92 Pacific Boulevard

“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.



“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.