Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  “I was.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  He listened as she gave him a quick report.

  “I do have one piece of helpful news.” As she concluded, Shep and Ziggy raced off, ever diligent at their task of protecting the cranberry beds from bog rats. “We have the name of the accomplice. The juvenile counselor and I will be paying him a visit after school.”

  “This crime spree could finally be coming to an end.”

  “I hope so.” She slipped on her sunglasses. “While I’m out here, do you want to talk about the date we discussed for this weekend?” A slight undercurrent of nervousness rippled through her query.

  Was she afraid he wasn’t planning to follow through?

  He needed to erase any doubts about that ASAP.

  “Yes. That was on my agenda for last night too if we’d connected. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but it took me a while to come up with a plan. Being new in town—and somewhat of a hermit up to this point—I had to research restaurants. I think I found a great place.”

  When he mentioned the name, her lips parted slightly. “That’s super high-end.”

  “The food sounds great.”

  “I’m sure it is, but . . . that’s out of my league.”

  His league maybe. Not hers.

  “You’ve eaten all over the world. I bet you’ve had plenty of high-end meals.”

  “Some—on the job. Not as many in my personal life. And I have an alternate idea for our date. Have you ever been to Shore Acres State Park?”

  “No.” Did she think that was all he could afford?

  “It’s a great spot. The gardens are fantastic, and we can catch the end of the tulip display. There’s a picnic area overlooking the ocean, and a beautiful secluded cove. If you’d like to take Matt along, he loves to watch the seals on Simpson Reef.”

  She wanted their date to be a threesome?

  Not if he could help it—much as he liked her son.

  But . . . could this be Lexie’s way of guaranteeing they followed her slow-and-easy rule? It would be impossible to get too cozy with a young chaperone in tow.

  However, he had enough discipline to stick to her ground rule with or without Matt. She needed to understand that—and actions spoke louder than words.

  “I have a counteroffer. Why don’t we have dinner together in Coos Bay Saturday night, and on Sunday we can go on a picnic with Matt to Shore Acres State Park? A fancy restaurant will help me get my money’s worth out of that suit I bought—and they have a small combo that plays dance music on Saturday. You could wear that great dress again too.”

  Saws buzzed and hammers pounded in the background while he waited for her response—praying she’d give him the opportunity to prove he was worthy of her trust.

  At last she nodded. “A dinner in Coos Bay sounds great . . . but why don’t we go Dutch? That’s what a lot of people do these days.”

  Not in his world.

  Not on a first date.

  And though he suspected her offer was motivated more by thoughtfulness than any sort of PC gender equality agenda, it bruised his pride nonetheless.

  He straightened up to his full height. “I can afford to take you out for one nice dinner, Lexie.” His reply came out stiffer than he’d intended.

  Grooves dented her forehead, and she touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just . . . I understand why money would be tight, and you don’t have to spend a fortune to impress me. I’m already impressed—by the person, not the pocketbook. We could eat pizza for all I care. Being with you, not the destination, is the highlight of a date for me.”

  The sentiment—and her sincerity—helped . . . but the knowledge that he couldn’t take her to a five-star restaurant every night of the week still stung.

  “I want to do this.” He softened his tone. How could he be annoyed when she was looking up at him with those big blue eyes as if he was the only person in the world who mattered? “A first date should be memorable.”

  A sweet smile slowly bowed her mouth. “I agree—and I accept with pleasure.”

  “Six o’clock?”

  “I’ll be ready. And I’ll wear the dress.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well . . .” She took a deep breath. “I should get going.” Yet she didn’t remove her hand from his arm. As if she hated to break the connection.

  He could relate.

  “And I need to get back to work.” He covered her fingers with his own, fighting the temptation to lean down and brush his lips across her forehead in a repeat performance of Saturday night.

  A pulse began to throb in the hollow of her throat, and she leaned toward him. Close . . . closer . . . until a barking Shep and Ziggy zoomed past in hot pursuit of . . . something.

  She wrenched herself back. “I’ll, uh, see you Saturday.”

  With that she fled back to the patrol car.

  Adam watched while she made a wide U-turn and the cruiser disappeared in a cloud of dust. Even after he lost sight of it, he remained where he was. He needed a couple of minutes to get his own emotions under control before rejoining Luis and the crew.

  But as he finally swung around and returned to the construction project, one thing was clear.

  Based on what had just happened, he wasn’t the only one who was going to be struggling mightily to abide by Lexie’s slow-and-easy rule come Saturday night.

  18

  “Impressive house.” Pushing off from the trunk of the car where he’d been leaning, the juvenile counselor indicated the multilevel stone and cedar structure to his left.

  “Very. Were you waiting long?” Lexie locked the cruiser and joined him at the back of his car.

  “Less than five minutes. What’s the story on the family?”

  “They own Fisher Lumber, a thriving mill a few miles up 101. A lot of locals have spent their careers there, including my dad and grandfather. Martin Fisher’s great-grandfather started it, and subsequent generations built it into a world-class company. Martin took over a few years ago. This is one of the fruits of his labors.” She swept a hand over the hilltop home that offered a panoramic view of the sea.

  “Yet his kid is a vandal.”

  “So the evidence would suggest.”

  “Did you get any prints off the flash drive?”

  “No. It was wiped clean. Everybody’s seen enough TV cop shows to know how to avoid the obvious traps. Shall we?” She motioned toward the house.

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  She took the lead but stopped at the stone steps leading to the front door as an Audi roared up the long, winding drive.

  “Must be Martin.” Given his annoyance during their call, it was no surprise he’d cut the meeting close.

  “Do you know him?” The counselor shaded his eyes against the late-afternoon sun.

  “Only by reputation. I’ve seen him at various civic functions and exchanged a few words here and there, but he doesn’t socialize with the residents.”

  The Audi screeched to a stop behind the cruiser. The midfortyish driver sprang out of the car and marched toward them, jaw set, tension radiating off him.

  “This ought to be fun.”

  At the muttered comment from the counselor, Lexie braced. She could handle guys like this—but it was never anywhere close to fun.

  “Mr. Martin, Chief Lexie Graham.” She held out her hand as he approached. In general, she didn’t throw her title around, but it wouldn’t hurt to remind this guy of her position.

  After regarding her outstretched fingers for several beats, he gave them a fast, perfunctory shake.

  He did the same with the counselor while she introduced the man, then got straight to business.

  “What’s this all about, Ms. Graham?”

  Ms., not Chief.

  An obvious attempt to put her in her place.

  She straightened up to her full height and dispensed with the social niceties. “This is a famil
y matter. It would be better discussed with your wife and son present.”

  “I make the decisions in this family.”

  “That may be, but we need to speak with your son.”

  He folded his arms and held his ground.

  She waited him out. If he thought he was going to intimidate her, he had another think coming.

  When the silence lengthened, a muscle ticced in his cheek. “Fine. We’ll go inside. But this better be important. I was in the middle of a meeting, and I don’t appreciate having my day disrupted.”

  As the man shouldered past them toward the front door, the counselor shook his head and hiked up an eyebrow.

  She agreed.

  If Martin Fisher thought his day was disrupted now, wait until he heard the news they were about to deliver.

  He pushed through the front door, leaving them to follow in his wake, and stopped in the center of the foyer. “Diane! Lucas! Get in here.” The bellowed summons echoed off the marble floor and soaring walls.

  A quick tapping of high heels sounded in the hall, and a few moments later a blonde-haired woman emerged from the back of the house. She looked frazzled—and fearful. “Hi, honey.”

  “Lucas!” He ignored her greeting as he hollered up the stairs.

  A teen who’d inherited the man’s square jaw and thin nose appeared at the top of the curving staircase and moseyed down, surveying the visitors.

  “All right. Let’s get this over with.” Martin waved everyone into a spacious living room with a vaulted ceiling. Abstract paintings, contemporary furnishings, gleaming hardwood floors, huge area rugs, and a grand piano on a dais in one corner—it could have been a room from a decorator showcase.

  And it felt just as sterile and unlived-in.

  “Have a seat.” Martin claimed an imposing chair off to one side and sat without waiting for anyone else to settle in. “Now what is this about?”

  Lexie linked her fingers in her lap, keeping her posture relaxed. “You may be aware that Hope Harbor has had a number of vandalism incidents over the past several weeks.”

  “I read a few lines about it in the local rag.”

  That would be the Herald—and it was far from a rag. But she wasn’t here to defend the town newspaper.

  “Not long ago, we caught one of the vandals. At first he refused to give us the name of his partner. That changed today.” She glanced at Lucas. He was slouched on the couch, arms folded, legs stretched in front of him, ankles crossed, expression defiant.

  “What does that have to do with any of us?” Martin made a show of checking his watch.

  “He identified your son as the second vandal.”

  The man’s head jerked up. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “But . . . that’s ridiculous!” He gaped at her as if she had two heads. “What possible reason would my son have to be involved in vandalism?”

  “I can’t speculate on motive. I only deal with facts.”

  “Facts? You want facts?” Red splotches marring his complexion, he shot to his feet, stalked across the room, and got in her face. “Let me tell you a few facts. My son is a football star at the high school. He has a wide social circle. He lives in a house with a swimming pool and tennis court. He gets reasonable grades. He takes vacations every year with his mother to Europe and the Caribbean. There is no reason on earth for him to do anything that would jeopardize the privileged life he leads—or our position in this town.”

  The man was so close she could almost count his eyelashes.

  She didn’t even blink.

  “Nevertheless, I’d like to know where he was last night at nine o’clock.”

  He didn’t move.

  Neither did she.

  “Fine.” He spat out the concession and pivoted toward his son. “Tell the lady where you were last night.”

  “Here. Doing homework.”

  “There.” Martin swung back to her. “Satisfied?”

  “Was your mother home also?” She directed her question to the boy.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you see your son in the house last night around nine o’clock, Mrs. Fisher?” Lexie shifted toward the blonde.

  “I, uh . . .” Her frightened glance bounced between Lucas and her husband. “Well, it’s a big house. We don’t always . . . see each other.”

  “If my son said he was here, he was here.” Martin dismissed his wife with a scathing sweep. “Aside from hearsay, why do you think he was involved in any of these incidents? Do you have any physical proof? Any witnesses?”

  This was where it could get tricky.

  “I have no reason to disbelieve the boy who told us your son was the instigator in all of the incidents. He’s fully cooperating with law enforcement.”

  “Who is this kid?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose his name. He’s a juvenile.”

  “I know who it is.” As Lucas spoke, everyone turned toward him. “Brian Hutton.”

  “How would you know that?” Lexie kept her tone conversational. The more the boy talked, the more likely he’d make an incriminating slip.

  “Word gets around at school. Kids gossip.”

  “I don’t recognize the name.” Martin moved closer to the teen. “What do you know about him?”

  Lucas shrugged. “He and his mom live in that trailer park outside of town. They moved here in January after his loser dad took all their money and disappeared.”

  “And you’d believe this kid over my son?” Martin spun back to her, tone triumphant.

  “He has no reason to lie.”

  “Sure he does. He’s trying to divvy up the blame so he doesn’t have to take the rap for everything. Where was he last night?” Lucas smirked at her.

  “He has an alibi.”

  “So does my son.” Martin’s gaze strafed her.

  “How could he have an alibi?” Lucas selected a piece of candy out of a bowl on the table beside him. “His mom is working nights this week.”

  “How would you know that?” Lexie rolled her pen between her fingers.

  “Like I said . . . kids talk.” He popped the mint into his mouth. “He was home alone last night, as usual. He must be lying about his alibi.”

  “No, he’s not. I confirmed his story.”

  Lucas stopped chewing. “With who?”

  Lexie considered the boy. There was no reason to keep her source confidential. The Fishers would find out eventually if they dug in their heels and lawyers got involved.

  “Adam Stone.”

  “Adam Stone.” Martin narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t he the ex-con who came to town a few months ago? The carpenter with the long hair and bandana, who looks like a dues-paying member of Hells Angels?”

  Anger began to churn in Lexie’s gut. “As a matter of fact, he doesn’t look like that anymore—not that appearances matter. He’s a law-abiding, churchgoing citizen who’s paid his dues to society and is building a new life in Hope Harbor.”

  “Given his background, I’d hardly call him a credible source.” Martin sniggered. “For all we know, he might have been involved in some of the vandalism incidents.”

  Lexie bit back the retort poised on the tip of her tongue.

  Stay cool. This guy might have more money than he knows what to do with, but he’s a world-class jerk. Don’t stoop to his level.

  “Lucas . . .” She angled away from the man and gave the teen her full attention. “I believe Brian is telling the truth, and we’ll continue to investigate the vandalism incidents until we find the proof we need to identify the culprit. It would be much better for you to be honest with us now so the juvenile counselor can work with you and your family to resolve this in the least disruptive and damaging way. If the situation escalates, you could end up before a judge.”

  “I think we’ve had enough of your intimidation tactics.” Martin crossed to the archway that led to the foyer and waited on the threshold. “I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to,
and I have a meeting to finish.”

  Lexie stayed where she was. “I’ll give you one more chance, Lucas.”

  “She’s right.” The counselor leaned forward. “I can help you more if you cooperate.”

  “Lucas?” Fear laced the single-word query from his mother.

  The boy scanned the assembled group, and for the first time Lexie detected a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Look, I had nothing to do with that car, okay?”

  The room went silent.

  “I don’t believe I mentioned the nature of last night’s vandalism incident.” Lexie watched the teen.

  Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and he straightened up from his slouch, posture rigid. “You talked about it when you first got here.”

  “No, she didn’t.” The counselor’s rebuttal was slow and deliberate.

  “She must have . . . have mentioned it, or . . . or something.” The boy’s composure began to crack. “Besides, the flash drive belonged to . . . ” His face lost a few shades of color, and he clamped his lips together.

  “Lucas . . . ” His father strode back into the room. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. They’re trying to set me up.”

  “Based on this conversation, I think it’s clear the opposite is true.” Lexie swiveled toward Martin. “We found a flash drive belonging to Brian Hutton next to the vandalized car. He gave your son the combination to his locker after they became friends—meaning your son had access to it. It had been wiped clean of prints. All prints. Very odd, if it had been dropped by accident.”

  Martin glared at his son. “I don’t need these kinds of problems.”

  “Why is everybody making such a big deal out of this?” Lucas swiped some sweat off his upper lip. “I mean, come on. We can pay for—”

  “Shut up, Lucas.” Martin surged toward the teen, towering over him.

  “But Dad, I—”

  “Shut. Up.” He glowered at his son until the kid visibly shrank, then turned toward his visitors. “We have nothing else to say until we talk to our attorney. I’ll show you out.”

  Lexie followed the man to the door, the counselor falling in behind her. Martin Fisher didn’t offer to shake hands with either of them—which was fine with her.