92 Pacific Boulevard. Debbie Macomber
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What do you mean?”
“Someone broke into the house,” she repeated, surprised that she was able to keep her voice level, although she’d begun to tremble with shock.
“You’re sure?”
“There’s garbage all over the kitchen floor!”
“Mom,” Scottie said calmly. “Put down the phone and dial 9-1-1, then call me back.”
“Oh, of course.” She should’ve thought of that. Normally she was a clear-thinking woman; however, stepping into this mess had completely unsettled her.
“Call me back as soon as you do.”
“Okay,” she promised Scottie, then pushed the disconnect button. Taking a deep breath she called emergency services and waited for the operator’s voice.
“This is 9-1-1. How may I assist you?”
“My house has been broken into,” Faith blurted. “I haven’t gone any farther than the kitchen. Whoever was here made a terrible mess.”
“Are you sure the intruder isn’t still in the house?”
That hadn’t even occurred to Faith. Oh, dear.
“No …” The chill she’d experienced earlier returned. It felt as if her feet were frozen to the floor. For all she knew, someone could be standing in the other room.
“Are you on a portable phone?” the operator asked, breaking into the frightening scenarios racing through her mind.
“Yes …”
“Go outside and remain on the line,” the operator continued.
Faith forced herself to hurry to the door, moving as quietly as she could, which was probably ridiculous since she’d been speaking in a normal tone earlier. Surely if the person responsible was in the house, he or she would’ve already overheard.
“I’m outside,” she whispered.
“Good,” the 9-1-1 operator told her in a reassuring voice. “I have a patrol car on the way.”
“Thank you.”
“Deputy Weaver’s estimated time of arrival is three minutes.”
“I’m a friend of Sheriff Troy Davis’s,” she said and instantly regretted it. Troy was out of her life. Yet he was the person she’d wanted to contact when she realized there’d been a break-in. “I was a friend,” she amended.
The phone beeped, indicating that there was another caller.
“I think that’s my son,” Faith told the operator. “He wanted me to phone him back as soon as I’d reported the … crime.” She wasn’t even sure how to refer to it.
“You can return the call in a moment,” the operator told her. “Deputy Weaver should be there soon.”
Faith sighed in relief when she saw the patrol car round the corner. “He’s here now.”
The phone beeped again. “I’ll need to take this, otherwise Scottie will be worried.” She thanked the operator and clicked off, then waited to connect with her son.
“Mom, is everything okay?”
“The deputy’s here,” she assured her son.
“All right. I’m leaving now.” Unfortunately, Scott’s house was some distance from Rosewood Lane, and it would be at least fifteen minutes before he arrived.
Still, once she knew Scott was coming, she felt as though she might collapse. As though she didn’t have the strength to remain upright.
The deputy parked his vehicle at the curb and after she’d spoken with him, he stalked into the house with his weapon drawn.
Clutching her purse, Faith stood in the driveway that led to the garage. Not more than a minute passed, although it seemed much longer before Deputy Weaver reappeared.
“All clear,” he told her.
Nodding, Faith started for the house, but Deputy Weaver placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Do you have family in the area?” he asked.
Faith nodded again. “My son, Scott, is on his way.”
“Then I’d recommend you wait until he can accompany you inside,” the deputy said.
She didn’t understand. “But why? You said whoever did this isn’t in the house anymore.”
The deputy paused. “I don’t believe this is something you’d want to see by yourself,” he said. “I can go in with you, too… .”
Faith had trouble taking in his words. “You mean … the damage is extensive?”
“You’ll need to judge that for yourself.”
“Oh.” Faith didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?” the deputy asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, taken aback by his question. “I’ve only been living in the area for a couple of months. This is a rental. I.I didn’t want to inconvenience my son and his family by living with them while I searched for a house to buy.”
Deputy Weaver nodded thoughtfully.
“Why?” she asked anxiously.
His gaze was sympathetic. “I’m sorry to say it, but this looks personal.”
“Personal? My goodness, it can’t be! I lived in Cedar Cove years and years ago, but I don’t know many people here these days. I’m working at the medical clinic and, well …” Faith stopped in midsentence when she saw Troy Davis’s vehicle.
He pulled up and parked behind Deputy Weaver, then climbed out of his car. It took every bit of her self-control not to rush toward him.
Troy’s eyes immediately sought hers. Despite her best efforts, Faith started to tear up. She hadn’t seen him since before Christmas, and in that time she’d struggled hard to cast memories of him out of her mind. Her success had been limited. Whole days would pass when she hardly thought of him. That was progress, and yet the first person she’d wanted to turn to in this crisis had been Troy.
Deputy Weaver stepped forward; he and Troy spoke briefly. Then the deputy ambled over to the house next door and Troy started walking toward her.
“Are you all right?” Troy asked, quickly assessing her.
She lowered her eyes rather than reveal how glad she was to see him. “I … I don’t know yet.” Somehow she managed a feeble smile that probably didn’t fool him.
“Does Scott know?”
“I … I called him right away. He’s the one who told me to contact emergency services. He said he was leaving the office.”
“Good.”
“He won’t get here for another ten minutes, though.”
“Would you rather wait for him or would you like me to do a walk-through of the house with you now?”
It must be bad. “Would you come with me?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He clasped her elbow and together they headed toward the door off the kitchen. “I guess it’s a terrible mess.” The deputy’s reaction had implied as much.
As if touching her was a painful reminder that they’d severed their relationship, Troy dropped his hand. Trying to hide the bereft feeling that came over her, Faith opened the narrow closet next to the laundry and reached for the broom.
“I suggest we take a look at the damage before you attempt any cleanup.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
He