92 Pacific Boulevard. Debbie Macomber

Charlotte took a sip of tea. “That her home was vandalized.”

      “No!” Olivia was horrified. “Oh, dear, does Grace know?”

      The rental belonged to her best friend, who’d agonized over whether to sell the house or keep it. Her first tenants, a young navy couple, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had barely settled in when Ian was transferred to another duty station. The next tenants had gotten months behind in their rent and seemed determined to work the system and live there rent-free as long as possible. Apparently the couple and the hangers-on who lived with them knew exactly what they were doing.

      The experience had been terrible for poor Grace. Fortunately, the renters had moved of their own accord—with a little help from Jack and Grace’s husband, Cliff, who’d come up with a rather inventive means of persuading the gang of deadbeats to vacate the house quickly.

      “Oh, dear,” Charlotte murmured as she set aside her cup. “I forgot. Grace asked me not to tell you.”

      “Why ever not?”

      “She didn’t want you to worry.”

      The one thing Olivia wished was that her family and friends would stop treating her as if she’d faint at the smallest hint of bad news.

      “I’ll talk to Grace later, but first tell me about Faith.”

      Her mother held her teacup in both hands. “Oh, she’s fine. The minute I heard about the break-in, I went over to help her clean up. So did Grace and Cliff, of course, and Corrie and Peggy and a bunch of others. The place was a mess.” Charlotte grimaced. “An awful mess.”

      “How’s Faith handling all this?”

      Her mother leaned against the back of her chair. “You know Faith. She’s a strong woman, but this break and enter rattled her. Thank goodness the vandal was gone by the time she got home.”

      Olivia could easily guess how unsettling this must have been for Faith. “Was anything taken?” she asked.

      “When I saw her, she wasn’t sure, and we were all so busy cleaning up the house it was hard to tell. I don’t think she’ll know until she has a chance to go through everything.”

      “Who else came to help?” This was something Olivia loved about Cedar Cove. Neighbors were more than neighbors—they were friends who willingly pitched in when needed.

      “Well, naturally, her son and his wife.”

      “Of course.”

      “Megan Bloomquist was there, too.”

      “Troy’s daughter?”

      “Yes. Faith and Megan have struck up quite a friendship.”

      This was surprising. “What about the sheriff and Faith?”

      Charlotte set her teacup in its saucer, her frown thoughtful. “That, unfortunately, is a delicate situation. I hear they’ve decided not to see each other anymore.”

      “Really?” Olivia was sorry about that. She remembered that the two of them had dated in high school. Recently there’d been rumors that they’d reconnected, which seemed like such a satisfying idea. It saddened her to think that everything wasn’t going to fall neatly into place. But, as she very well knew, not every romance had a happy ending.

      Both were silent for several seconds. “The locksmith showed up while I was there,” Charlotte said. “Troy suggested a dead-bolt system for the house, and Grace got it installed immediately.”

      “Good.”

      “Front and back doors, and the garage, as well.” Her mother grinned. “Lloyd said he’d defy anyone to get into that house again.”

      Lloyd Copeland was the town’s locksmith and had twenty years’ experience. If he said the house was secure, then it was secure. The only way in would be through a window, but Olivia recalled that Grace had installed extrastrong glass in the downstairs panes.

      “I’m glad,” Olivia said. “Faith needs the peace of mind.”

      “Amen to that.” Charlotte finished her tea and stood to bring her cup to the sink. “Anything more I can do for you, Olivia?”

      “I’m fine, Mom. Thanks for asking.”

      “Has your brother been by lately?” Charlotte asked as she headed toward the door.

      “Will phoned this morning.”

      The immediate frown told Olivia that her mother wasn’t pleased. She expected Will to visit at least three times a week, to commiserate and hold her hand.

      “Mom,” she protested. “Will’s busy. He’s working on getting the art gallery up and running, plus remodeling the living space.”

      “That’s no excuse.”

      Olivia didn’t bother to argue.

      “You’ve seen him since Christmas though, right?”

      “Of course.” Actually, Will had come over on Christmas Day, looking a bit depressed. He’d gone to Shirley Bliss’s home and—to his astonishment—she hadn’t been there. Her brother had a massive ego and assumed that the world revolved around his schedule. It had never occurred to him that Shirley, one of his artists and a widowed mother of two, would be anywhere but at home, waiting, longing, for a visit from him. Olivia hoped her brother had learned from this.

      “Don’t forget I brought you my orange Bundt cake.”

      “I couldn’t possibly forget.” Although Jack would appreciate eating it more than Olivia. “You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?”

      Her mother didn’t deny it. “I’ll cook you a batch of my special lasagna next.”

      “Mom,” Olivia said laughingly, “I won’t fit into any of my clothes if this continues.” Although she was far from having to worry about that. Her suits hung on her because she’d lost weight before Christmas, fighting off a serious infection. However, Olivia wanted her mother to know that while she valued everything Charlotte did for her, she was well on the road to recovery.

      “Let me spoil you a bit longer,” her mother said. “Please, honey?”

      Olivia gave in with a smile. “All right, Mom.”

      Charlotte put on her coat and scooped up her purse and the empty basket. “I’m off to see Bess.” One of her many friends. “You’ll call if you need anything?” she asked. “Promise?”

      “Of course,” Olivia assured her.

      Her mother grasped the doorknob. “And don’t let Jack eat that cake all by himself, you hear?”

      Olivia laughed again. “I’ll do my best, Mom.”

      With a saucy wave, her mother was out the door. Olivia just hoped that when she reached that age, she’d have as much energy, optimism and charm as her wonderful mother.

       Four

      There was someone pounding on Christie Levitt’s front door as she stood over the bathroom sink, brushing her teeth. She rinsed her mouth and methodically set her toothbrush in the holder, then splashed cold water on her face. She had no idea who’d be at her door this early in the day.

      “Hold your horses,” she shouted and winced. Her head throbbed with what threatened to become a blinding headache.

      Whoever was at the door was certainly persistent. On her way through the hallway to her bedroom, she did a quick mental review of the bills she’d paid. Yes, she specifically remembered that she’d mailed off checks to the electric and water companies.

      Both utilities had been shut off before and in her opinion the companies were rather sneaky about it. No one had come to the door, at least not that she recalled.