Back on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  “No!” Every adult faces the loss of his or her parents sooner or later. It comes with the territory, as Brad once put it. But I didn’t feel ready to deal with Mom’s death four years after Dad. Not so soon, I prayed, pleading silently with God, willing to bargain. Dad had been gone nearly four years; sometimes it seemed like only yesterday and at other times it felt like eons ago.

  “Did you find a new place for Mom yet?” Margaret asked. “Because I want to talk to the administrator when you do.”

  I nodded. “I meant to tell you. A memory care facility. It’s one the nurse at the assisted-living center recommended.” Brad and I had gone there late Monday afternoon and were impressed with how kind the staff was. We had an appointment later in the week to meet with the administrator.

  “Matt and I can help with the move,” Margaret assured me. “We’ll rent a truck. There isn’t much furniture anymore….”

  It went without saying that this would likely be our mother’s last home.

  The bell above the door chimed and I looked hurriedly away, wiping the tears from my cheeks. The last thing my customers needed was to find the store’s proprietor weeping.

  Before I could turn back, Margaret let out a bellow of welcome. “Detective Johnson! This is a pleasant surprise.”

  My sister was nearly animated with delight. I’d heard her mention Detective Johnson many times. Before Danny Chesterfield had been brought in for the lineup, Johnson’s name had been followed by murmurs of disgust and an occasional swearword. Ever since Julia had identified her attacker, the detective walked on water. Margaret believed in the system again, believed that justice would be served. Soon the world would be made right once more.

  “Hello, Mrs. Langley,” the detective said with a cursory glance around the shop. He seemed uncomfortable in an environment generally reserved for women—although plenty of men enjoy knitting and crocheting, too.

  “Have you met my sister?” Margaret asked and all but dragged me forward to meet her hero. “This is Lydia Goetz.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He was a nice-looking man in his forties, wearing a well-cut suit, his hair slightly on the long side. I vaguely remembered Colette saying she’d heard of the man assigned to investigate the carjacking. Apparently, her husband had known him.

  “Can I do anything for you?” Margaret asked. “Would you like some coffee? Tea? Knitting lessons?” This might have been confused with flirting had it come from anyone else. My sister is far too abrupt to flirt; I doubt she even knows how.

  “Nothing, thanks.” The detective stood there awkwardly, gazing down at the floor for a moment. He raised his head. “I felt I should let you know we took everything we had on Chesterfield to the prosecutor.”

  “You’re going to arrest him now, right? That’s how it works, doesn’t it?” Margaret asked.

  I detected a change in her voice. It was almost as if the anger was back, just below the surface, ready to explode given any provocation.

  “Normally, yes, but Chesterfield came up with a valid alibi.”

  “It’s a lie!” she burst out.

  Detective Johnson nodded. “We think so, too. However, we can’t prove it.”

  “But Julia identified him.”

  “It isn’t enough,” the detective said. “The prosecutor said he can’t make a case. I’m sorry. We can’t charge Chesterfield.”

  “So you aren’t making an arrest?”

  He shook his head sadly. “I know you’re upset.”

  Margaret didn’t bother to acknowledge his statement. Instead she wanted the details. “How did this happen?” Her voice was nearly devoid of emotion, which told me how dangerously furious she was.

  “I’m sorry….”

  Margaret was too angry to hold still and started pacing. “I can’t believe this!”

  “Mrs. Langley.”

  I walked over to my sister and put my hand on her shoulder, trying to offer comfort where there was none to be had.

  “You mean to say Danny Chesterfield’s free to hurt someone else’s daughter?” she demanded, not giving the detective a chance to answer her previous question.

  He nodded, his expression grim. “We did everything we could.”

  Margaret stared straight ahead. “I see.”

  “He’ll be caught sooner or later,” the detective told Margaret. “It’s only a matter of time. Again, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  Margaret looked at him coldly.

  “The problem is that Danny Chesterfield’s all too familiar with the legal system. He knows how to work it. He’s a career criminal with a rap sheet that looks like a spoiled kid’s Christmas list.”

  “That’s supposed to reassure me?”

  “No. I feel bad about this, Mrs. Langley.” I had the definite impression that he’d rather be anyplace than here.

  I admired his courage in coming to talk to Margaret personally rather than telling her this over the phone. Facing my sister couldn’t have been easy, especially when he had to deliver such distressing news.

  My inclination was to console Margaret as best I could. One glance at the hardness that stole over her face told me I’d do well to keep my distance. My sister wasn’t in the mood for consolation.

  “I appreciate your stopping by,” I said politely when it became apparent that she had nothing more to say.

  Detective Johnson had walked to the door when he noticed Whiskers, warming himself in the shop window. He paused, then went over to my cat and scratched his ears, forever endearing himself. Whiskers stretched his lean body to its full length and yawned loudly. With a final nod over his shoulder, the detective left.

  Margaret’s confidence that Julia’s ordeal was almost over had been destroyed. “What now?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “How am I supposed to tell Julia?”

  “Do you have to mention it?” I asked.

  “She’ll know.” Margaret still hadn’t moved. “She’ll find out.”

  I had the urge to take her by the hand and lead her to the office, where I’d force her to drink a cup of heavily sugared coffee. She seemed to be in some form of shock, an anger-induced torment that frightened me. I’d seen Margaret angry before but never like this.

  “I want another detective assigned to the case.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said sharply.

  “A woman this time,” she added, ignoring my outburst.

  “The prosecutor could be a woman,” I said in an attempt to reason with her.

  “I doubt it,” Margaret said contemptuously. “Only a man would do something this stupid.”

  “Margaret!” She didn’t seem to recognize how outlandish she sounded.

  She grew quiet again. An unnatural quiet that made chills race down my spine. “This isn’t over yet,” she said.

  “Margaret.” I tried again, beginning to feel a little desperate. “What are you going to do?” I wasn’t letting her out of my sight until I knew her intentions.

  She stared at me, frowning. I wasn’t sure she even saw me because she seemed to look right through me.

  “Margaret,” I repeated, lightly touching her arm. “What are you going to do?”

  She turned to meet my gaze with eyes so cold and fierce they made me shudder. “It’s better for you not to know.” Then she calmly retrieved her purse from the office and walked out of the store.

  CHAPTER 29

  Colette Blake

  Colette had looked forward to her dinner with Elizabeth—and Christian—all week. She wondered how his aunt planned to coerce him into making an appearance; she could only hope Elizabeth succeeded. Colette felt an overwhelming urge, a need, to see him…and talk to him. Five months into the pregnancy she couldn’t keep it a secret much longer. It was time Christian knew. Time she found the courage to tell him. Perhaps this evening… Maybe if she told him about this new life, it would convince him to step forward and confess—do whatever was required.

  His aunt Elizabeth had opened Colette’s eyes to so many thin
gs about Christian and, surprisingly, about herself. Hiding from him—and hiding the pregnancy—had been foolish, a mistake she wanted to rectify.

  It wasn’t Doris who answered the door this time, but Elizabeth herself.

  Pursing her lips, she announced, “Christian won’t come.” She shook her head. “I tried everything I could to persuade him, but he saw through my ploys.”

  “It’s fine,” Colette assured her quickly, putting on a brave smile. She was determined to look past her own disappointment and enjoy dinner and Elizabeth’s company.

  “No, this just won’t do,” Elizabeth muttered. “My nephew is such a stubborn young man. He refuses to listen to reason.” She clasped Colette’s arm, drawing her into the house.

  They sat in the formal dining room and despite the crisp, vivid-green asparagus, the wild rice and tender broiled salmon, neither had much of an appetite.

  “You must go to him,” the old woman said halfway through the meal. That thought had apparently just occurred to her because she brightened instantly. “If he won’t come to us, then we’ll take action ourselves. We’ll simply make it impossible for him to ignore us.” She reached for her fork with renewed vigor.

  “I…I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Nonsense,” Elizabeth countered. “It’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of it earlier? You will go, won’t you?”

  Colette noticed the less-than-subtle shift from us and we to you.

  Justifications and excuses tumbled through her mind. She offered the first one she thought of, weak as it was. “I don’t know where he is.”

  Elizabeth Sasser scoffed. “He’s at home.” She rattled off his address, which of course Colette already knew, although she’d certainly never been there.

  “He doesn’t want to see me.” That was a far more valid reason.

  The old woman laughed outright. “Contrary to what you think, I’m very sure he does. I know Christian. Go to him, Colette, and it will change everything.”

  Colette wanted to believe her. Before she could actually accept or reject the idea, she found herself standing on Elizabeth’s porch with Christian’s address clutched in her hand.

  “Go now,” Elizabeth said, waving her away as if she were an unwanted salesman. “What is it those commercials say? Just do it! What are you waiting for?”

  Good question. She had to tell him about the baby; she knew that. It wouldn’t be easy, though, especially after she’d lied—and lied more than once. She’d refused to have anything to do with him for fear of getting dragged into the mess he’d created. And now she was supposed to show up at his front door and gleefully announce that she was pregnant with his child?

  He’d be furious. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d say.

  “Colette.” His aunt sighed. “You’re being as difficult as my nephew.”

  “I’m not sure…” she whispered, unable to hide her dread.

  “Go to him,” Elizabeth encouraged.

  His aunt made it sound so simple. It wasn’t, but she couldn’t possibly understand that, because she only knew half of what was at stake. And under no circumstances could Colette tell her the rest.

  She suddenly had a mortifying thought. “He’s dating again, isn’t he?” What if she got there and Christian was with another woman? Based on his history, she wouldn’t be surprised to discover him seeking solace elsewhere.

  Elizabeth glared at her. “Does it matter?”

  It shouldn’t. Not really. And yet Elizabeth’s response didn’t exactly reassure her.

  Still…

  She would go to him, and the two of them would talk. Whatever happened, happened. If he went to the police and turned himself in as she hoped, she’d stand by his side. If not, if not…she didn’t know what she’d do.

  In an unexpected display of affection, Elizabeth stepped forward and hugged Colette. “Everything will work out,” she whispered.

  “You promise?” Colette joked.

  His aunt grinned. “Have him take you to dinner, my dear. You barely touched a bite.”

  Colette walked down the steps and climbed into her car. Elizabeth remained outside until Colette had pulled onto the street. Through the rearview mirror, Colette saw her raise one hand and wave.

  The drive took less than fifteen minutes. Colette’s heart pounded so hard she didn’t hear anything else—not the car radio, not the music that played, not the siren of the fire truck that blared and honked as it roared past. Only when she saw other vehicles pull over did Colette realize she had to move to the side of the road.

  Once she arrived at his house, she sat in her car and stared up at it. Built of slate, it featured large picture windows that overlooked a bluff on Puget Sound. She could envision the panoramic view his home offered of the water and the Olympic Mountains.

  Her nerve was about to desert her, but she remembered his aunt and the encouragement Elizabeth had given her. Fortified with new determination, Colette got out of the car, ignoring the other vehicles parked on the street.

  After ringing the doorbell, she waited for what might have been ten minutes or a few seconds; she could no longer tell.

  When Christian opened the door, he stared at her, as if uncertain who she was.

  “Colette?”

  “Surprise,” she said. Her voice rose like a little girl’s, embarrassing her even more.

  After an uncomfortable moment during which neither of them spoke, he narrowed his eyes, obviously questioning her presence. He made no move to invite her in. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  This wasn’t the warm greeting she’d hoped to receive. “I need to talk to you.” Because this was so difficult for her—and no doubt for him—she added, “If you’d rather I left, I’ll understand.”

  “Then leave.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder.

  “You have a…guest?” So he was involved and this other woman was with him. Colette felt her cheeks burning; coming here had brought her nothing but anguish.

  “I’ll come back another time,” she said hastily, about to turn away.

  He leaned forward to take her shoulders. “It’s not what you think.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  They continued to stare at each other. When she could stand it no longer, Colette lowered her gaze. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

  “Not now.”

  “Fine,” she whispered. “We can do it later.”

  His face remained unyielding. “Go now and—” There was a noise behind him and he threw another irritated glance over his shoulder. He seemed on edge and eager to have her leave and yet he still held on to her.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your meeting…your privacy,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Could we set up a time to talk, maybe tomorrow?”

  He shook his head. “I leave for China in the morning.” She had trouble identifying his tone—regret? Wariness? Resolve?

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll phone you when I get back,” he said as he released her.

  She backed away and he did, too.

  The urge to touch him, to kiss him was overpowering.

  As if reading her thoughts, he reached for her again, and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were moist and fervent.

  In the distance someone—a man—called his name and Christian pushed her gently away. “Go,” he said. “Just go.”

  Confused, she stumbled to her car. That was when she saw the black sedan with a couple of muscular-looking Chinese men, obviously bodyguards, watching her. This could only mean that Christian was meeting with the people involved in the smuggling operation.

  Shaking with fear, Colette drove back to Blossom Street. The first thing she did when she got into her apartment was lock the door. Then she made herself a cup of tea, sipping it slowly. Finally she called Alix. Her friend was expecting to hear how the evening had gone. So, of course, was Elizabeth, but Co
lette didn’t know what she could say to Christian’s aunt.

  Alix answered on the first ring. “Did he show up?” she demanded before Colette could say a word.

  During their lunch hour, they’d gone to Go Figure, and Alix had offered Colette a complete exercise circle’s worth of advice about tonight’s dinner.

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “You mean to say he didn’t come?”

  “No…he had a meeting.” Colette swallowed against the dryness in her throat.

  “And?”

  “His aunt suggested I should go to him.”

  “Good idea,” Alix said approvingly.

  But neither Elizabeth nor Alix understood that this was the worst idea of all. Swallowing again, Colette continued. “He had…guests. He said he’s leaving for China tomorrow morning.” And whatever he intended to do there, Colette didn’t want to know.

  CHAPTER 30

  Alix Townsend

  Monday was Jordan’s day off from his work at the Free Methodist Church. With so much to do before the wedding, which was two weeks from this coming Saturday, they’d decided to spend the afternoon cleaning up Grandma Turner’s yard.

  Alix had brought the completed prayer shawl and looked forward to giving it to the woman who’d come to mean so much to her. She could hardly put into words the solace she’d found with Jordan’s grandmother after she’d broken off the engagement. Sarah had sat with her and listened while Alix spilled out her frustration and pain. Then she’d insisted Alix eat. She’d had her stay in the spare bedroom, looking after her like a cherished guest. It was just the pampering Alix had needed.

  On Monday afternoon, Jordan waited for Alix to finish her shift at the French Café. The day had turned out to be gloriously sunny and warm, an exception to the cool weather May had brought so far. Although her fiancé had assured his mother the sun would shine for their wedding, Alix was pragmatic enough to suggest they rent a large white tent. There was always the chance, she’d joked, that someone else with a connection to the Guy Upstairs had asked for rain to water his crops.

  “Hi,” Alix said as she got into the car beside Jordan.