92 Pacific Boulevard

“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.