92 Pacific Boulevard

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.

Grabbing a housecoat, she slid her arms into the sleeves and belted the waist, doing her best to ignore the throbbing in her head.

“Who is it?” she demanded as she unbolted the lock. Her head ached, her eyes stung. What she really needed was a cup of strong, hot coffee. The stronger the better, and it couldn’t come any too soon. Waking with a mouth so dry it felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, she’d brushed her teeth first. Coffee was going to be her next step.

The moment she opened the apartment door, her sister pushed past her.

Christie groaned. She’d tried to avoid Teri. Her sister’s persistent phone calls had gone unanswered. Christie had torn up the note Teri had slipped under her door without bothering to read it. No need; she knew what it said. She should’ve realized that Teri didn’t know how to take a hint.

“What do you want?” Christie winced again at the pain that felt like a spear going through her head.

Teri, five months pregnant with triplets, glared at her indignantly. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Christie walked into the kitchen and reached for the coffeepot. “Don’t mince words or anything.”

“I never have and I’m not about to start now.” Teri followed her into the room, and without waiting for an invitation pulled out a chair and sat down. “Put some water on for tea if you would,” she said. Her hands automatically went to rest on her protruding belly, and she raised her feet to the seat of the opposite chair, as if she intended to stay a while.

Great. Just great. Not only did Christie have a headache to contend with, she was stuck with Teri, too. In a minor act of rebellion, she started the coffee before filling a cup with water and slamming it into the microwave. She hit the timer button savagely.

“What are you doing here?” she ventured to ask, although she could easily guess. This visit had to do with James Wilbur, Teri and Bobby’s former chauffeur. Even mentally saying his name brought a flash of pain.

The scum.

The rat.

Christie had been convinced she was in love. Deeply, truly in love. Oh, she’d loved before, always unwisely as it turned out. She’d been married and divorced and had gone through a succession of men who all said they loved her … and fool that she was, Christie had believed them.

With James it’d been different; this time everything seemed right. But then he did what every man had done to her. He’d dumped her. He’d left her a cryptic message and taken off, and in the process broken her already wounded heart.

Well, no more. Never again.

Christie was finished with men.

Done.

She meant it this time. Loving someone, loving a man, simply hurt too much.

“Your car’s parked outside The Pink Poodle,” Teri announced, watching her closely as she moved about the kitchen.

“So?” Christie returned flippantly. Where she chose to leave her car was none of her sister’s business. The microwave made a beeping noise but she ignored it.

“So,” Teri echoed in the same sarcastic tone, “you’ve been drinking again.”

“What about it? My friends are there.” It wasn’t any big deal if she chose to have a couple of beers with the guys after work. A few hours at the Poodle helped break the monotony and fend off loneliness. Going back to an empty apartment and spending the night in front of the tube wasn’t much incentive to rush home.

“These guys are your friends? Yeah, right.”

“Listen, if you’re here to lecture me, then save your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”

Teri scowled. The way they were snapping at each other was reminiscent of the relationship they used to have. Over the past year that had improved, thanks in large part to James and to Bobby Polgar, Teri’s chess-playing husband.

Teri broke eye contact, lowered her head and sighed. She sounded either hurt or offended, Christie wasn’t sure which. But this reaction was so unlike her bossy forthright sister that Christie was immediately concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Various possibilities raced through her head. A complication with the pregnancy, or trouble with Bobby, or maybe the problem, whatever it was, concerned their younger brother, Johnny. Or—

“It’s the pregnancy,” Teri blurted out. She closed her eyes. “I get light-headed from time to time. I’m fine. It’s just that carrying three babies is taking its toll.”

Christie felt a jolt of alarm. “Something’s wrong with the babies?”

“No,” Teri said, gesturing dismissively with her hand. “It’s me.”

“You’re—”

“The doctor said my blood pressure would fluctuate and I’d have off days. Apparently this is one of those days and the kidlets are making sure I know they’re there. But it’s nothing to worry about.”

Despite her sister’s reassurances, Christie was worried. She shouldn’t have ignored Teri’s attempts to reach her. As a result, her sister had come in search of her. In every likel-ihood Teri had gone against doctor’s orders by leaving the house, and all because Christie refused to pick up the phone.

The coffeemaker made a gurgling noise, signaling that the brewing was complete. Christie grabbed a mug, inspecting it to be sure it was clean before filling it to the brim. She pulled Teri’s tea water out of the microwave and brought both to the table, along with a decaffeinated herbal tea bag, and sat across from her sister.

“All right, talk to me,” Christie said and sipped her coffee, gasping as it burned her lips.

Teri slowly breathed in and out, her eyes closed. “I blame you for this.”

“Me? What’d I do?” She did blame herself but wasn’t prepared to admit it.

“All … all you think about is yourself.” For a moment it sounded as if Teri was about to break into tears. Her voice quavered and her lower lip started to tremble.

Christie blinked. Teri was the strong, determined one in the family, and not usually given to emotional outbursts. Christie was the volatile sister—and this role reversal made her uncomfortable.

Whatever was bothering Teri, she couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“What did I do?” Christie repeated.

Teri fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose with an inelegant honk before stuffing the tissue back into her purse. “You never thought about Bobby’s feelings or mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“We miss James, too. Bobby hardly knows what to do with himself. You’re not the only one who’s hurting!”

Her sister was right. Christie hadn’t stopped to consider what James’s leaving had meant to Bobby and her sister. James had been Bobby’s closest friend for many years. He was Bobby’s confidant as well as his driver.

Recently an enterprising reporter had revealed that James was once a chess prodigy himself, and that he’d suffered an emotional collapse in his early teens and spent time in a mental institution. Afterward he’d disappeared from the chess world. When the news story broke, Bobby’s friend had panicked and run.

The fact that James had deserted her and Bobby and Teri was cruel enough. And Christie knew she hadn’t been much comfort to them because she was too devastated by what he’d done. She’d tried not to fall in love with him; again and again she’d rebuffed him, and still he’d pursued her.

James was unlike any man she’d ever known. He hadn’t rushed her into bed, although she would’ve gone willingly if he’d asked. He didn’t. Instead, he’d broken down her resistance, bit by bit, ever patient, undemanding and kind. No woman, no matter how emotionally strong, could resist such tender persuasion. Christie certainly couldn’t.

Just before he disappeared, she’d laid out her past to him and she hadn’t prettied it up, either. She’d told him everything, about the men she’d been with, the marriage that had crumbled under the weight of alcoholism and physical abuse. She’d left nothing out. If he was going to love her and be part of her life, she didn’t want anything hidden in the shadows, to leap out at some unexpected time.

James had listened quietly, had held her and kissed her—and hadn’t said a single word about his own history.

Christie had offered him her trust, something she’d sworn she’d never give another man. She’d even started thinking about being married to James, having a baby with him… . What hurt so badly was that he hadn’t loved her enough to share his past.

Well, that was that. Another painful lesson learned. James was out of her life now.

For good.

It didn’t matter if he returned, and everyone seemed to assume that eventually he would. She was through.

“You didn’t come for Christmas,” Teri complained. Apparently it still rankled that Christie had missed the big family get-together. But as far as Christie was concerned, Christmas dinner with her ragtag family wasn’t any real loss.

“I was volunteering, remember?” This was true, but she’d already decided not to show up at Teri and Bobby’s place before she made that arrangement.

Teri looked over at her with big brown doe-eyes. “You were … volunteering?”

“Yeah. I told you. I served meals in Tacoma at the homeless shelter.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I delivered Christmas baskets to needy families, too, but that was before Christmas.”

Teri shocked her when she suddenly began to laugh. “And I accused you of not paying attention to me. I’m almost as bad. I completely forgot you were doing that. Here I thought you were probably in some tavern, instead of with Bobby and me.”

“No way.” She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but at Christmas she’d still felt emotionally shaky. Being with Teri and Bobby was risky—there were too many memories associated with James at her sister’s home. And it was hard to watch those two, with their romantic bliss and cozy domestic life. Her pain was too close to the surface. She was better now, stronger than she’d been in a long while.

“Then why haven’t you answered my calls?”

Christie didn’t have an explanation for that. All right, so maybe she wasn’t as strong as she thought.

“You’re drinking?”

“A few beers. Don’t worry, I didn’t get drunk.” Although she’d downed enough alcohol to leave her with a killer headache. She figured the booze had affected her like this because she hadn’t been drinking much lately.

“You were too drunk to drive.”

Christie denied that. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her limit.

Teri didn’t seem to believe her. “Then why is your car at The Pink Poodle?”

“It wouldn’t start.” Christie didn’t want to think about that piece of junk. Every day the engine fired to life was a day to be grateful for.

A few months ago, James had managed to jury-rig it into running again but there were too many things wrong with her sad excuse for a car.

“How’d you get home?”

“Someone gave me a ride.”

Teri’s gaze shot toward the bedroom.

“No one spent the night, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Teri had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “But it wouldn’t be the first time if someone did,” she muttered.

Christie couldn’t argue with that. When it came to men she was batting zero. As Teri had once said, Christie attracted losers the way an ice cream truck attracts children. Not that Teri should talk; she’d been fortunate enough to break the pattern of harmful and unfulfilling relationships when she met Bobby. Christie had been so sure that James was her Bobby… . He wasn’t.

Teri drank some of her tea and sent Christie a smile. “I’m glad you weren’t alone over Christmas.”

“I am, too. It helped, you know?” Christie took a tentative sip of coffee.

“I know,” Teri said.

“Instead of sitting home and feeling sorry for myself, I took the initiative and did something for someone else.”

Teri didn’t appear to be completely mollified. “You could’ve spent the day with Bobby and me. Johnny was there, and Mom came by. I wish you’d been there, too,” she added plaintively.

In retrospect it probably wouldn’t have hurt to make a token appearance. “How is Mom?” she asked, hoping to distract her sister.

“She’s filed for divorce.”

“Again?”

Christie had lost count of how many stepdads and “uncles” she’d accumulated through the years. “I don’t understand why she marries these guys.” She had to be on her fifth or sixth husband. Christie had stopped making an effort to remember their names; they never seemed to last long enough to bother. The fact was, she hadn’t seen her mother in more than a year.

“I don’t know why she marries them, either,” Teri said. “At least she didn’t get bombed this time. Maybe because what’s-his-name wasn’t there.”

“Did Bobby put her purse by the front door again?”

Teri grinned at the memory. As Christie recalled, her mother had vowed never to return. That vow, like every other one she’d made through the years, had turned out to be meaningless.

“I think Bobby was tempted to show Mom the door, but for my sake he restrained himself.”

“He’s a good man.”

Her sister’s eyes softened. “He is,” she agreed.

“How’s Johnny doing?” Their little brother held a special place in Christie’s heart. Between them, the two sisters had practically raised him.

Christie was as proud as any mother when Johnny was accepted into the University of Washington. Having Bobby Polgar as a brother-in-law hadn’t hurt. Teri had never said as much, but it didn’t take a college degree to add two and two. Johnny never could have afforded the tuition and other expenses on his own, and there hadn’t been any scholarships.

“He made the dean’s list.”

“I’m thrilled for him!” She’d have to call Johnny soon, congratulate him.

“Me, too.” Teri sipped her tea. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know.” Christie’s declarations of strength and independence were a lot of bravado. Spending Friday night at The Pink Poodle was testament to that. Waking up with a hangover wasn’t the way she wanted to live the rest of her life. It wasn’t the way she intended to live it, either.

“You know what I was thinking?” Christie said a bit sheepishly, half afraid Teri would laugh.

“No, tell me.”

She gave a self-conscious shrug. “I handed out charity baskets with that group from the Methodist church at Christmas.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“They were nice people.”

Teri laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Actually, she was. Christie had expected those church people to make some comment about her lifestyle. Instead, everyone was friendly and welcoming. She hadn’t been back, although she wasn’t sure why.

“I’m going to go to church.” Having said as much, Christie held her breath and waited for Teri’s reaction.

“Why do you say it like that?” Teri asked in a puzzled voice.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re standing up at an AA meeting and making a confession. Lots of people attend church, you know.”

“What about you?”

“I go every now and then, and I always feel good afterward. I don’t have anything against going to church and you shouldn’t, either.”

“I want to live a better life,” Christie said, remembering how she’d felt when she was delivering the charity baskets. Instead of being so self-absorbed, so consumed by her own loss, she’d reached out to help others less fortunate.

“That’s what I want, too,” Teri echoed. “A better life than our mother’s, a better life for my child … er, children.” Teri grinned as she said it.

“Pastor Flemming wrote a note to thank me for volunteering,” Christie said. The letter sat on the kitchen counter and she picked it up. When it first arrived, she’d been feeling depressed and had given it a cursory glance. The only thing she remembered was something about a backpack program sponsored by the church. She decided to find out what that was.

“Will you come to church with me on Sunday?” Christie asked.

Teri didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.” “Thanks.”

“I’d get up and hug you,” Teri said, “but I’m too comfortable where I am.”

Christie laughed and stretched out a hand to clasp her sister’s.

Five

Sheriff Troy Davis closed the file concerning the break-in at Faith’s home. Unfortunately, there’d been no progress, and he felt he should deliver the disappointing news in person. As he drove his patrol car toward Rosewood Lane, he reviewed the little he knew about the situation.

He’d spoken to his lead detective regarding the break and enter. Detective Hildebrand had assured Troy that his staff had done everything that could be done—the neighbors had been interviewed, and comparisons made with similar crimes in Cedar Cove and in nearby jurisdictions.

Instead of letting Hildebrand or his assistant call or visit Faith, he’d stepped in and volunteered to do it. She was, after all, his friend. Or at least, she had been. Mostly this visit was prompted by Troy’s need to see how Faith was faring after the break-in.

When he’d parked in front of the house, he didn’t leave the car immediately, mentally preparing himself for the meeting. He knew that seeing her would be hard. Faith had made it clear that she didn’t want any further contact and he’d respected her wishes. This, however, was official business—even if it didn’t have to be his business.

He marched up the steps leading to her front door, rang the bell and waited, hat in his hand.

She answered the door cautiously, and her eyes brightened when she saw him. That spark was quickly gone, however, replaced by a faraway look, flat and emotionless. In that moment, it demanded all his discipline not to pull her into his arms and beg for another chance. He needed Faith, loved her, wanted to marry her—and had destroyed any possibility of that happening.

“I have the report from the investigating officer,” Troy said briskly, conveying that this was police business and not a social call.

“Oh, good.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him to come inside.

Troy paused to examine the lock and was relieved to see that Faith had taken his advice and installed a dead bolt. Or rather, Grace and Cliff Harding, the owners, had arranged for it. Not surprisingly, Grace had been horrified by what she’d seen. This had been her home for decades—and Faith was her friend. Megan had told him that both Grace and Cliff had helped with the cleanup.

The house was tidy once again and back to normal. That couldn’t have been an easy task. The aroma of baking reminded him that he’d worked through his lunch hour.

“I just took some bran muffins out of the oven. Would you like one?” Faith asked.

It’d been a long time since Troy had tasted anything home-baked. He wondered if she offered because she’d heard his stomach growl or if she’d noticed that he’d nearly swooned when he entered the house. Or maybe she was simply being polite. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t about to turn her down. “That’d be great,” he said, hoping he sounded casual.

“I have coffee on, too. Can I get you a cup?”

“Please.” He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she poured the coffee and took a muffin out of the pan, setting it on a small plate. He waited until she was seated before he pulled out the chair across from her. It seemed to take her an inordinate amount of time to look at him. One quick glance in his direction, and then she lowered her eyes again.

“What did you find out?” she asked, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Troy wished he had something positive to share with her. “Unfortunately, the news is … inconclusive.”

“What do you mean? Your people were here for hours, dusting for fingerprints. They wouldn’t let me straighten a thing until they’d finished. The deputy said they managed to lift a number of solid prints.” Her eyes pleaded with him to explain this nightmare. Troy wished he could; he wanted to prove to Faith that he was her hero … and that she could trust him.

“You’re right. The crime-scene technician was able to lift a number of fingerprints.”