92 Pacific Boulevard. Debbie Macomber

Dave Flemming: Local Methodist minister. He and his wife, Emily, are the parents of Matthew and Mark.

      Shirley Bliss: Widow and fabric artist, mother of Tannith (Tanni) Bliss.

      Shaw Wilson: Friend of Anson Butler, Allison Cox and Tanni Bliss.

       One

      Troy Davis had been with the sheriff’s department in Cedar Cove for most of his working life. He knew this town and he knew these people; he was one of them. Four times now he’d been elected to the office of sheriff by an overwhelming majority.

      Sitting at his desk on this bleak January day, he let his mind wander as he sipped stale coffee. The department stuff was never good, no matter how recently it’d been brewed. As he sat there, he thought about Sandy, his wife of more than thirty years. She’d died last year of complications related to MS. Her death had left a gaping hole in his life. He’d often discussed his cases with her and had come to appreciate her insights. She usually had opinions, carefully considered ones, on what led people to commit the crimes that brought them to his attention.

      Troy would’ve been interested in her views on one of his current cases. A couple of local teenagers had come upon skeletal remains in a cave not far from the road leading out of town. Partial results of the autopsy were finally in, but they raised more questions than they answered. Additional tests were forthcoming, and they might provide further information.

      He could only hope… . Hard though it was to believe, the body had gone all this time without discovery, and no one seemed to know who it was.

      Despite this perplexing—and very cold—case and, of course, the loss of his wife, Troy had reason to count his blessings. He had a comfortable life, good friends and his only child, Megan, was married to a fine young man. In fact, Troy couldn’t have chosen a better husband for his daughter had he handpicked Craig himself. In a few months, Megan would give birth to his first grandchild.

      As far as finances went, Troy had no complaints. His house was paid off and so was his car. He enjoyed his work and had strong ties to the community.

      And yet … he was miserable.

      That misery could be attributed to one source.

      Faith Beckwith.

      Troy had reconnected with his high-school girlfriend, and almost before he realized what was happening, he’d fallen in love with her all over again.

      Neither of them possessed an impulsive personality. They were adults; they’d known what they wanted and what they were doing.

      Then the relationship that had seemed so promising had come to a sudden end—thanks to his daughter’s reaction and to some undeniably bad judgment on Troy’s part.

      When Megan learned he was dating again so soon after her mother’s death, she’d been very upset. Troy understood his daughter’s feelings. It had only been a few months since they’d buried Sandy; however, Sandy had been ill for years, and in some ways, their farewells had been said long before. But the fact that Troy had hidden his relationship with Faith from his daughter had contributed significantly to the whole mess.

      On the evening of Troy’s first visit to Faith’s home in Seattle, the first time he’d kissed her, Megan had been at the hospital. She’d had a miscarriage. And while she and Craig were at the hospital, they couldn’t reach Troy—because he’d turned off his cell phone. Because he hadn’t wanted his hours with Faith interrupted.

      His guilt had been overwhelming. The baby had meant everything to Megan and Craig, especially so soon after Sandy’s death.

      In retrospect Troy saw that he’d completely mishandled the situation. Immediately after Megan’s miscarriage he’d broken off the relationship with Faith. He’d acted out of remorse but he hadn’t taken Faith’s feelings into account; her shock and pain haunted him to this day.

      He’d dedicated himself to his daughter and her needs ever since. That didn’t mean he’d stopped thinking about Faith—far from it. Thoughts of her filled his every waking moment.

      To complicate this already complicated situation, Faith had sold her Seattle home and moved to Cedar Cove to be closer to her son, Scott—and to Troy. Seeing her around town these days was torture. Faith had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Troy didn’t blame her.

      “I have that missing-persons file for you, Sheriff.” Cody Woodchase stepped into his office and set the folder in Troy’s in-basket.

      “Thanks,” Troy murmured. “You checked the appropriate dates?”

      Cody nodded, dutifully efficient. “And came up blank. The only major case I can personally recall was Daniel Sherman a few years back.”

      Troy was well aware of the outcome. His old high-school friend had walked away from his family for no apparent reason. He’d simply vanished. The case had bothered Troy for well over a year. As it turned out, Dan had committed suicide, his body eventually found in the woods.

      “That one was solved,” Troy pointed out.

      “I remember,” Cody said. “Anyway, I pulled all the pertinent missing-persons files and printed them out for you.”

      “Thanks.” Troy reached for the folder as soon as Cody left his office. Cedar Cove was fortunate enough to have a low crime rate. Oh, there was the occasional public disturbance, domestic violence now and then, a break-in, a drunk driver—the sort of crime common to any small town. There was a mystery every once in a while, too. The biggest that came to mind was the man who’d shown up at Thyme and Tide, the Beldons’ B and B. The stranger had the misfortune to die that very night. But that case, which was actually a murder, had been solved, too.

      And now … the human remains, found just before Christmas.

      According to the autopsy, they were those of a young man. A teenage boy between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. Based on those bones, there was no obvious cause of death. No blunt-force trauma, for instance. He’d been dead as long as twenty-five to thirty years.

      Twenty-five to thirty years!

      Troy had been with the department back then, untested and eager to prove himself. Sandy was pregnant after miscarrying twice, optimistic that this time they’d have their baby.

      If a missing teenager had been reported in the late ‘70s or early ‘80s, Troy was confident he would’ve remembered it. The files Cody had printed out indicated that he was right. Not a single case involving a missing teenager, male or female, had been left unresolved.

      To be on the safe side, he checked five years before and five years after. Twelve boys, mostly runaways, had been reported missing in that time. They’d all been found, either returning of their own accord or located by friends, relatives or the authorities.

      Surely this young man had family, a mother and father, who must have wondered and waited in anguish. Troy closed his eyes and tried to think of boys he’d known during that time. Random names and faces rushed through his mind.

      Around 1985, he recalled, Cedar Cove High School had won the state baseball championship. He could picture the first baseman, Robbie something, and Weaver, one of his deputies now, who’d been the team’s star pitcher. Troy had attended all the play-off games. Sandy had gone with him and, although she wasn’t a real baseball fan, she’d clapped and yelled her heart out.

      Oh, how he missed Sandy… .

      Troy had visited her grave a couple of times over the holidays. Even at the end, when her body had failed her and MS had stolen much of her dignity, she’d been cheerful. He missed her appreciation of life’s simple joys.

      At least he and Megan were over the firsts—the first Thanksgiving without Sandy. The first Christmas. The first birthday, wedding anniversary and Mother’s Day. Those were the big ones, when her loss felt like a burden that would never grow lighter.