Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

  Again Anson refused. If anything, he moved back another step.

  “Please,” she added softly.

  He considered it for a moment. “I can’t,” he finally muttered. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  He seemed to steel himself against her. “Like I said, the only reason I’m here is to tell you I won’t be seeing you anymore.”

  The shock of his words felt like a slap across her face. “You don’t mean that! You can’t mean that.” She swallowed down the hurt and disappointment. “I love you.”

  “Well, don’t,” he said sharply, as if her confession had angered him. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a loser. I’m not going anyplace but down.”

  “That’s not true!” But Anson wasn’t listening.

  “I don’t want to drag you down, too,” he said.

  “Don’t say that,” she argued hotly, furious that he’d say it about himself. “You’re not a loser. You’re not.” She suspected he was just repeating what his mother had told him all his life.

  “Your dad’s a good guy,” he said. “Thank him for me, all right?” He started to turn away.

  “Don’t go.” She leaned out of the window and grabbed for him. She would’ve fallen onto the ground if Anson hadn’t caught her. Once she was in his embrace, practically dangling from the window, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. At first he resisted and attempted to shove her away. But soon he was returning her kisses. Then, apparently reaching some decision, he tore his mouth from hers and pulled back.

  “Please,” she begged. “Come in so we can talk about this properly. Don’t walk away from me—not like this.”

  Reluctantly he nodded. While he climbed in through the bedroom window, Allison found her thick fleece housecoat and put it on. Shivering, still shaking with cold, she tied the sash around her waist.

  Anson sat on the end of her bed, his head lowered. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

  “You love me,” she whispered, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Don’t deny it, because I know it’s true.”

  He closed his eyes, a tortured expression on his face. “I shouldn’t have come,” he muttered. She suspected he said it more for his own benefit than hers.

  She placed her hands over his. “I’m so grateful you did. You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.” She got to her feet. “If you go, then I’m going with you.” There was no alternative, she decided, no other choice. “Wherever you go, that’s where I want to be.”

  “No.” The word was chilling in its intensity.

  “Anson, you’ve got to listen to me. This is all because of what happened at The Lighthouse, isn’t it?”

  He refused to answer, refused to look at her.

  “My dad believes you. I believe you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  He seemed to think about it, then shook his head. “Don’t you see? This is how it is—everything I touch turns to dust. I thought it’d be different with you, but it’s not. I’m getting out of here before I screw up your life, too.” He scrambled to his feet and started for the window.

  “But you don’t know where you’re going,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Then she remembered something else. “You can’t leave,” she told him. “You’ll be breaking the terms of your plea bargain. You have to stay in school, remember?”

  “I was supposed to have a job, too.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Anson shook his head again. “It’s too late to worry about that. If they find me now, I’ll probably get jail time. I’m out of here.”

  A dozen questions rose at his response. She didn’t ask a single one because she was afraid of the answers. “What will you do for money?”

  He turned back and gave a harsh laugh.

  “Anson?” She’d never heard him sound like that before, and it frightened her. Her stomach knotted as she realized there was a reason Anson had chosen to leave Cedar Cove tonight. “What have you done?” she whispered.

  “It’s better if you don’t know.” His eyes softened as he looked at her one last time. “Goodbye,” he whispered, stretching out his hand to touch her face.

  “No!” She hurried to the window, but he was too fast. He moved with an agility that belied his size. “How will I know where to reach you?” she called out as he walked across the grass.

  Anson didn’t answer. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets, his shoulders bent. She stayed where she was until she lost sight of him, and in her heart she knew she’d never see him again. Eventually the tears came, flooding her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She closed the window and crawled back into bed.

  Allison didn’t fall asleep for hours. Her pillow was damp with tears when she woke Saturday morning, again to the sound of knocking—but this time it was someone pounding at her bedroom door.

  “Allison,” her mother said, opening the door. “It’s after ten.”

  She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She often slept in on the weekends.

  “There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  Her first thought was that it might be Anson, but she realized that it wouldn’t be.

  “Who?”

  “It’s Sheriff Davis.” Her mother’s expression was serious, and Allison’s stomach immediately tensed.

  “Why does he want to see me?” Even though she asked, she knew the answer. This had to do with Anson.

  “Your father’s talking to the sheriff now. I suggest you get dressed right away and join us.”

  Allison nodded and although she appeared outwardly calm, her heart clamored hard. This was what she’d feared most—that Anson would get into trouble again.

  By the time she’d put on jeans and a sweatshirt and brushed her hair, Allison was shaking. Whatever Anson had done, if he was caught, it would mean the fire in the park would now be part of his permanent record. It also meant her father would never allow her to see him again.

  The sheriff set down his coffee mug when Allison entered the kitchen. He sat at the table with both her parents.

  “This is our daughter, Allison,” her father said, motioning that she should sit down. “Allison,” he said, looking straight at her. “Sheriff Davis has some questions for you. It’s important that you answer him honestly and directly. Do you understand?”

  She lowered her head and whispered, “I will.”

  “Hello, Allison,” Sheriff Davis said pleasantly. “I hear you’re friends with Anson Butler.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m wondering when you last saw him,” the sheriff said next.

  The minute Anson left, she knew he’d done something he shouldn’t have. He’d as much as said so. His chilling laugh echoed in her mind.

  Her father leaned toward her. “Please tell Sheriff Davis the truth.”

  “Last night,” she whispered, knowing her parents would be outraged that she’d let him into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

  “When?”

  “About two this morning.”

  “You snuck out of the house?” This outburst was from her mother, who was clearly upset.

  Allison shook her head. “No. Anson came to me.”

  “At the house?” her father clarified without apparent censure. But his eyes let her know he wasn’t pleased, although he kept his voice even.

  Allison sighed. “He tapped on my window and woke me up. He—he came to say goodbye.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No. He said he didn’t know.”

  “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

  She shook her head a second time.

  “You’re sure he ran away, though?” her father said, pressuring her for more information.

  “He hasn’t been at home or at school. I asked around and no one’s seen him.”

  “Where’s he been keeping himself?” This came from the sheriff.

  “I don’t know.” Allison wished she did. All week she’d wonder
ed and waited to hear from him. The thought of Anson living on the streets made her want to weep all over again. His mother wasn’t any help; she didn’t even seem to care.

  “Do you know whether he had any money?” the sheriff asked.

  She hesitated, but for only a second. “He didn’t say.”

  Sheriff Davis exchanged a look with her father.

  “What did he do?” Allison had to find out.

  “At this point we don’t know that Anson did anything,” Sheriff Davis said, his words measured and flat. “He’s what we consider a person of interest.”

  “Interest in what?”

  Again her father and the sheriff exchanged that ambiguous glance.

  “About one this morning, The Lighthouse restaurant burned to the ground.”

  “Is it arson?” she cried.

  “We don’t know for sure,” the sheriff said, “but the indication from the fire chief is that the fire appears to have been purposely set.”

  Allison gasped. “Anson would never do that!”

  “He burned down the shed in the park,” her father reminded her. He placed his hand on her shoulder as if to lend her strength.

  “I don’t care,” she said, shrugging off his comfort and leaping to her feet. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Seth Gunderson laid him off.”

  “Mr. Gunderson thought Anson had taken some money from his office, but he didn’t.”

  “Anson was angry.”

  “You would be, too,” Allison shouted, “if you were unjustly accused of—something.” Her voice broke. She couldn’t believe The Lighthouse was gone. It’d become a Cedar Cove landmark.

  “As I mentioned, we’re not certain that the fire was arson,” Sheriff Davis said in an obvious attempt to calm her.

  “But you’re already trying to frame Anson!”

  “Allison.” Her mother spoke her name softly. “No one’s going to frame him for anything.”

  “All I want to do right now is talk to Anson,” the sheriff assured her.

  Allison didn’t believe him. She was convinced the sheriff and her parents considered him guilty. She recognized that he must have done something, but he hadn’t burned down The Lighthouse. Despite any evidence or suspicion to the contrary, she knew one thing: Anson was innocent.

  Justine Gunderson stared at what had once been their restaurant, her arms tight around her son to ward off the cold wind gusting from the cove. Leif was peacefully asleep, thumb in his mouth. Seth stood a few feet apart from her, answering the fire chief’s questions. The stench of fire invaded her nostrils, clung to her clothes and hair. Smoke wafted up from the ashes of what had once been their dream—their restaurant, their investment and sole source of income. Even now, staring at the charred remains, it was hard to believe The Lighthouse was no more. All that survived of the structure was a blackened skeleton and a pile of rubble. With a jolt she recognized the twisted metal frame of a photograph—the picture Jon Bowman had given them when they opened the restaurant.

  After a few minutes, Seth returned to her side and took Leif from her arms. Their son was still asleep so he’d be spared seeing this. Justine felt numb with shock. She couldn’t cry, could barely think.

  “It was arson,” Seth whispered.

  This was as unbelievable as the fire itself. “Who…who would do such a thing to us?”

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “How?”

  “The fire chief says it was started near the kitchen. We were supposed to think it was a grease fire.”

  This whole situation was becoming more unreal by the minute.

  “Whoever did it was stupid,” he said grimly. “Or else they wanted to be caught.”

  That, at least, was encouraging. Justine wanted whoever had done this to be caught, too. Wanted that person to face his—or her—day in court, to receive the maximum sentence.

  “The fire chief asked if we had any disgruntled employees,” Seth murmured. He, too, seemed to be in shock.

  “Do we?” Seth was the one who handled the hiring and firing, plus the scheduling of staff. Justine had enough to do working as a hostess and keeping their financial records straight.

  “Anson Butler was pretty angry when I laid him off.” Seth’s voice was hoarse, and he hardly sounded like himself.

  Justine remembered now that Seth had laid off two employees recently. “What about the other kid?”

  “Tony Philpott,” Seth told her. “He seemed to take it in stride. I hear he’s already got another job.”

  “Oh.”

  “The police want to question Anson. He’s missing. They’re looking for him now.”

  Justine leaned close to her husband. “I hope they find him.”

  Seth nodded. He placed his free arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. “We’ll get through this.”

  “Of course we will,” Justine said. She just didn’t know how.

  Fifty

  With a heavy heart, Maryellen set down the phone after talking to Kelly. She felt like weeping. Nothing was going right. Bedridden and miserable during this difficult pregnancy, she counted the days until she could get on with her life again.

  With Maryellen unable to work and contribute to their finances, their budget was stretched to the breaking point. Jon was working as hard as he could to fill orders and make new photographs available. It was tax season, though, and sales of nonessential items were notoriously bad at this time of year.

  When Jon wasn’t developing and printing his photographs, he’d been cooking whatever hours Seth Gunderson could give him at The Lighthouse. Until last weekend, when it burned to the ground in the biggest fire in Cedar Cove’s history. Everyone in town was sick about losing The Lighthouse. The money from Jon’s job at the restaurant was gone now, too. They were back to first base financially.

  As it was, Jon was working constantly to support the family, plus taking care of her, Katie and the upkeep on the house. Her husband was worn out, and Maryellen didn’t know how much longer he could continue this killing pace. The baby, the fire and now this problem with her sister.

  Kelly was pregnant, too, but unfortunately she’d been experiencing terrible bouts of morning sickness. She spent the first half of every day bent over a toilet. Paul had put his foot down; taking care of Katie was simply too much for her, he’d said. Maryellen understood. Her sister wanted to help and felt dreadful about letting everyone down, but she just couldn’t look after Katie anymore.

  Now Maryellen had to tell her husband that, in addition to everything else, he’d have to supervise their two-year-old daughter. At best, he’d have a ninety-minute reprieve when Katie went down for her nap. Most afternoons she only slept an hour.

  As Jon walked downstairs from his small office, he entered the living room—and obviously realized that something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  Maryellen patted the empty space next to her on the bed.

  “That bad?” he said as though this was a joke.

  “You’d better sit down,” she said, trying to smile. She suspected the effort was unconvincing. “That was Kelly on the phone.”

  “Katie’s all right?”

  “Katie’s fine.” It was everything else that wasn’t.

  Jon sank down on the foot of her makeshift bed. “The baby?”

  Maryellen rested her hand on her stomach. “If all the kicking is any indication, I’d say this baby has more energy than the two of us combined.”

  Jon relaxed and reached for her hand. She’d seen little of him while she was pregnant with Katie, and they both wanted him to share as much of this pregnancy as possible. Maryellen wished it could be a more positive experience.

  “Things will improve soon,” he reassured her.

  “I know,” she whispered, struggling with what she had to tell him.

  He took her gently in his arms. “Do I need to remind you how much I love you? Without you and Katie, I’m nothing.”

  Ma
ryellen leaned back and took in a deep breath. “Kelly’s pregnant.”

  “I know,” Jon said, his voice puzzled. They’d talked about the two cousins being born within a few months of each other. Paul and Kelly were ecstatic about this second pregnancy. She’d had difficulty getting pregnant the first time and there would be almost six years between the two children.

  “She’s been suffering from severe morning sickness again.” Kelly had the same problem when she was pregnant with Tyler. “So…”

  Jon tensed, as if he knew what was coming. “She can’t watch Katie anymore.”

  Maryellen nodded wearily. “She hated to tell me. Kelly feels terrible about this. But chasing after a two-year-old while she’s feeling so sick—she just can’t do it.”

  Silently Jon stared into the distance. This was one more burden. Maryellen didn’t dare make the obvious suggestion. In their last letter, his father and stepmother had offered to help. Yet the one time she’d brought up the subject, Jon had rejected the idea in no uncertain terms. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that again.

  “I’ve been trying to think of what we can do,” she whispered, attempting to focus on a solution. “I could keep an eye on Katie in the mornings. It won’t be easy, but I’ll manage.”

  “Katie is walking and exploring and into everything,” Jon muttered. “There’s no way you can watch her and protect this pregnancy.”

  “But you—”

  “I’ll take her with me. I used to do that, remember?”

  Maryellen nodded, but they both knew Katie had been an infant in those days. He’d had a special backpack to carry their daughter when he went on his photographic excursions, and young as she was, Katie had loved those times with her daddy. Maryellen could still picture it.

  “My mother can help.” Even as she spoke, Maryellen knew that wasn’t possible. Grace was a newlywed with a demanding job. Her mother already came to the house two or three times a week. It was the best she could do, but it wasn’t enough. She and Cliff had arranged for a cleaning crew one day the previous month, plus some prepared meals, and Maryellen had been so grateful. But they couldn’t expect that kind of gift again. Cliff and especially Grace had done enough for them.