1105 Yakima Street. Debbie Macomber

“She was only trying to help,” Olivia explained unnecessarily.

      “I know.” He sat down beside her and placed his arm around her shoulders.

      “I think we need to have Mom tested for Alzheimer’s. Or perhaps she has some other form of dementia. But something’s wrong and we’ve got to find out what it is and what we should do.”

      “Olivia … are you sure? That sounds a bit drastic. She’s got a few memory problems, but a lot of people her age do.”

      “Their house could have burned to the ground!”

      “Thankfully it didn’t,” Jack murmured.

      “What about next time? And there will be a next time, Jack. Mom’s memory is declining and it isn’t going to improve.”

      “Now, Olivia, I agree there’s a problem but—”

      “Jack, you’re a reporter and you’ve researched stories on this.”

      “That’s true.” In fact, not three months ago the Chronicle had done a feature on rising rates of dementia, including Alzheimer’s, and local resources for families. “I guess I don’t like seeing it so close to home.”

      “You mean at home,” Olivia said with wry humor.

      “Yeah. But your mom and Ben might not be able to go back to their house. Would they continue to live with us?”

      “No.” That would slowly but surely drive Olivia over the edge of sanity.

      “Where would they go, then? A seniors’ complex?”

      Olivia hadn’t given the matter much thought. “I think so.”

      “There are some pretty good assisted-living places,” Jack said. “Remember we profiled a few for that feature in the paper?”

      Olivia nodded. “That makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”

      “Well, yes.”

      Now that she’d acknowledged the problem, much of what had been happening recently suddenly became clear. The fact that Charlotte had left her knitting in the car at Faith and Troy’s wedding, for instance. Her mother was never without her knitting. True, it’d been a traumatic day, since Ben had gone to confront his son David.

      If it’d been a single incident, Olivia could easily gloss over it, but there’d been countless other ones. Small things such as forgetting where she’d put Olivia’s quilt fabric. The problem with the laundry. Then there was the fire….

      Olivia stood and walked around to her bedside table, where she reached for the phone.

      “Who are you calling?”

      “My brother. I need Will’s input on this.”

      Jack’s eyes met hers. “Time for a family conference,” he said.

       Nine

      “Oh, what a lovely painting,” the older, smartly dressed woman commented as she walked around the Harbor Street Art Gallery. While Will was out running errands, Miranda Sullivan had removed the Chandler painting from the wall where he’d placed it. Then she hung it on the opposite wall, which—in her humble opinion—showed off the watercolor to its best effect. It was all about the light, her husband used to say, and who’d know that better than an artist like Hugh Sullivan? She noticed how quickly this customer was drawn to the painting.

      “You have good taste. This is one of our loveliest pieces,” Miranda said, walking toward the woman. “Welcome to the Harbor Street Gallery. Are you visiting Cedar Cove? I’m Miranda Sullivan.”

      “I’m Veronica Vanderhuff. My husband and I recently moved to the area and we’re looking for a few pieces by local artists. Your gallery was recommended.”

      “You’ve come to the right place. All the art on display is by local talent. The work you’re admiring is Beverly Chandler’s Girl in Spring.”

      “It’s gorgeous.”

      “In my view it’s the best painting we currently have.”

      Veronica shrugged her slim, elegant shoulders. “I’m almost afraid to ask the price.”

      “All our prices are extremely reasonable,” Miranda assured her. She’d love to sell this painting before Will returned. Then she could flaunt the fact that it sold only after she’d hung it on this other wall.

      Veronica checked the price list Miranda handed her and seemed pleasantly surprised. “Oh, this is reasonable. I’ll take it.”

      Miranda wanted to clap and leap up and down. She’d derive real pleasure from rubbing this in Will’s stubborn face. Not a very commendable impulse, perhaps, but there it was. In all her life, Miranda had yet to meet a man who irritated and enthralled her in equal measure. She found herself highly attracted to this man she didn’t even like. If that wasn’t puzzling enough, he was constantly in her thoughts. She knew it was unlikely that Will would ever look on her as anything more than an employee, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Frustrating, to say the least.