Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  One more blessing to add to his growing list.

  He gave a contented sigh—and Clyde nuzzled his neck.

  Keeping a firm grip on the wheel with one hand, he scratched behind the mutt’s ear with the other.

  “You’re on that list too, boy. You were one of my first friends in this town . . . but now you’re one among many.”

  And for a man whose best hope had once been to lead a quiet life of solitude in his adopted town, all the new connections—and possibilities—that were materializing boggled his mind.

  He just hoped he didn’t wake up one morning to discover it had all been nothing more than a dream.

  17

  It was too early for the phone to ring.

  Fumbling in the dark for her cell, Lexie squinted at the clock on the bedside table.

  Six eighteen.

  Definitely too early for a Thursday morning.

  Scooting into a sitting position, she peered at the screen in the dim room.

  Jim Gleason.

  This must mean trouble.

  “Morning, Jim.” She pushed her hair back and tried to clear the haze from her brain.

  “Sorry to bother you this early, Chief. I know you got pulled into that pileup outside of town last night that took hours to sort out.”

  “I’ll survive.” True—but the meager five hours of sleep she’d clocked were going to make for a very long, tiring day. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve had another vandalism incident.”

  The last vestiges of fogginess vanished from her mind and she swung her legs out of bed. “Any injuries?”

  “No.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone slashed Marci Weber’s tires and keyed both sides of her car.”

  She blew out a breath. Why anyone would get their jollies by targeting one innocent person after another was beyond her.

  “Are you at her house?” She strode to her closet.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  After throwing on her clothes, she tiptoed into the hallway. No time to brew any java this morning. She’d have to grab a cup at Sweet Dreams or the café later.

  She cast a longing glance at the coffeemaker on the kitchen counter as she passed—but pulled up short at the note attached to it.

  Changing direction, she hurried over, pulled the taped sheet off, and tilted it toward the dawn light filtering through the window.

  Adam stopped by last night to see you. I told him you’d be late because of that accident on 101. He said he’d call you tomorrow. You might want to give him a ring if you get a chance. He seemed anxious to talk to you. ☺ Mom

  Lexie shoved the note into her pocket. Apparently she wouldn’t have to initiate the call about their date after all.

  But she did have some ideas to offer.

  For the moment, though, her full focus needed to be on this latest vandalism incident.

  Less than ten minutes after leaving the house, she pulled into the driveway of the cottage on Pelican Point that Marci had inherited from her great-aunt. Gone was the eyesore it had become over the past few years as the dwelling fell into disrepair. The Hope Harbor newbie had done a superb restoration job—fresh paint, restored gardens, rebuilt gazebo in back.

  She did not deserve this kind of mess.

  Jim was waiting for her at the rear of the driveway, next to the damaged car.

  Too bad Marci hadn’t yet gotten around to building the detached garage that would replace the decaying potting shed. That would have protected her car.

  Not that it should need protecting. Hope Harbor was supposed to be safe.

  And it would be again as soon as she nailed the culprit.

  “I already got a statement and took pictures.” Jim shifted out of her path as she circled the car to assess the damage.

  Nasty.

  It was going to need a total paint job, and all the tires would have to be replaced. Not huge bucks—but sufficient to make this the most expensive act of vandalism to date.

  Lexie stopped beside the officer. “Give me a topline.”

  “According to Marci, the car’s been in the driveway since she got home from work last night about six. She did hear some minor noise around nine o’clock, but not enough to alarm her. However, this is what she found this morning.”

  “Anything else damaged?”

  “No. But she’s really shook up.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “No—I mean really shook up.”

  “Define that.” She gave Jim her full attention.

  “White as a sheet and shaking. I know this is upsetting and a hassle to deal with, but it’s not like anybody got hurt.”

  “I’ll talk to her in a minute. Did you find anything helpful in the area?”

  “Yeah.”

  He walked over to the cruiser, retrieved a small, clear evidence bag, and passed it to her in silence.

  Inside was a flash drive.

  “I take it you found this near the car?”

  “Yes. I plugged it in my computer. It’s full of PowerPoint presentations and school papers belonging to Brian Hutton.”

  The bottom fell out of her stomach.

  She’d taken a chance on the boy, convinced he’d cling to the lifeline they’d thrown him and keep his nose clean.

  Her usually sound instincts must have failed her.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Next to the car.” Jim indicated the spot.

  Hmm.

  Very convenient.

  “No chance we’d miss that.” She pocketed the bag.

  “Nope. It was front and center. In plain sight.”

  They were tracking on the same page.

  “This read as a setup to you?”

  “It has all the earmarks.”

  “Agreed.” It appeared her worries about her instincts might have been premature. “I’ll contact the juvenile counselor and we’ll pay Brian another visit. This might persuade him to give us the name of his partner in crime.” Jim’s radio crackled to life, and she motioned toward it. “Go ahead and handle that while I talk to Marci.”

  Leaving him to deal with the dispatcher, Lexie ascended the single step to the back door and knocked.

  Marci answered at once.

  The officer’s assessment had been on the mark. She was too pale even for a redhead, and she had a death grip on the edge of the door.

  “Are you all right?” Lexie gentled her voice.

  “Yes. Fine. A little spooked.”

  More than a little, based on her pallor.

  “We found a clue we’re going to follow up on. If you need a recommendation for a body shop, Marv’s is—”

  “I already called him. Do you know who did this?”

  “It appears to be the work of the same vandals who’ve been plaguing the town for the past few weeks.”

  “Then you don’t think I was personally targeted?”

  Lexie blinked. “No. Should I?”

  “No. Just . . . asking.” She checked her watch. “If you have everything you need from me, I have a client call I need to prep for.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

  “Thanks.” She looked over at the damaged car, brow puckering. “You know, when I moved here I assumed it would be a safe place to live. Small town, friendly people who had each other’s backs . . . But I guess nowhere is really safe, is it?” She sighed and eased the door toward the shut position. “Thanks again for getting out here so fast.”

  “That’s our job.”

  Click.

  Lexie frowned at the closed door. What had that been all about? In all the months she’d been in town, Marci had never been anything but upbeat and chatty.

  Strange.

  On a positive note, however, she wasn’t hurt and the car could be fixed.

  As for the woman’s assumption that Hope Harbor would be a safe place to live . . . Lexie straightened her shoulders.
That was her responsibility. She needed to get a handle on this vandalism spree and shut it down ASAP.

  It was time to put more pressure on Brian.

  “Mom, you don’t have to get up and cook for me on school days after you work the late shift. I can eat cereal.”

  Brenda turned the bacon in the frying pan, stirred the pancake batter, and conjured up a weary smile for her son. “I don’t mind. I want you to start the day with a hearty breakfast—and this is the only chance I get to see you when I’m on nights. If I’m tired later, I’ll take a nap. How’s everything at school?”

  “Same old.”

  “That doesn’t sound very positive.” She poked at the sizzling bacon, fighting back a wave of panic. “You’re not still hanging around with that kid who dragged you into vandalism, are you?”

  “He didn’t drag me. I chose to go. And no, I’m not hanging around with him anymore.”

  “Good.” She exhaled. “Are you working on the planters again this Saturday with Mr. Stone?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s that going? You haven’t said much about it.”

  “It’s fine. He’s an okay guy.” Brian poured a glass of juice. “That youth group at his church sounds kind of cool. Do you think we could go there some Sunday, scope out the place?”

  “Like I told you before, I don’t know if God would be that happy to see me after all the mistakes I’ve made.” The bacon spattered, burning her hand, and she snatched it back. “I could take you, though, if you want to try it.”

  “Mr. Stone said that’s not how God works.”

  “That may be true, but I’d rather have my act more together before I set foot in his house. Why don’t you . . .”

  At the ring of the doorbell, she froze. Who would come calling on a Thursday morning at—she angled toward the clock on the counter—seven twenty-five?

  “Are you expecting someone?” Brian sent her a puzzled look.

  “No. Here . . .” She handed him the fork. “Watch the bacon.”

  Shoving her uncombed hair into a semblance of order, she went to answer the summons.

  Lord, please let this not be more trouble.

  The plea came unbidden, surprising her as much as it probably surprised God. Must have been triggered by the power of suggestion, since she and Brian had been talking about church.

  In any case, based on a quick peek through the peephole, it appeared the Almighty wasn’t tuned in to her wavelength. The police chief and juvenile counselor wouldn’t be on her doorstep at this hour of the morning unless there was big trouble.

  Heart pounding, she braced herself and opened the door.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Hutton. Sorry to drop in this early, but we have an urgent matter to discuss with you and Brian.” The chief’s demeanor was cordial but businesslike—and serious. “He hasn’t left for school yet, has he?”

  “No. Come in.” She stepped back to give them access and called over her shoulder, “Brian!”

  As the chief and counselor entered the living room, her son rounded the corner from the kitchen. He froze, shock and confusion widening his eyes.

  The very reaction she’d hoped to see.

  He had no idea why the law-enforcement duo was here.

  “Why don’t we all sit for a few minutes?” The chief indicated the couch and side chairs.

  “Brian.” Brenda motioned for him to join her on the couch.

  He crossed to her with a wooden gait and sank onto the cushions, never taking his gaze off the two people who claimed chairs on the other side of the coffee table.

  “We’ve had another vandalism incident.” The chief directed the comment to Brian without any preamble.

  “Oh, sh—”

  “Brian!” She’d raised her son better than to use that kind of language, despite the poor example he’d had from his father.

  “You know about this?” Chief Graham continued to watch him.

  “No. I mean, I knew something might happen. I didn’t know when. Or if it would, for sure.”

  “Were you involved?”

  “No!”

  “Where were you last night around nine o’clock?”

  “With Mr. Stone. At his place.”

  Brenda frowned. “Why don’t I know about that?”

  “It wasn’t planned. After I finished my homework, I decided to go out there. He said he’d show me his woodworking stuff sometime . . . and I didn’t have anything else to do.”

  “How did you get there?” Brenda gripped his arm. “You didn’t hitch, did you?”

  “No. I walked.”

  “That has to be five or six miles.” The chief continued to scrutinize him.

  “It was better than sitting here all alone.”

  Brenda’s stomach knotted. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry I have to work nights so much and leave you by yourself.” Maybe if she had a regular job that left her evenings and weekends free, Brian wouldn’t have gone down the wrong road.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to do anything right.

  “What time did you get home?” The chief consulted a notebook in her lap.

  “About nine thirty, I think. Mr. Stone would know.”

  The chief pulled out a clear plastic bag. “Brian . . . the officer investigating the incident found this at the scene. It has your schoolwork on it.”

  As the flash drive dangled in front of them, Brenda turned to her son. All the color had leached from his complexion. “Brian? Is that yours?”

  “I-I think so.” His words came out choked—and laced with fear. “I gave the other guy my locker combination after . . . after I got caught in case he wanted to pass notes to me. He didn’t think we should be seen together.”

  “But you weren’t involved in this new vandalism . . . right?” Brenda seized his hand and held on tight, forcing him to look at her. “Just tell the truth. You need to tell the truth.”

  “That’s sound advice, Brian.” The counselor joined the conversation. “If the person you’re trying to protect set you up, he doesn’t deserve your loyalty. You don’t do this to a friend.”

  “Oh, man.” He dropped his head into his hands.

  “Talk to them, Brian.” Brenda squeezed his arm. “You’ve done everything the way you should up to now. Tell them what they need to know. Give them this boy’s name.”

  She waited, stomach quivering, while endless silent seconds ticked by.

  Please . . . please . . . let the morality I tried to instill in him triumph over the example of his deadbeat dad.

  At last Brian dropped his hands and raised his chin. “Lucas Fisher.”

  Thank you, God!

  “Lucas Fisher?” Surprise flattened the police chief’s features. “The son of Martin Fisher, who owns Fisher Lumber Company?”

  “Yes.”

  After considering Brian, the woman slid the plastic bag back into her pocket. “I have some calls to make. What’s next from your end?” She passed the baton back to the counselor.

  “Brian goes to school, you make your calls, we regroup later today and pay a visit to the Fishers.”

  “That works.” The chief rose and pulled out her keys. “That’s all we need for now. Sorry again for the early visit.”

  Brenda showed them to the door, then hurried back to Brian.

  “It’s gonna be fine, honey.” She rested a hand on his slumped shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so. Life’s gonna get better, you’ll see.” It had to.

  He lifted his head. “That’s what Mr. Stone said.”

  “There you go.” At least he had a worthy adult male role model now. “We’re all on the same page. Come on. I’ll finish your breakfast and drive you to school after you eat. The bus is long gone.”

  He stood, but as she turned to go back to the kitchen, he groped for her hand. “Thank you for believing in me . . . and sticking with me . . . and being such a good mom.” The corners of his mouth quivered.
/>   Oh, Lord!

  That was the nicest compliment anyone had ever paid her.

  She swiped her fingers across her eyes and pulled him into a hug. “We’ll get through this together, okay?”

  “Okay.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder, like it used to be in his younger days when he’d been upset and climbed onto her lap for comforting.

  “Now let’s move forward and trust that God has our backs.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, and as she finished cooking their breakfast, she sent one more plea to the Almighty.

  Because this family—what was left of it—couldn’t take many more setbacks.

  “Hey, Adam!”

  Adam stopped sawing and looked over at Luis through the skeleton of the house they were building on the cranberry farm. Was everybody calling him Adam instead of Stone now?

  “What?”

  “Your dancing partner is here.” Grinning, he aimed a nail gun in the direction of the gravel drive that led to the site Tracy and Michael had selected for their house.

  Adam swung around as Lexie slid out from behind the wheel of a police cruiser.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” He set the saw down and wiped his grimy palms on his jeans.

  “The boss is on her honeymoon. Take your time.” Luis winked at him and went back to work.

  He met Lexie halfway between the construction site and the parking area as the farm’s two border collies galloped over.

  “Hey, Shep. Ziggy.” Lexie gave them each a pat. “I would have tried calling, but your phone is never on.”

  “I may have to change that situation soon.” He hadn’t told a soul about his conversation with Rebecca Oliver, but if they came to some arrangement, Lexie would be the first to hear the news. “Did your mom tell you I stopped by last night?”

  “Yes. She left me a note in the kitchen. But this isn’t about that. We had another vandalism incident last night—and Brian was implicated.”

  He furrowed his brow. “When did it happen?”

  “Around nine. He says he was with you.”

  “He was.”

  Some of the tension in her features diminished. “I thought he was telling the truth. I’m glad my instincts aren’t failing.”

  “I wish I’d called you last night.” He massaged his forehead. “Brian told me the other kid had approached him about another round of vandalism, but you sounded tied up.”