalized.”

“No!” Olivia was horrified. “Oh, dear, does Grace know?”

The rental belonged to her best friend, who’d agonized over whether to sell the house or keep it. Her first tenants, a young navy couple, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had barely settled in when Ian was transferred to another duty station. The next tenants had gotten months behind in their rent and seemed determined to work the system and live there rent-free as long as possible. Apparently the couple and the hangers-on who lived with them knew exactly what they were doing.

The experience had been terrible for poor Grace. Fortunately, the renters had moved of their own accord—with a little help from Jack and Grace’s husband, Cliff, who’d come up with a rather inventive means of persuading the gang of deadbeats to vacate the house quickly.

“Oh, dear,” Charlotte murmured as she set aside her cup. “I forgot. Grace asked me not to tell you.”

“Why ever not?”

“She didn’t want you to worry.”

The one thing Olivia wished was that her family and friends would stop treating her as if she’d faint at the smallest hint of bad news.

“I’ll talk to Grace later, but first tell me about Faith.”

Her mother held her teacup in both hands. “Oh, she’s fine. The minute I heard about the break-in, I went over to help her clean up. So did Grace and Cliff, of course, and Corrie and Peggy and a bunch of others. The place was a mess.” Charlotte grimaced. “An awful mess.”

“How’s Faith handling all this?”

Her mother leaned against the back of her chair. “You know Faith. She’s a strong woman, but this break and enter rattled her. Thank goodness the vandal was gone by the time she got home.”

Olivia could easily guess how unsettling this must have been for Faith. “Was anything taken?” she asked.

“When I saw her, she wasn’t sure, and we were all so busy cleaning up the house it was hard to tell. I don’t think she’ll know until she has a chance to go through everything.”

“Who else came to help?” This was something Olivia loved about Cedar Cove. Neighbors were more than neighbors—they were friends who willingly pitched in when needed.

“Well, naturally, her son and his wife.”

“Of course.”

“Megan Bloomquist was there, too.”

“Troy’s daughter?”

“Yes. Faith and Megan have struck up quite a friendship.”

This was surprising. “What about the sheriff and Faith?”

Charlotte set her teacup in its saucer, her frown thoughtful. “That, unfortunately, is a delicate situation. I hear they’ve decided not to see each other anymore.”

“Really?” Olivia was sorry about that. She remembered that the two of them had dated in high school. Recently there’d been rumors that they’d reconnected, which seemed like such a satisfying idea. It saddened her to think that everything wasn’t going to fall neatly into place. But, as she very well knew, not every romance had a happy ending.

Both were silent for several seconds. “The locksmith showed up while I was there,” Charlotte said. “Troy suggested a dead-bolt system for the house, and Grace got it installed immediately.”

“Good.”

“Front and back doors, and the garage, as well.” Her mother grinned. “Lloyd said he’d defy anyone to get into that house again.”

Lloyd Copeland was the town’s locksmith and had twenty years’ experience. If he said the house was secure, then it was secure. The only way in would be through a window, but Olivia recalled that Grace had installed extrastrong glass in the downstairs panes.

“I’m glad,” Olivia said. “Faith needs the peace of mind.”

“Amen to that.” Charlotte finished her tea and stood to bring her cup to the sink. “Anything more I can do for you, Olivia?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Thanks for asking.”

“Has your brother been by lately?” Charlotte asked as she headed toward the door.

“Will phoned this morning.”

The immediate frown told Olivia that her mother wasn’t pleased. She expected Will to visit at least three times a week, to commiserate and hold her hand.

“Mom,” she protested. “Will’s busy. He’s working on getting the art gallery up and running, plus remodeling the living space.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Olivia didn’t bother to argue.

“You’ve seen him since Christmas though, right?”

“Of course.” Actually, Will had come over on Christmas Day, looking a bit depressed. He’d gone to Shirley Bliss’s home and—to his astonishment—she hadn’t been there. Her brother had a massive ego and assumed that the world revolved around his schedule. It had never occurred to him that Shirley, one of his artists and a widowed mother of two, would be anywhere but at home, waiting, longing, for a visit from him. Olivia hoped her brother had learned from this.

“Don’t forget I brought you my orange Bundt cake.”

“I couldn’t possibly forget.” Although Jack would appreciate eating it more than Olivia. “You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?”

Her mother didn’t deny it. “I’ll cook you a batch of my special lasagna next.”

“Mom,” Olivia said laughingly, “I won’t fit into any of my clothes if this continues.” Although she was far from having to worry about that. Her suits hung on her because she’d lost weight before Christmas, fighting off a serious infection. However, Olivia wanted her mother to know that while she valued everything Charlotte did for her, she was well on the road to recovery.

“Let me spoil you a bit longer,” her mother said. “Please, honey?”

Olivia gave in with a smile. “All right, Mom.”

Charlotte put on her coat and scooped up her purse and the empty basket. “I’m off to see Bess.” One of her many friends. “You’ll call if you need anything?” she asked. “Promise?”

“Of course,” Olivia assured her.

Her mother grasped the doorknob. “And don’t let Jack eat that cake all by himself, you hear?”

Olivia laughed again. “I’ll do my best, Mom.”

With a saucy wave, her mother was out the door. Olivia just hoped that when she reached that age, she’d have as much energy, optimism and charm as her wonderful mother.

Four

There was someone pounding on Christie Levitt’s front door as she stood over the bathroom sink, brushing her teeth. She rinsed her mouth and methodically set her toothbrush in the holder, then splashed cold water on her face. She had no idea who’d be at her door this early in the day.

“Hold your horses,” she shouted and winced. Her head throbbed with what threatened to become a blinding headache.

Whoever was at the door was certainly persistent. On her way through the hallway to her bedroom, she did a quick mental review of the bills she’d paid. Yes, she specifically remembered that she’d mailed off checks to the electric and water companies.

Both utilities had been shut off before and in her opinion the companies were rather sneaky about it. No one had come to the door, at least not that she recalled.

Grabbing a housecoat, she slid her arms into the sleeves and belted the waist, doing her best to ignore the throbbing in her head.

“Who is it?” she demanded as she unbolted the lock. Her head ached, her eyes stung. What she really needed was a cup of strong, hot coffee. The stronger the better, and it couldn’t come any too soon. Waking with a mouth so dry it felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, she’d brushed her teeth first. Coffee was going to be her next step.

The moment she opened the apartment door, her sister pushed past her.

Christie groaned. She’d tried to avoid Teri. Her sister’s persistent phone calls had gone unanswered. Christie had torn up the note Teri had slipped under her door without bothering to read it. No need; she knew what it said. She should’ve realized that Teri didn’t know how to take a hint.

“What do you want?” Christie winced again at the pain that felt like a spear going through her head.

Teri, five months pregnant with triplets, glared at her indignantly. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Christie walked into the kitchen and reached for the coffeepot. “Don’t mince words or anything.”

“I never have and I’m not about to start now.” Teri followed her into the room, and without waiting for an invitation pulled out a chair and sat down. “Put some water on for tea if you would,” she said. Her hands automatically went to rest on her protruding belly, and she raised her feet to the seat of the opposite chair, as if she intended to stay a while.

Great. Just great. Not only did Christie have a headache to contend with, she was stuck with Teri, too. In a minor act of rebellion, she started the coffee before filling a cup with water and slamming it into the microwave. She hit the timer button savagely.

“What are you doing here?” she ventured to ask, although she could easily guess. This visit had to do with James Wilbur, Teri and Bobby’s former chauffeur. Even mentally saying his name brought a flash of pain.

The scum.

The rat.

Christie had been convinced she was in love. Deeply, truly in love. Oh, she’d loved before, always unwisely as it turned out. She’d been married and divorced and had gone through a succession of men who all said they loved her … and fool that she was, Christie had believed them.

With James it’d been different; this time everything seemed right. But then he did what every man had done to her. He’d dumped her. He’d left her a cryptic message and taken off, and in the process broken her already wounded heart.

Well, no more. Never again.

Christie was finished with men.

Done.

She meant it this time. Loving someone, loving a man, simply hurt too much.

“Your car’s parked outside The Pink Poodle,” Teri announced, watching her closely as she moved about the kitchen.

“So?” Christie returned flippantly. Where she chose to leave her car was none of her sister’s business. The microwave made a beeping noise but she ignored it.

“So,” Teri echoed in the same sarcastic tone, “you’ve been drinking again.”

“What about it? My friends are there.” It wasn’t any big deal if she chose to have a couple of beers with the guys after work. A few hours at the Poodle helped break the monotony and fend off loneliness. Going back to an empty apartment and spending the night in front of the tube wasn’t much incentive to rush home.

“These guys are your friends? Yeah, right.”

“Listen, if you’re here to lecture me, then save your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”

Teri scowled. The way they were snapping at each other was reminiscent of the relationship they used to have. Over the past year that had improved, thanks in large part to James and to Bobby Polgar, Teri’s chess-playing husband.

Teri broke eye contact, lowered her head and sighed. She sounded either hurt or offended, Christie wasn’t sure which. But this reaction was so unlike her bossy forthright sister that Christie was immediately concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Various possibilities raced through her head. A complication with the pregnancy, or trouble with Bobby, or maybe the problem, whatever it was, concerned their younger brother, Johnny. Or—

“It’s the pregnancy,” Teri blurted out. She closed her eyes. “I get light-headed from time to time. I’m fine. It’s just that carrying three babies is taking its toll.”

Christie felt a jolt of alarm. “Something’s wrong with the babies?”

“No,” Teri said, gesturing dismissively with her hand. “It’s me.”

“You’re—”

“The doctor said my blood pressure would fluctuate and I’d have off days. Apparently this is one of those days and the kidlets are making sure I know they’re there. But it’s nothing to worry about.”

Despite her sister’s reassurances, Christie was worried. She shouldn’t have ignored Teri’s attempts to reach her. As a result, her sister had come in search of her. In every likel-ihood Teri had gone against doctor’s orders by leaving the house, and all because Christie refused to pick up the phone.

The coffeemaker made a gurgling noise, signaling that the brewing was complete. Christie grabbed a mug, inspecting it to be sure it was clean before filling it to the brim. She pulled Teri’s tea water out of the microwave and brought both to the table, along with a decaffeinated herbal tea bag, and sat across from her sister.

“All right, talk to me,” Christie said and sipped her coffee, gasping as it burned her lips.

Teri slowly breathed in and out, her eyes closed. “I blame you for this.”

“Me? What’d I do?” She did blame herself but wasn’t prepared to admit it.

“All … all you think about is yourself.” For a moment it sounded as if Teri was about to break into tears. Her voice quavered and her lower lip started to tremble.

Christie blinked. Teri was the strong, determined one in the family, and not usually given to emotional outbursts. Christie was the volatile sister—and this role reversal made her uncomfortable.

Whatever was bothering Teri, she couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“What did I do?” Christie repeated.

Teri fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose with an inelegant honk before stuffing the tissue back into her purse. “You never thought about Bobby’s feelings or mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“We miss James, too. Bobby hardly knows what to do with himself. You’re not the only one who’s hurting!”

Her sister was right. Christie hadn’t stopped to consider what James’s leaving had meant to Bobby and her sister. James had been Bobby’s closest friend for many years. He was Bobby’s confidant as well as his driver.

Recently an enterprising reporter had revealed that James was once a chess prodigy himself, and that he’d suffered an emotional collapse in his early teens and spent time in a mental institution. Afterward he’d disappeared from the chess world. When the news story broke, Bobby’s friend had panicked and run.

The fact that James had deserted her and Bobby and Teri was cruel enough. And Christie knew she hadn’t been much comfort to them because she was too devastated by what he’d done. She’d tried not to fall in love with him; again and again she’d rebuffed him, and still he’d pursued her.

James was unlike any man she’d ever known. He hadn’t rushed her into bed, although she would’ve gone willingly if he’d asked. He didn’t. Instead, he’d broken down her resistance, bit by bit, ever patient, undemanding and kind. No woman, no matter how emotionally strong, could resist such tender persuasion. Christie certainly couldn’t.

Just before he disappeared, she’d laid out her past to him and she hadn’t prettied it up, either. She’d told him everything, about the men she’d been with, the marriage that had crumbled under the weight of alcoholism and physical abuse. She’d left nothing out. If he was going to love her and be part of her life, she didn’t want anything hidden in the shadows, to leap out at some unexpected time.

James had listened quietly, had held her and kissed her—and hadn’t said a single word about his own history.

Christie had offered him her trust, something she’d sworn she’d never give another man. She’d even started thinking about being married to James, having a baby with him… . What hurt so badly was that he hadn’t loved her enough to share his past.

Well, that was that. Another painful lesson learned. James was out of her life now.

For good.

It didn’t matter if he returned, and everyone seemed to assume that eventually he would. She was through.

“You didn’t come for Christmas,” Teri complained. Apparently it still rankled that Christie had missed the big family get-together. But as far as Christie was concerned, Christmas dinner with her ragtag family wasn’t any real loss.

“I was volunteering, remember?” This was true, but she’d already decided not to show up at Teri and Bobby’s place before she made that arrangement.

Teri looked over at her with big brown doe-eyes. “You were … volunteering?”

“Yeah. I told you. I served meals in Tacoma at the homeless shelter.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I delivered Christmas baskets to needy families, too, but that was before Christmas.”

Teri shocked her when she suddenly began to laugh. “And I accused you of not paying attention to me. I’m almost as bad. I completely forgot you were doing that. Here I thought you were probably in some tavern, instead of with Bobby and me.”

“No way.” She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but at Christmas she’d still felt emotionally shaky. Being with Teri and Bobby was risky—there were too many memories associated with James at her sister’s home. And it was hard to watch those two, with their romantic bliss and cozy domestic life. Her pain was too close to the surface. She was better now, stronger than she’d been in a long while.

“Then why haven’t you answered my calls?”

Christie didn’t have an explanation for that. All right, so maybe she wasn’t as strong as she thought.

“You’re drinking?”

“A few beers. Don’t worry, I didn’t get drunk.” Although she’d downed enough alcohol to leave her with a killer headache. She figured the booze had affected her like this because she hadn’t been drinking much lately.

“You were too drunk to drive.”

Christie denied that. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her limit.

Teri didn’t seem to believe her. “Then why is your car at The Pink Poodle?”

“It wouldn’t start.” Christie didn’t want to think about that piece of junk. Every day the engine fired to life was a day to be grateful for.

A few months ago, James had managed to jury-rig it into running again but there were too many things wrong with her sad excuse for a car.

“How’d you get home?”

“Someone gave me a ride.”

Teri’s gaze shot toward the bedroom.

“No one spent the night, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Teri had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “But it wouldn’t be the first time if someone did,” she muttered.

Christie couldn’t argue with that. When it came to men she was batting zero. As Teri had once said, Christie attracted losers the way an ice cream truck attracts children. Not that Teri should talk; she’d been fortunate enough to break the pattern of harmful and unfulfilling relationships when she met Bobby. Christie had been so sure that James was her Bobby… . He wasn’t.

Teri drank some of her tea and sent Christie a smile. “I’m glad you weren’t alone over Christmas.”

“I am, too. It helped, you know?” Christie took a tentative sip of coffee.

“I know,” Teri said.

“Instead of sitting home and feeling sorry for myself, I took the initiative and did something for someone else.”

Teri didn’t appear to be completely mollified. “You could’ve spent the day with Bobby and me. Johnny was there, and Mom came by. I wish you’d been there, too,” she added plaintively.

In retrospect it probably wouldn’t have hurt to make a token appearance. “How is Mom?” she asked, hoping to distract her sister.

“She’s filed for divorce.”

“Again?”

Christie had lost count of how many stepdads and “uncles” she’d accumulated through the years. “I don’t understand why she marries these guys.” She had to be on her fifth or sixth husband. Christie had stopped making an effort to remember their names; they never seemed to last long enough to bother. The fact was, she hadn’t seen her mother in more than a year.

“I don’t know why she marries them, either,” Teri said. “At least she didn’t get bombed this time. Maybe because what’s-his-name wasn’t there.”

“Did Bobby put her purse by the front door again?”

Teri grinned at the memory. As Christie recalled, her mother had vowed never to return. That vow, like every other one she’d made through the years, had turned out to be meaningless.

“I think Bobby was tempted to show Mom the door, but for my sake he restrained himself.”

“He’s a good man.”

Her sister’s eyes softened. “He is,” she agreed.

“How’s Johnny doing?” Their little brother held a special place in Christie’s heart. Between them, the two sisters had practically raised him.

Christie was as proud as any mother when Johnny was accepted into the University of Washington. Having Bobby Polgar as a brother-in-law hadn’t hurt. Teri had never said as much, but it didn’t take a college degree to add two and two. Johnny never could have afforded the tuition and other expenses on his own, and there hadn’t been any scholarships.

“He made the dean’s list.”

“I’m thrilled for him!” She’d have to call Johnny soon, congratulate him.

“Me, too.” Teri sipped her tea. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know.” Christie’s declarations of strength and independence were a lot of bravado. Spending Friday night at The Pink Poodle was testament to that. Waking up with a hangover wasn’t the way she wanted to live the rest of her life. It wasn’t the way she intended to live it, either.

“You know what I was thinking?” Christie said a bit sheepishly, half afraid Teri would laugh.

“No, tell me.”

She gave a self-conscious shrug. “I handed out charity baskets with that group from the Methodist church at Christmas.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“They were nice people.”

Teri laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Actually, she was. Christie had expected those church people to make some comment about her lifestyle. Instead, everyone was friendly and welcoming. She hadn’t been back, although she wasn’t sure why.

“I’m going to go to church.” Having said as much, Christie held her breath and waited for Teri’s reaction.

“Why do you say it like that?” Teri asked in a puzzled voice.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re standing up at an AA meeting and making a confession. Lots of people attend church, you know.”

“What about you?”

“I go every now and then, and I always feel good afterward. I don’t have anything against going to church and you shouldn’t, either.”

“I want to live a better life,” Christie said, remembering how she’d felt when she was delivering the charity baskets. Instead of being so self-absorbed, so consumed by her own loss, she’d reached out to help others less fortunate.

“That’s what I want, too,” Teri echoed. “A better life than our mother’s, a better life for my child … er, children.” Teri grinned as she said it.

“Pastor Flemming wrote a note to thank me for volunteering,” Christie said. The letter sat on the kitchen counter and she picked it up. When it first arrived, she’d been feeling depressed and had given it a cursory glance. The only thing she remembered was something about a backpack program sponsored by the church. She decided to find out what that was.

“Will you come to church with me on Sunday?” Christie asked.

Teri didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.” “Thanks.”

“I’d get up and hug you,” Teri said, “but I’m too comfortable where I am.”

Christie laughed and stretched out a hand to clasp her sister’s.

Five

Sheriff Troy Davis closed the file concerning the break-in at Faith’s home. Unfortunately, there’d been no progress, and he felt he should deliver the disappointing news in person. As he drove his patrol car toward Rosewood Lane, he reviewed the little he knew about the situation.

He’d spoken to his lead detective regarding the break and enter. Detective Hildebrand had assured Troy that his staff had done everything that could be done—the neighbors had been interviewed, and comparisons made with similar crimes in Cedar Cove and in nearby jurisdictions.

Instead of letting Hildebrand or his assistant call or visit Faith, he’d stepped in and volunteered to do it. She was, after all, his friend. Or at least, she had been. Mostly this visit was prompted by Troy’s need to see how Faith was faring after the break-in.

When he’d parked in front of the house, he didn’t leave the car immediately, mentally preparing himself for the meeting. He knew that seeing her would be hard. Faith had made it clear that she didn’t want any further contact and he’d respected her wishes. This, however, was official business—even if it didn’t have to be his business.

He marched up the steps leading to her front door, rang the bell and waited, hat in his hand.

She answered the door cautiously, and her eyes brightened when she saw him. That spark was quickly gone, however, replaced by a faraway look, flat and emotionless. In that moment, it demanded all his discipline not to pull her into his arms and beg for another chance. He needed Faith, loved her, wanted to marry her—and had destroyed any possibility of that happening.

“I have the report from the investigating officer,” Troy said briskly, conveying that this was police business and not a social call.

“Oh, good.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him to come inside.

Troy paused to examine the lock and was relieved to see that Faith had taken his advice and installed a dead bolt. Or rather, Grace and Cliff Harding, the owners, had arranged for it. Not surprisingly, Grace had been horrified by what she’d seen. This had been her home for decades—and Faith was her friend. Megan had told him that both Grace and Cliff had helped with the cleanup.

The house was tidy once again and back to normal. That couldn’t have been an easy task. The aroma of baking reminded him that he’d worked through his lunch hour.

“I just took some bran muffins out of the oven. Would you like one?” Faith asked.

It’d been a long time since Troy had tasted anything home-baked. He wondered if she offered because she’d heard his stomach growl or if she’d noticed that he’d nearly swooned when he entered the house. Or maybe she was simply being polite. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t about to turn her down. “That’d be great,” he said, hoping he sounded casual.

“I have coffee on, too. Can I get you a cup?”

“Please.” He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she poured the coffee and took a muffin out of the pan, setting it on a small plate. He waited until she was seated before he pulled out the chair across from her. It seemed to take her an inordinate amount of time to look at him. One quick glance in his direction, and then she lowered her eyes again.

“What did you find out?” she asked, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Troy wished he had something positive to share with her. “Unfortunately, the news is … inconclusive.”

“What do you mean? Your people were here for hours, dusting for fingerprints. They wouldn’t let me straighten a thing until they’d finished. The deputy said they managed to lift a number of solid prints.” Her eyes pleaded with him to explain this nightmare. Troy wished he could; he wanted to prove to Faith that he was her hero … and that she could trust him.

“You’re right. The crime-scene technician was able to lift a number of fingerprints.”

“But they were all mine?”

“No,” he said. “Not all of them. But the clear ones weren’t out of the ordinary. That’s why we took the elimination prints.” He shrugged. “We suspect the intruder wore rubber gloves.”

She looked confused. “A professional, then.”

“At this point, we can’t say. My guess is this isn’t the first home this person has broken into.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I’d hoped—I was sure with so many prints … there’d be at least one that would identify whoever did this.”

“We checked each and every fingerprint and they were all ones we could identify.”

“Oh.” She didn’t disguise her disappointment.

“Have you made a list of what’s missing for Detective Hildebrand?”

Faith nodded. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“In what way?”

“The items taken. They’re mostly things of sentimental value. Like you said earlier, this break-in seemed … personal.”

“Give me an example.”

She unfolded her hands and gestured helplessly. “They took a picture album I made when the grandchildren were born. You saw what they did to Carl’s photograph. I had—oh, it’s too silly to mention.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Her lower lip trembled before she regained her composure. “A toy train … It was from Carl’s boyhood. I had it sitting on the bedroom dresser. Scottie’s son likes to play with it when they visit and—”

“That was stolen?”

Faith nodded again. “I never thought of it as a valuable antique, but perhaps it is.”

“What about jewelry, cash?”

“I don’t keep anything of real value lying around.”

“That’s smart.” Thinking over what she’d told him, Troy peeled away the paper from his muffin. It was still warm enough to burn his fingers, and he left it to cool a moment while he doctored his coffee.

“I can’t believe this happened to me!” Faith cried, then inhaled a deep, calming breath. When she spoke again, her voice shook slightly. “I just don’t understand it.”

He sympathized with her and knew how she felt—angry, violated, afraid. “I want to assure you the department’s doing everything within our power to find whoever is responsible,” he told her.

“Why me?” she asked, her eyes wide and imploring.

Troy longed to reach across the table to take her hand. “I wish I could answer that, but as you said, none of this makes sense. I’d like to think it was a random act of violence, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. Regardless of who did this and why, you were an easy target. From this point forward you won’t be again.”

“No, I won’t.” Faith straightened, tensing her shoulders as if to say she’d dare anyone to try breaking into her home again. Troy had encountered that determination of hers more than once and almost felt sorry for anyone who earned her wrath.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Troy asked. “You never know where a small piece of information can lead, no matter how insignificant it seems.” He remembered a case years ago, when he was still a deputy. A break-in had occurred, and Troy had stopped to talk to some kids at a bus stop, asking if they’d seen anything unusual. A kid, who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, mentioned a white Jeep. The man who drove it wore a Mariners’ baseball cap and had long, blond hair. The boy had claimed the man looked “mean.”

A couple of days later, Troy had passed a white Jeep parked at a gas station. When the driver came out, he had on a Mariners’ baseball cap, covering long, stringy blond hair. Suspecting this might be the same person, Troy ran the license plate number—and discovered that the Jeep had been reported stolen. He followed the man and arrested him without incident. It later turned out that this man was responsible for a series of break-ins all around Cedar Cove. The best part of the story was that the majority of valuables had been recovered.

At his question, Faith hesitated. “I’m not sure this means anything,” she said.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Okay.” A vulnerable look came over her. “I have a feeling that the person who broke into the house has been back.”

Without revealing any outward sign of alarm, Troy asked, “What makes you say that?”

Faith stood and walked over to the kitchen sink and pointed out the window. “There was graffiti on the back of the garage.”

“Show me,” he said abruptly.

“I painted over it the next day… . The words were ugly and I didn’t want my grandchildren to see them… . Or anyone else for that matter.”

“Show me, anyway.”

Faith grabbed a coat from the peg by the back door and led him outside. He shivered in the January cold as he followed Faith to the far side of the garage. He could see the fresh layer of white paint. “Although it might be embarrassing, tell me exactly what the message said.”

Faith stared down at her feet and told him. She was right; they were ugly words. He wished she’d told him about this earlier, since it might have yielded evidence. Now, however, it was too late.

Troy frowned. “You think whoever was responsible for the break-in came back and did this?” It was definitely a reasonable assumption.

Faith nodded. “The other night … I woke up and heard noises. At first I was too terrified to move. I was afraid they were inside the house. It took me a few minutes to realize the sound came from the garage.” She was obviously making an effort to control her voice, but despite that it started to tremble.

“You should’ve called 9-1-1,” he said urgently.

“I know … I wish I had. Oh, Troy, I’ve been so scared.”

Troy couldn’t bear to see Faith upset. Instinctively he slipped his arms around her—and she willingly moved into his embrace. He felt her shudder and his hold tightened. He wanted to reassure her that he’d do whatever he could to prevent anything like this from happening again.

“You should’ve called 9-1-1,” he repeated.

“But what if it was nothing? I thought my imagination might be running away with me.”

“Then you saw the graffiti… .”

“The next morning,” she confirmed, “and I realized I’d been foolish not to call the authorities right away.”

“You should have,” he said. There was no telling what might’ve happened while she hemmed and hawed, afraid to risk a little embarrassment.

“Faith, listen to me.” He cupped his hands around her face and raised her head so that their eyes met. “I would rather you had peace of mind. I don’t want you lying awake at night, worrying that someone’s on the property.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m not sleeping nights … I haven’t slept more than two or three hours at a time since the break-in.”

“Faith …”

“I know I was ridiculous. I won’t ignore any noises again.”

“Has this happened more than once?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know … I don’t think so. I sleep so lightly now. I’m afraid someone will break in… . My emotions are all askew—just look at me.

I’m not a weak woman! I hate being vulnerable. I’m on the verge of tears, and all because I haven’t been able to sleep. I’m afraid it’s going to affect my ability to do my job. The worst thing—” she paused “—is the fear. Night comes and I’m terrified all over again.”

Troy pressed his hand against her head, weaving his fingers into her thick dark hair. He was almost overwhelmed by the temptation to bury his face in the clean freshness of it. He’d missed her more than he’d dared admit, even to himself.

He wished he knew how to reassure her. But no matter how strong that desire, he refused to whisper platitudes, nor would he mislead her by making promises he couldn’t keep.

Faith must have recognized that she’d said more than she’d intended. She eased out of his embrace and glanced self-consciously at the street. She folded her arms around her waist, as if she suddenly felt cold.

“Let’s talk about this inside,” Troy suggested, placing his arm around her again as they headed back to the house.

Once inside, Faith removed her coat and hung it by the door, first straightening the shoes and boots that stood there. Then she refreshed their coffees. Troy could tell that this busywork was an attempt to regain her composure.

For his part, he would’ve been content to spend the next ten years holding Faith, even if it meant standing in full view of the street on a bitter January day. With the woman he loved in his arms, physical comfort didn’t matter. He’d hardly noticed the damp or cold—until she’d stepped out of his arms.

“Would you like another bran muffin?” Faith asked.

Before he could answer, she added, “I believe I got this recipe from my mother. If you like, I could pass it along to your daughter. I saw Megan the other day. Did she mention that?”

“Faith.” Troy took off his damp coat and hung it over the back of a chair.

“She’s a lovely girl, Troy.”

“Faith,” he said a bit more loudly this time.

She clutched the kitchen counter with both hands.

“I know how distressed you must be.”

She spit out a laugh as though his statement had been an exaggeration. “I’m fine, really. Tired, but. Okay, I’ll confess this break-in has me unnerved. But wouldn’t anyone feel that way?”

“Of course they would. Now, promise me you won’t hesitate to call 9-1-1 if you suspect someone’s on the property.”

“I …”

“Faith,” he coaxed.

“I will,” she finally said, “if I really think there’s someone here.”

Troy figured this half promise was about all he could wheedle out of her.

They stood just looking at each other for a moment, neither of them inclined to speak.

“Would you like me to stop by one evening?” he asked, hoping she’d agree to that, too. Maybe she’d let him come over occasionally and then, given time, he’d have the opportunity to regain her trust.

She considered his question, then slowly shook her head. “I appreciate your willingness to look in on me, but … but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Personally Troy thought it was brilliant.

“Would it be all right if I phoned and checked on you in the morning?” Maybe he was pressing his luck, but he had to try.

“I suppose … but only this once.”

“Only this once,” he echoed. “I won’t call again after tomorrow.” The crack in her resolve to keep him out of her life was barely discernible but it was there.

Reaching for his coat and hat, Troy saw that he’d left a small portion of his bran muffin on the plate. He popped it in his mouth and gave Faith a lopsided grin. He swallowed, wishing he’d accepted a second one when she’d offered it. “I’ll ask Megan to get the recipe from you,” he said on his way to the door.

“I’ll be happy to share it.”

Troy lingered at the front door, but there was nothing else to say. Leaving Faith never seemed to get any easier.

Six

Will Jefferson knew he needed to play his cards carefully if he hoped to have a relationship with Shirley Bliss. Now that his divorce from Georgia was final, he was a free man. Of course, a wedding ring hadn’t been much of a detriment in the past. He’d had a number of affairs, which wasn’t something he took pride in. It was just … a fact. Georgia had repeatedly forgiven him, and he always meant to be faithful. His intentions were good—the best—but then he’d meet someone and the attraction would be there and, well, when it came to beautiful women, he was weak. That was all he could say about it. He didn’t even attempt to defend himself, although, to be fair, it did take two to tango—and to do certain other things… .

He experienced more than a twinge of guilt about cheating on his wife. Ex-wife. They should never have gotten married. The marriage hadn’t worked for either of them. They were mismatched, and as time went on, there’d been less and less to hold them together. He hoped Georgia didn’t resent him. But he’d begun a new life here in Cedar Cove, returning to his hometown, where he’d spent some of his happiest years. He wanted to become that person again, wanted to redeem himself, in his own eyes and those of his family and friends. Maybe Shirley Bliss would help him… .

He’d met Shirley, a widow, when he’d purchased the art gallery. He’d felt an immediate attraction, but it was more than that. She was a widow, and therefore available, so perhaps that meant he’d moved beyond his compulsion to seduce women already involved with other men. Whatever the reason for his urge to stray—boredom, the thrill of conquest, the need to prove his own masculinity—he wanted to overcome it. Besides, he was genuinely interested in Shirley and impressed by her talent.

Will wandered over to his desk. The Harbor Street Gallery was doing well, better than he’d expected. That was due, in no small way, to Shirley. She’d given him some excellent suggestions, many of which he’d used. The idea for the new display cases had come from her. They’d cost more than he’d budgeted for, but they were worth it.

In appreciation for all her help, he’d made Shirley, who worked with fabrics, the featured artist for January and would be pleased to inform her that over the weekend he’d sold the largest piece she had on display. He had a check for her, and he thought she’d be as excited about this sale as he was.

When he picked up the phone, he did so with a sense of anticipation. Aside from his pleasure in her success and consequently his own, he felt challenged by her. And not merely as a potential lover. This was the perfect opportunity to get to know her better. She hadn’t revealed any interest in him, however, which was puzzling. Not to brag, but he knew he looked good; at sixty he’d gained a stateliness that suited him. He was intelligent and had a natural charm, as so many other women—including Georgia—had told him. The possibility existed that Shirley was still in love with her dead husband. From what Will understood, it’d been a year or so since the accident that had claimed his life.

Will knew his own strengths and his weaknesses. He hadn’t gotten this far without identifying his assets and using them. He didn’t mind admitting that he was a man who generally got what he wanted; he’d also admit that this trait hadn’t always been to his benefit. Georgia had called him a “serial philanderer,” claiming he only wanted women he couldn’t have—and when he got them he lost interest. He didn’t deny it but he believed that Shirley would change all that.

He dialed her number and waited for her to answer. After four rings the answering machine came on. Then, just as he was about to leave a message, he heard someone pick up.

“Hello.” Shirley sounded a little breathless.

“Hello,” Will returned, smiling, glad they’d been able to connect.

“Who is this?” she demanded, irritation in her voice.

“It’s Will. Will Jefferson from the Harbor Street Gallery,” he told her. That she hadn’t recognized his voice stung his ego. He’d hoped, despite her previous reticence, that she’d been thinking about him, too. Apparently that wasn’t the case.

Her hesitation was just long enough to be noticeable. “I apologize if I snapped at you.”

Will was more than willing to forgive her. “I’m guessing I phoned at a bad time.”

“I usually try to work while Tanni’s in school.”

Tanni was Shirley’s teenage daughter. He’d met her twice. The girl was dating a young man with an unusual first name. Shank? Shiver. Shaw … that was it. Shaw.

The kid had talent. So did Tanni, although she was the one who’d brought Shaw’s work to Will’s attention. Shaw’s portraits, especially, had a lot of promise. He’d shown the kid’s work to an old friend of his, Larry Knight, who was a successful and influential artist, and who happened to be in Seattle recently. Larry had confirmed Will’s assessment. The way Will figured it, Shirley would be grateful for his help. And Will most definitely wanted to obtain Shirley’s gratitude.

“I understand,” he said smoothly. “I’ll remember to call either early in the morning or closer to dinnertime.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Your exhibit’s done well,” he told her.

Silence.

Since she didn’t seem inclined to continue the conversation, Will charged ahead. “I wanted to know if it would be convenient for me to stop by later this evening.”

She hesitated again. “Is there a reason?’

The question put him slightly on edge; he’d expected a warmer welcome. He was disappointed that he needed an excuse, but then he’d already made more than one incorrect assumption with Shirley. “Yes, a very good reason,” he said. “I have a check for you. The wildflower panel sold this weekend.” The piece, a fabric collage, was a stunning work. Everyone who’d viewed it, including Will, had been enchanted.

Shirley squealed with delight. “It sold! It really sold?”

“Yes.” Will had never heard her sound so uninhibited. “And the woman who bought it is interested in a couple of your other pieces, too.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said. “I could drop off the check if you like.” He didn’t want her to think he was pressuring her.

“Ah … unfortunately I have plans this evening.”

“I could visit tomorrow if that would be more convenient.” He was trying not to come across as pushy; at the same time, he was curious to know what her plans might be.

“Well.” she said cautiously. “Maybe it would be best just to drop it in the mail.”

Will’s head was spinning. She didn’t want to see him, or not at her house, anyway. That was a disappointment. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you come to the gallery and pick it up?”

She leaped on the suggestion. “Sure … that would be great.”

“When would be a good time?” he asked, implying that he was busy, too, and they should schedule this meeting.

“I suppose I could make it into town later this afternoon,” she said.

They agreed on four-thirty and Will set the phone back in its cradle, smiling. He’d gone out of his way for her daughter’s boyfriend at Shirley’s request—or with her approval, at any rate. Shaw had talent, but talent was cheap. He was giving the teenager a leg up, and he wanted to make sure Shirley valued his effort and the fact that he’d called in a favor from a friend.

Now that their meeting was set, Will closed the gallery a half hour early, then took the time to comb his hair and change his shirt. Before returning to the main part of the gallery, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

Normally he would’ve been confident he looked good, but Shirley’s reluctance made him feel somewhat insecure—not a familiar sensation.

While he waited for Shirley, he checked his watch every couple of minutes. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he saw her park in front of the gallery. She climbed out and started toward the entrance, paused, then turned back to her vehicle.

Will wasn’t about to let her walk off. He hurried over to the front door and threw it open.

“Shirley,” he called. “Come in.”

She turned around. “The sign says the gallery’s closed.”

He laughed lightly. “It is for everyone but you.”

“Oh …”

He opened the door wider and gestured her inside.

“Do you have the check?” she asked the moment she crossed the threshold. Then, as if she understood how rude she’d been, she added, “I, uh, know how busy you are and I don’t want to detain you.”

“It’s in the office.” When she didn’t move, he repeated, “Come in.”

After a short pause, she came all the way into the gallery.

Will closed the door and walked toward his small office, with her following. He handed her a white envelope, which held her check. “You know, I never heard if you received the wine-and-cheese basket I left on your doorstep during the holidays.”

“Yes, I did… . I apologize. I should’ve written a thank-you note.”

She did seem appropriately contrite. Will had paid a premium for that basket. This wasn’t some run-of-the-mill wine-and-cheese ensemble, either. Everything had been imported from France.

“No problem. I just wanted to be sure you got it,” he said nonchalantly.

“When did you bring it by?” she asked.

“Christmas Day,” he said.

“Oh, I hope you weren’t alone on Christmas Day.”

He looked away. “I was, but it wasn’t any big deal. I had a couple of invitations, but … I didn’t feel well.” He’d rather not admit he hadn’t accepted those invitations—from Olivia and his niece, Justine—because he’d thought he could spend the day with Shirley. He’d made the mistake of assuming she’d be home and alone, the same way he’d been. He knew her kids would be there, but kids that age didn’t enjoy hanging around with their mothers. As a result of his mistaken assumption, he’d ended up going to Olivia’s for dinner and then watching White Christmas on TV in his apartment for what had to be the twentieth time.

“I apologize for not sending you that thank-you note,” she told him again.

“It doesn’t matter. I only wanted to make sure you found the gift.” He brightened. “But.” he said in a teasing voice “… you could make it up to me.” He’d keep it light, easy, relaxed.

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning instantly. “How?”

“I know you’re a widow.”

She took a small step in retreat, as though the subject wasn’t one she intended to discuss with him. That was fine; Will had no desire to draw her dead husband into the conversation. He just wanted to establish her availability—and his.

“As I mentioned earlier, I’m on my own, too. I thought we could get together one evening,” he said, “or maybe we could meet one afternoon.”

Shirley took another small step away from him. Now that she had her check, she seemed eager to leave.

“Nothing formal, you understand,” Will clarified. “Lunch or coffee, that sort of thing.”

She gave him a slight smile. “I’m not sure I’m ready to date.”

“This wouldn’t be a date,” he said. “This would be a chat over coffee, a getting-to-know-you session, that’s all. I’d love to hear more of your ideas for the gallery,” he added, to remind her of the conversation they’d already had back in the fall. “I’m free now, if you are. I hear the Pot Belly Deli has an excellent selection of coffees and teas.”

“You mean now? As in right now?”

“If it’s convenient. We can walk down the hill. It’s not far.” At least she hadn’t immediately turned him down—that was encouraging.

“Perhaps another time,” she said after a long moment.

“Sure, whenever.” He shrugged off her rejection.

“I’ll call you,” she said next, as if to suggest she’d prefer it if he didn’t call her.

Okay, on to plan B. “I had some news regarding Shaw,” he told her, hoping to give her extra incentive to accept his invitation.

“Really.”

Her interest was piqued, he could see. That was good. He hated to resort to manipulation but she wasn’t leaving him a lot of options. In the past, he’d rarely had to be so blatant.

“I had another talk with the friend who looked at Shaw’s work.” Will didn’t offer any more information than that. Nor was he disposed to do so. If she wanted an update, she’d have to meet him for coffee.

With the check in her hand, she waited for an awkward minute or two, and when the information regarding Shaw wasn’t forthcoming, she made her excuses.

“I’ll see you to the door,” Will said, walking beside her.

“You don’t need to do that.”

He was tempted to extend the conversation, delay her parting. He could bring up any number of topics she’d find relevant or interesting. However, he said nothing.

“Thank you again,” she murmured as she stepped into the darkening afternoon.

“You’re welcome.” Will closed the door and locked it behind her, knowing she’d hear the turn of the lock. That was intentional. He didn’t want her to think he was begging or that he was desperate for her company. And yet, it was increasingly how he felt. She intrigued and attracted him and he felt intuitively that they could be good for each other. And, he had to acknowledge with a hint of shame, he wasn’t immune to the thrill of the chase.

Briefly he wondered if something was holding Shirley back—some gossip she’d heard about him. He frowned. He didn’t think Grace Harding had mentioned their Internet relationship. His sister wouldn’t have, either. No, that couldn’t be it.

What had happened with Grace was regrettable. Little did Will know then that within a few years he’d be returning to live in Cedar Cove. That whole situation, which had begun as a mild flirtation via the Internet, had become extremely unpleasant, and he was happy to put it behind him. He’d been genuinely fond of Grace, still was. Her husband was a nice guy—and not someone he wanted to cross. He was glad her marriage had worked out. Besides, he didn’t believe in fouling his own nest, so to speak.

Will turned off the gallery showroom lights and went upstairs to his small apartment. He’d made the transition from his previous apartment to the space above the gallery because he’d found someone to sublet the place he’d first rented. Mack, the son of P.I. Roy McAfee down the street, had recently joined the Cedar Cove fire department, so the timing was perfect.

His residence in the gallery still needed plenty of work, but it was adequate for now. Sighing, he decided to relax with a glass of wine. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting in front of the television when the phone rang, jolting him out of his stupor.

Caller ID informed him it was Shirley Bliss.

With a knowing smile, he muted the volume on the TV and reached for the receiver. “Hello, Shirley.”

“Mr. Jefferson.”

“Please call me Will.”

“All right, Will. Is that invitation for coffee still open?”

“Sure.” He tried not to reveal how pleased he was to hear from her.

“Great.” She sounded anxious to see him now.

“When would you like to meet?” He set his wineglass on the side table and leaned back in his recliner.

“Could we make it this evening, like you suggested?”

“Perfect,” he said. “It’s a bit late now. Can I convince you to dine with me?”

“No.” Her response was clipped. “Not tonight… . As I said, I have a previous engagement.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten that. Coffee it is, then.”

“Could we meet at Mocha Mama’s?”

“Of course.” He didn’t particularly care where they went. He hoped to put her at ease, and if everything went as he wished, this “previous engagement” would disappear as the evening progressed.

“Shall we say in fifteen minutes?” Shirley asked.

“I can manage that.” Will lowered his feet from the ottoman.

“Would it be okay if I brought my daughter along?”

That definitely wasn’t part of his game plan. “Why. sure.”

“Shaw’s at work. When I mentioned to Tanni that you had some information for Shaw, she called him and he’d like to join us, too.”

“But if he’s working …”

“He is,” Shirley elaborated. “At Mocha Mama’s. We’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” she said cheerfully.

“Okay,” he responded. “I’ll be there.” But she’d already hung up.

Seven

Rachel Peyton lightly sprayed Grace Harding’s hair and turned the stylist’s chair around so she could see the full effect in the mirror. Grace held up the small hand mirror, then shook her head and watched as her hair swung forward.

She’d told Rachel she’d been looking for a new style, something short, sassy and easy to care for. “I like it,” Grace said, smiling.

It was always a relief to have a customer confirm her own feelings. “This is shorter than I’ve ever seen you wear your hair.” Initially she’d had her doubts that such a breezy style would suit Grace, the town’s head librarian, but she’d been wrong.

“Seeing that Olivia has short hair now, it seems only fitting that I do, too. We’ve always been best friends.” Grace laughed. “Actually, she’s completely bald. I love her, but I’m not willing to go that far.”

“Her hair will grow back,” Rachel said, “but it might be a different color or texture.” Olivia had come in earlier that week and had what remained of her hair shaved off. She’d started her regimen of chemotherapy, and after the second session her hair had fallen out in clumps. Rachel had cut it quite short before the chemo, so the change wasn’t as great as it might have been.

“The way I see it,” Grace continued, “Olivia and I can let our hair grow back together—unless I like this style so much I don’t want to change.”

Rachel unsnapped the cape and removed it.

“I heard you and Bruce Peyton got married,” Grace said as she stood. “Right around Christmas, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. We were crazy to have our wedding at that time of year but we didn’t want to wait.”

“What about a honeymoon?”

“We haven’t been able to plan it yet. We’ll take one later, probably around Valentine’s Day.” Which was when their wedding was originally scheduled to take place. “It’s just that with Bruce’s work schedule, Jolene’s schedule and mine, it’s hard to find a time that fits everyone.”

Grace’s smile was warm. “Cliff and I ran into that problem, too. In the end we simply eloped, although I wouldn’t recommend it.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately we upset a lot of people, but afterward we had a huge party and everything worked out.”

“Apparently we’ve done the same thing,” Rachel told her. The girls at the shop had felt hurt about being excluded. Everything had been so rushed. In retrospect, perhaps they should’ve waited until February, after all. But circumstances had prohibited that, since Rachel had given up her rental house, which had a new tenant. Bruce had been eager to marry her, and she’d felt the same way. They’d gone ahead despite her reservations, but even now Rachel wondered if they’d made the right decision.

“These things tend to take care of themselves,” Grace said. “Cliff and I are happy and I can see you are, too, if the new-bride glow is anything to go by.”

“We are.”

“That’s wonderful.” Grace reached for her purse and paid for her haircut at the front counter. She also made another appointment for early March, about six weeks away.

With a small broom, Rachel swept up the brown curls that circled the styling chair. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she was happy. She was, gleefully so, but she also felt sexually frustrated. Bruce did, too, and it was fast putting a strain on their relationship.

What Rachel hadn’t expected, or Bruce, either, was Jolene’s reaction to their marriage. Jolene, at thirteen, felt threatened by the upheaval in her life.

Bruce’s daughter had been Rachel’s special friend for years. They’d started meeting after Stephanie Peyton’s tragic death in a car accident. Jolene had only been five at the time. She’d badly needed a woman in her life and had latched on to Rachel when she’d given the little girl a haircut.

Rachel’s own mother had died when she was young and she’d been raised by an unmarried aunt. Because she understood what it was like to be a motherless child, Rachel had voluntarily stepped in. The two of them had quickly bonded.

Jolene had often played the role of matchmaker between Rachel and Bruce. But obviously she’d never realized what would happen once Bruce and Rachel fell in love… .

Rachel’s marriage to Jolene’s father had changed the dynamic within the family. Jolene was too immature and vulnerable to accept that. She feared being excluded or losing her place in Bruce’s life. The girl had been demanding and unreasonable ever since the wedding.

Rachel and Bruce rarely had a moment alone. Making love had become a challenge. Jolene had always been a light sleeper and the slightest noise woke her. Her timing was impeccable; three times in the past week alone, Jolene had inadvertently interrupted their prologue to lovemaking. Or was it inadvertent? At any rate when she went back to bed, Bruce was either asleep or so irritated that the opportunity had been ruined.

“Your next appointment just called and canceled,” Joan, who handled the reception desk, told her.

“Wasn’t that the color job?”

Joan checked the schedule. “Yup.”

That was two free hours. Two whole unexpected hours. Rachel’s heart raced as she glanced at her watch. “I don’t have any other appointments this afternoon, right?”

Joan checked again. “Not that I can see.”

An idea was taking shape. “Terrific. Thanks.” She grabbed her purse, pulled out her cell phone and punched speed dial to connect with Bruce.

He answered on the second ring. “Bruce speaking.”

“What are you doing?” she asked excitedly.

“Working, what do you think?” Bruce ran a small independent computer-support business, with a couple of employees.

“Can you meet me at the house?”

“I suppose. Any special reason you want me home?”

Rachel giggled, and no doubt sounded like a schoolgirl. “Oh, yes, there’s a very special reason. My last appointment canceled and Jolene’s got basketball tryouts after school.”

Bruce caught on right away. “You mean we would be alone?”

“That’s what I figured.” She giggled again.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“You got it.” Rachel closed the phone and held it against her heart, grinning wildly. She saw Joan watching her, eyebrows raised.

“I take it you don’t want me to schedule anything for the rest of the day?”

“Please.” Rachel hurried into the back room where she threw on her coat. She was a woman with a mission.

She got home first and tore into the bedroom, where she closed the drapes, then pulled off her clothes and hopped into the shower. Her best friend, Teri Polgar, had bought her a sheer negligee as a wedding gift, which Rachel had yet to wear. She was finally going to initiate it.

The front door opened and Bruce dashed inside. “Rachel?”

“In here,” she called back, hoping she sounded sultry and sexy. She climbed onto the bed and lay on her side, facing him, the provocative black negligee revealing far more than it concealed. Her chin was propped on one hand.

Bruce came into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Looking for someone?” Rachel purred.

He swallowed visibly. It was a moment before he was able to move or speak. “I need a shower,” he croaked.

Rachel rolled onto her back. “Hurry.”

“Oh, I’ll try.” He started throwing off his clothes as he trotted toward the bathroom. His shirt fell onto the carpet next to the bed. It was a testament to the quality of the garment that the buttons hadn’t been ripped off in his haste. His shoes were next; one was kicked under the bed and the other bounced against the wall and into the bathroom.

“We have all afternoon, you realize,” she said. “Shall I pour us a glass of champagne?”

The shower door opened. “Champagne?”

“Another gift from Teri and Bobby.”

“Sure.” His gaze was riveted on her. “You are so beautiful.”

“That’s how you make me feel,” she whispered.

While Bruce showered, Rachel went into the kitchen. Although it was an odd contrast with the negligee, she wore her old terry-cloth robe, not wanting to risk being seen through the windows. She opened the refrigerator and sorted through the milk and yogurt and eggs to the farthest reaches of the bottom shelf, where she’d stored the champagne. Moët et Chandon, something she’d never expected to taste.

By the time she heard Bruce, the flutes were out and ready. She’d lit several scented candles, too. The mood was set except for the music. She found an appropriate CD and put it on.

A minute or two later, Bruce met her in the kitchen. He was barefoot and naked with a towel around his waist. His dark hair fell in wet tendrils, dripping moisture onto his neck and shoulders. As far as Rachel was concerned, he’d never looked sexier.

Rachel turned to greet him with a shy smile. She held the champagne bottle in her hand and removed the wire top. “Someone once told me that the correct way to open champagne is to twist the bottle and not the cork. When properly opened, it should sound like a contented woman.”

Bruce pretended to leer. “I’m more than eager to hear the sound of a contented woman.”

“The champagne or me?” she asked.

He grinned. “Both.”

Rachel attempted to follow the opening directions for champagne, and the cork popped much more loudly than she’d expected.

“You can be as noisy as you want, too,” her husband joked, taking the bottle out of her hands. He filled both flutes and gave her one. Clutching his own, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Their lips clung as the kiss deepened. Although only their mouths touched, an overwhelming physical response rippled through her.

Bruce groaned and put down his champagne. “Maybe we could drink this later?” he asked, hardly sounding like himself.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked as he took the flute from her and set it on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit warm in here?”

“Hmm. I know what you mean.”

“You have too many clothes on.”

Rachel smiled. “You could be right.” She glanced out the kitchen window, saw no one, then peeled off her robe.

Bruce led her down the narrow hallway to the master bedroom, then lifted her into his arms.

“Bruce, I’m too heavy,” she protested but not too strenuously.

“Well … it’s not far from here to the bed.” He shoved the door with his foot, closing it partway.

Looping her arms around his neck, Rachel nibbled at his earlobe and felt his body shiver with excitement. She was excited, too. The freedom to make love without fear of waking or disturbing Jolene was heaven.

Bruce reverently placed her on the bed, his eyes glowing with love and wonder. “These past few weeks.”

“I know, I know.” Reaching for her husband, she urged him down so that he was sprawled across her. They kissed until Rachel was breathless with desire. “Oh, Bruce,” she sighed. “I want you so much.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than the front door opened and closed.

Bruce froze.

Rachel did, too.

“What’s Jolene doing home?” Bruce whispered fiercely.

“She’s supposed to be at basketball tryouts!”

“Rachel?” Jolene called out. “Are you home? Dad?”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Rachel called back as Bruce scrambled off her. He’d just managed to grab the towel and cover himself when his daughter appeared in the doorway.

A look of sheer horror came over her. She scrunched up her face and cried, “Gross!”

“Jolene.” Rachel hurriedly hid her negligee with a pillow. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?” She knotted both hands into fists at her sides.

Rachel could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“If you’d kindly give us a few minutes of privacy,” Bruce said from between clenched teeth. Keeping his hand clamped on the towel around his waist, he walked to the bedroom door and closed it completely.

“I knew this would happen,” Jolene cried from the other side. “It’s like I don’t even live here anymore. All you think about is. that.”

Apparently that was a synonym for sex.

The girl marched down the hallway to her room and slammed the door. The sound reverberated through the house.

“Jolene, that’s not true.” The kid had no idea of the restraint she and Bruce had employed since they’d been married.

“Leave her be,” Bruce said with a disgusted sigh. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“I know.” Rachel was disappointed, too. She stepped up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “She needs time to adjust.”

“She’s had time.”

“It’s been less than a month.”

“I thought she wanted us to marry,” Bruce argued.

“She did. Only she’s afraid of what it’s going to do to her relationship with you.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Bruce muttered. He broke away long enough to jerk on his pants.

“But, Bruce, it has. Don’t you see?”

“Frankly, no.” Every movement conveyed his frustration and anger. “We’re married, and I want to make love to my wife. It isn’t right for us to be sneaking around because we’re afraid Jolene might know what we’re doing. She should know. That’s what married couples do.”

“Listen, Bruce, I’m as frustrated as you are, but we need to be sensitive to Jolene’s feelings. We should never have rushed into this.”

Bruce whirled around, his face contorted. “So now you regret marrying me?”

“No!” she insisted. “I love you and Jolene more than I could ever express. What I wish is that we’d given Jolene time to get used to the fact that I was going to be moving into the house.” Rachel didn’t want her husband to think for even an instant that she didn’t want to be married. “For seven years it was just the two of you and I was conveniently tucked away for whenever Jolene wanted to visit or chat. Now I’m here 24/7, and she feels threatened.”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. “This is torture.”

Rachel sat next to him and leaned her shoulder against his. “It is for me, too. But remember, there’s always tonight.”

“What I want,” Bruce said, “is to be able to make love and not worry about the bed creaking.”

It wasn’t funny but Rachel couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll find a way.”

“I just hope it’s soon.” Bruce left the bedroom, and a few minutes later Rachel heard the front door close. He must have gone back to the shop.

Wondering how best to approach her stepdaughter, Rachel changed out of the negligee and into her clothes. She gently tapped on Jolene’s bedroom door.

“Jolene?”

No response.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“Go away.”

“I thought you had basketball tryouts after school,” she said.

“That’s on Monday.”

“The notice said it was today.”

“Well, it isn’t. Tryouts got canceled because the coach is sick.”

“Oh.”

“Go away.”

“Not until we talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

Rachel stood by her stepdaughter’s bedroom door for a long time and tried to cajole Jolene into coming out so they could discuss this.

After a while Jolene stopped answering her.

Rachel turned the handle, figuring that if Jolene wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to Jolene. Only the bedroom door was locked.

Eight

Troy was still in the parking lot outside city hall when Mayor Benson came charging toward him. He’d just returned from a speaking engagement at the local Rotary, but other than that, it hadn’t been a good day. Two of his deputies had phoned in sick. The flu bug had hit his department hard, and he was stretched to the limit. His conversation with the Seattle reporter, Kathleen Sadler, hadn’t improved his mood, either. The woman was demanding responses to questions he simply couldn’t answer. Judging by the angry look on the mayor’s face, Troy’s day was about to get even worse.

“What can I do for you, Louie?” Troy said.

“I just got off the phone with Kathleen Sadler.”

Troy wanted to close his eyes and groan. When he hadn’t supplied the information she was after, the reporter had obviously called Louie. No wonder the mayor was in such a state.

“Kathleen Sadler,” Mayor Benson repeated. “I thought you were going to take care of it. I already told you how important it is that we keep this story out of the public eye.”

“I did speak to her,” Troy said. “She refused to accept what I told her. She kept saying there has to be more to the story.”

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Louie clenched and unclenched his fists.

“If you wanted to avoid her, you should’ve forwarded the call to me.” Troy didn’t understand why Louie felt obligated to talk to the woman, especially since she seemed to be making a pest of herself. If there was a story behind those remains, the facts would come out eventually. But at this point, there was nothing either of them could tell her.

“I did suggest she contact you,” Louie said, “only it turns out you were at the Rotary meeting and, fool that I am, I took the call.”

In Troy’s opinion, that was the mayor’s problem. “I’ll talk to her again, if you want.”

“I do. Apparently she’s coming to Cedar Cove on Wednesday and wants to interview the teenagers who discovered the body.”

“That is not going to happen.” Troy would do everything within his power to make sure of it. Philip Wilson, better known as Shaw, was of legal age but his name hadn’t been released to the press. Tanni Bliss, the other teenager, was still in high school. He’d contact their parents and give them a heads-up about this reporter. Both kids had been pretty shaken, as Troy recalled—Tanni more so than Philip.

“Good,” Louie said and gave a satisfied nod of his head. “You deal with this.”

“I will.”

“Do it fast. I gather she’s bringing a photographer to take a picture of the cave. She’s writing a feature story on this, and with our tourism initiatives, the timing couldn’t be worse. You’ve got to convince her there’s nothing to report.”

Troy shrugged. “Why do you suppose she’s so interested?”

“How would I know?” Louie flared. “Like I said earlier, this is bad timing. Jack’s doing a feature on tourism for the Chronicle that we hope will get picked up across the state, and this woman’s article is bound to overshadow his. Cedar Cove could do without the negative press.” He shook his head. “That’s not the half of it, either. The council just put together a request for state funds to enhance tourism in our area.” He looked up at the heavens. “Why is all of this happening now?”

Troy didn’t have an answer for him. “I’ll do my best to make it go away.”

Louie seemed slightly mollified. “I’d appreciate that.” He handed Troy a slip of paper. “In case you need it, here’s that reporter’s phone number. You try and reason with her.”

Troy sighed. The thing he’d noticed about reporters was that the more fuss he made, the keener their interest. Any bit of information he fed them was never enough; they demanded more. Then they’d dig around until they found what they wanted—or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Over the years, Troy had learned that the best policy was to say nothing, or at least nothing of substance. He was polite and cordial, but his lips were sealed.

After the mayor left, Troy hurried to his office. He’d just sat down at his desk when his cell phone chirped. He rarely received personal calls. A quick check told him it was his daughter.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.

“Hi, Daddy. I wanted to tell you I saw Faith.”

Hearing Faith’s name produced an instant flash of anticipation, immediately crowded out by regret.

“She gave me something for you.”

Troy sat up straighter. “She did?” He hated the hopefulness that elevated his voice.

“It’s a recipe for bran muffins.”

“Oh.” His hopes quickly deflated.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been over to her house.”

“It was a routine call. I stopped by to follow up after the break-in.”

“I think it’s terrible that someone would do that to Faith.”

Troy agreed.

“Have you seen much of her lately?” his daughter inquired. She sounded as if she’d been taking classes from a trained investigator.

“Just that once since the break-in.”

“I see,” Megan said. “Faith looked good, didn’t she?”

In Troy’s opinion, Faith always looked good. “Yes, she did,” he murmured.

“She said you really enjoyed the muffins and suggested I bake them for you.”

As he recalled, he hadn’t had anything to eat that particular morning and had skipped lunch. The fact was, he would’ve eaten sawdust if Faith had served it.

“I thought I’d bake these for you and bring them over this evening.”

“Wonderful, thank you.” A reminder of Faith was the last thing he needed.

“Can I drop them off after dinner? I mean, you’ll be home, won’t you?”

“Where else would I be?”

This was obviously an exploratory question to see if he’d be with Faith.

“Craig wanted to run a couple of errands tonight and I figured I’d go with him, then we’ll stop at your place. Should I call first?”

“No need. I’ll be home.”

“Okay.” She seemed disappointed. “I’ll see you around seven. We won’t stay long.”

“You’re welcome anytime, Megan, you know that.”

“I know,” she said.

They chatted for a few more minutes before Troy closed his cell and slipped it back inside its case. His daughter sounded better than she had since Sandy’s death. Troy was well aware that she missed her mother, but Megan had come to terms with her grief, the same way he had.

Before he went home, Troy left a message for Kathleen Sadler at the Seattle paper. For the second time, he asked that she direct all future calls to him. She probably felt Louie Benson was an easier target, but Troy planned to put a stop to that. He’d prefer the mayor not question him in the parking lot again.

On his drive home, Troy decided to swing past Rosewood Lane. He didn’t expect to see Faith, although he hoped he would. It’d been more than a week since they’d talked.

As it happened, he saw her struggling with a heavy bag of groceries, dragging them from the backseat of her car. She glanced up just as he drove slowly past. Since she’d already seen his vehicle, Troy pulled over to the curb and parked.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, moving toward her.

“I’m fine.” But even as she said it, she surrendered the two heavy bags.

Troy trailed her up the back steps and into the kitchen, where he set the groceries on the counter.

Faith stood against the stove, hands braced behind her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” How polite and stilted they sounded, like strangers brushing past each other on the street.

“I don’t want you to think I make a habit of driving by your home, Faith,” he explained. “I’ve asked Deputy Walker to make a couple of detours this way during the course of his shift.”

“Thank you,” she said again. She lowered her gaze as if she found something on the floor of infinite interest.

“How are you sleeping?” he asked, reluctant to leave.

She didn’t answer right away. “Better,” she finally said.

“Any more unexplained noises?”

She didn’t respond.

“Faith, if there’s a problem I want to hear about it. You aren’t the kind of woman who imagines things.”

She shrugged. “It was probably nothing.”

“So you have heard something?”

“Last night …”

When she didn’t finish, Troy prompted her. “What about last night?”

“I.I thought I heard someone in the side yard. I got up and turned on the porch light and—”

“Don’t tell me you decided to investigate on your own!”

“Oh, honestly, Troy, I’m not stupid. I didn’t wait for a storm, light a candle and then go walking on the cliff’s edge like some gothic heroine, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I did phone 9-1-1, but while I waited for a patrol car I turned on the house lights and made a bunch of noise, as if I was ten people instead of just me.”

A smile tilted his lips. “Exactly how did you do that?”

“Well,” she said, grinning, too. “I banged a few pots, put the television on and started talking loudly to my imaginary son, who happens to be a professional wrestler.”

Troy laughed out loud.

“When the officer arrived, whoever was outside—if there was anyone outside—had long since left.”

Troy supposed that was why he hadn’t heard about this. He didn’t want to downplay its seriousness, nor did he want to alarm her. “Next time let the officer do his job and don’t distract the intruder. We want to catch whoever’s doing this, Faith.”

It took her a long time to respond. “Yes. It’s just that … well, it’s hard to wait around and do nothing. I don’t want this … this intruder to get the idea that I’m a willing victim.”

“If you want to do something while you’re waiting for a police response, phone me.” Although he made the suggestion sound offhanded, he meant it. He needed to know she was safe.

Faith shook her head. “I won’t do that.”

“It’s an option, Faith. I’ll come, no questions asked.”

She sighed. “I know you would.” She glanced toward the back door as if to signal that it was time to go.

He knew he should take the hint, but Troy couldn’t make himself do it. “I got a call from Megan this afternoon,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I expected she’d contact you.” The phone rang and she immediately reached for it, no doubt relieved by the interruption. “Hello,” she said. “Hello?”

Troy remembered when he used to call Faith and how his heart would race each time she answered. She’d always sounded so pleased to hear from him… .

After a moment, Faith hung up. “A wrong number, I guess.”

“Have you gotten many of those lately?” he asked, his suspicions rising.

She exhaled slowly. “Now that you mention it, I seem to be getting more than usual.”

Troy frowned. “What did call display tell you?”

“It said ‘private caller.’ That’s what it said before, too.”

“Hmm …”

“I have an unlisted number,” she was quick to inform him.

“That isn’t much help, Faith.”

“Why not?”

“Anyone who really wants your information can get it. Having it unlisted doesn’t make the number inaccessible.”

“Oh, dear.”

“People who have a bit of computer savvy can find whatever they want.” Having said that, Troy walked over to the phone and punched in the callback code. Nothing. “You don’t have automatic callback?”

“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t think it was necessary when I got my phone service.”

“Order it, and the next time someone calls and hangs up, get the phone number.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “You think it would be a good idea for me to return the call?”

“No! Give the phone number to me and I’ll take care of it.” When he saw the worry in her eyes, Troy wondered if he’d frightened her. “Will you do that?”

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