92 Pacific Boulevard

by Debbie Macomber

  “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.

  Chapter 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 work number, praying Scottie was still at the office.

  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 we
re 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 officer’s here,” she assured her son.

  “All right. I’m leaving now.” Unfortunately, Scott’s office 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, 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.