Home For Keeps. Lynn Patrick
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then it came to him. The mural. The woman walking away from the jailed girl—Lily walking away from Angela and Angela feeling helpless to do anything about it. That had to be it. Something had brought up a hornet’s nest of emotion in his daughter. Not hard to envision. Angela was fifteen now, questioning everything, especially him and anything he wanted for her. But why was her absentee mother suddenly so important to her?
He flicked a look over to his daughter, who once more was staring out the side window, her shoulders set so tight he knew she wouldn’t answer if he asked. He wondered if she would talk to her grandmother, tell her the truth. Mom was his go-to person when it came to Angela. His daughter never resented her grandmother the way she did him. He would call Mom as soon as they got home, then he would settle this mural mess.
But how to do that other than manage the cleanup?
The woman who’d told everyone that no one was grabbing his daughter had appeared to be in charge at Green Meadows. She seemed like a decent sort. Attractive, too, he thought, remembering her lush dark hair and the spark in her pretty blue eyes as she’d controlled the situation. A strong woman. One who didn’t shirk from responsibility.
When he went back to take care of the mural, he would look for her. Talk to her. See if she could help.
He would do it for his daughter.
Still, the thought of getting to know a woman like that was extra incentive.
IT WAS STILL MORNING, and Grace felt wrung out from the stress of everything happening at once. At least the reporter looking for a ghost story had spent only a few minutes with Nellie before leaving in disappointment. Thankfully, Nellie hadn’t been able to give him any details other than having seen some kind of faint movement through the trees. Just as Grace had expected. Apparently some of the other residents had blown up what they’d heard into something more exciting.
The community center had an area with tables for the residents to get together. Sitting opposite the older woman, Grace winced when Nellie raised her soda can with a bandaged hand.
“That’s quite some experience you had last night, Nellie. I’m very sorry you were hurt.”
“I was just so worried about Olive disappearing. And I let myself get distracted.” Nellie shook her head and her big glasses wobbled on her nose so that she had to punch them back in place. “I don’t believe in ghosts. It probably was just fog and wind.”
Relief washed through Grace. But not because of Nellie’s disbelief in ghosts. It didn’t sound as if the older woman wanted to sue the company.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have a doctor check you out?” Grace asked her.
“For a bruised knee and scraped palms?” Her surprisingly sharp blue eyes, magnified by thick lenses, gave Nellie an owlish expression reinforced by small tufts of silver hair around her face. “Really, no, but thank you for your concern.”
“Of course I’m concerned about all the residents of our new community. I’m going to make certain that area around your apartment is cleared of any debris.”
Nodding, Nellie said, “That would be good. Now if that darned cat of mine will get it into her head to appreciate her new home, we’ll be fine.” She glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “Uh-oh, it’s time for me to go. I need to get to my shop. Nellie’s Treasures opens in half an hour.” She gathered up her things. “I don’t know what else I can tell you anyway.”
Grace still hadn’t been to Nellie’s consignment shop and now vowed to do so as soon as she had some free time. “I don’t have anything else to offer. I just wanted to find out what happened and to be sure that you were all right.”
Nellie got to her feet. “Like I said, I hope Olive doesn’t try to escape again. The new apartment is nice, but it’s so small compared to our old house. At least there are no stairs,” she said, putting a positive spin on the complaint.
The woman didn’t have a car, so Grace asked, “Can I give you a ride to your shop?”
“That’s nice of you, but I’m good. Walking is the only exercise I get these days.”
Grace followed Nellie out of the building and headed straight for the parking lot, where she picked up the abandoned art supplies from the table. By the time she carried them to her car, she was a little breathless. Just walked too fast, she told herself. Nothing to do with looking forward to meeting the impressive-looking Caleb Blackthorne. Wondering if she was also going to meet Mrs. Blackthorne, she drove out of the parking lot and onto the road.
She was doing this for Summer Storm. The supplies were simply an excuse. What she really wanted was some insight to the girl. Grace hadn’t had a perfect past herself, so she could recognize a kindred spirit. She didn’t know why that seemed so important to her. Didn’t know what she could or would do about it. Community residents wanted the young artist arrested. Grace wanted to know if she needed help.
Once past the development property, she slowed the car and began peering through the trees near the road, looking for a house.
She almost missed it.
A glimpse of windows made her hit her brake just as she came to the driveway. Her stomach fluttered as she turned in toward the house. Built of cedar and stone, the building blended well with its natural surroundings despite its wall of windows. A large deck around the front and east sides of the house. The steep roofline dotted with solar panels met straight vertical walls, so the modified A-frame had a second story. A beautiful home, one she would be proud to have as part of Green Meadows.
Grace parked and fetched the art supplies. By the time she got to the front door, it opened to reveal Caleb Blackthorne on the other side. He’d changed into worn jeans and an old T-shirt. Though he stood straight and still, the energy he gave off seemed dynamic. His expression was serious, brows seemingly ready to segue into a scowl, but Grace refused to let that intimidate her.
Her smile feeling a little stiff, she said, “Mr. Blackthorne, I’ve brought what’s left of your daughter’s art supplies. Is she home?”
“No, her grandmother came and got her. Let me take that from you.” He removed the supplies from her hands and nodded toward the inside of the house. “Come on in.”
Grace followed him into a great room—it went the full two stories, and she could see a loft area above. “Wow, this is much bigger than I imagined for an A-frame.”
“The new multistory designs are.” He set everything on the dining table. “Thanks, but you didn’t need to trouble yourself. I could have fetched all this when I took care of the mural. I was just getting ready to head back to Green Meadows.”
“Already looked after,” she told him. “I came because I wanted to talk to you about Summer Storm.”
“Her name is Angela.”
His expression did become a scowl now, though Grace wasn’t sure if his irritation was with her or with his daughter.
“Okay, Angela, then,” she said.
“I only recently learned that she’s calling herself ‘Summer Storm.’ My daughter feels she needs a more exotic name to identify her as an artist.”
Grace heard the increased tension in his voice on the word artist. So he didn’t like his daughter’s ambition? Looking around at the art on the walls—her work, Grace assumed—she would never know it. Painted in broad, thick, colorful strokes that gave the paintings a life of their own, the artwork depicted the moods and intense beauty of nature. Some paintings seemed to be semirealistic landscapes; others were birds, a few with outstretched wings. The style wasn’t exactly abstract, but the artist had gone for emotion, not photographic reality.
“She has talent, that’s for sure,”