92 Pacific Boulevard. Debbie Macomber

office doorway.

      “Louie.” Troy rose to his feet. It wasn’t every day he received a visit from the mayor of Cedar Cove. “Come on in. Good to see you.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

      “Happy New Year,” Louie said as he slid into the seat. He rested one ankle on the opposite knee, striking a relaxed pose.

      “Same to you,” Troy said and sat back down. “What can I do for you?” The mayor was a busy man and didn’t waste time on unnecessary visits. The fact was, Troy couldn’t remember when Louie had last sought him out. Oh, they ran into each other often enough; that was unavoidable, since they worked in the same office complex. Socially they were acquaintances and he saw Louie at civic functions or the occasional party.

      Louie’s expression grew serious, and he leaned forward. “I’ve got a couple of things I want to discuss with you.”

      “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.

       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