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Troy had been with the department back then, untested and eager to prove himself. Sandy was pregnant after miscarrying twice, optimistic that this time they’d have their baby.
If a missing teenager had been reported in the late ‘70s or early ‘80s, Troy was confident he would’ve remembered it. The files Cody had printed out indicated that he was right. Not a single case involving a missing teenager, male or female, had been left unresolved.
To be on the safe side, he checked five years before and five years after. Twelve boys, mostly runaways, had been reported missing in that time. They’d all been found, either returning of their own accord or located by friends, relatives or the authorities.
Surely this young man had family, a mother and father, who must have wondered and waited in anguish. Troy closed his eyes and tried to think of boys he’d known during that time. Random names and faces rushed through his mind.
Around 1985, he recalled, Cedar Cove High School had won the state baseball championship. He could picture the first baseman, Robbie something, and Weaver, one of his deputies now, who’d been the team’s star pitcher. Troy had attended all the play-off games. Sandy had gone with him and, although she wasn’t a real baseball fan, she’d clapped and yelled her heart out.
Oh, how he missed Sandy… .
Troy had visited her grave a couple of times over the holidays. Even at the end, when her body had failed her and MS had stolen much of her dignity, she’d been cheerful. He missed her appreciation of life’s simple joys.
At least he and Megan were over the firsts—the first Thanksgiving without Sandy. The first Christmas. The first birthday, wedding anniversary and Mother’s Day. Those were the big ones, when her loss felt like a burden that would never grow lighter. When he and his daughter both acknowledged that nothing would ever be the same.
Troy was startled out of his reverie by someone calling his name.
“Am I interrupting anything important?” Louie Benson asked, standing in the office doorway.
“Louie.” Troy rose to his feet. It wasn’t every day he received a visit from the mayor of Cedar Cove. “Come on in. Good to see you.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.
“Happy New Year,” Louie said as he slid into the seat. He rested one ankle on the opposite knee, striking a relaxed pose.
“Same to you,” Troy said and sat back down. “What can I do for you?” The mayor was a busy man and didn’t waste time on unnecessary visits. The fact was, Troy couldn’t remember when Louie had last sought him out. Oh, they ran into each other often enough; that was unavoidable, since they worked in the same office complex. Socially they were acquaintances and he saw Louie at civic functions or the occasional party.
Louie’s expression grew serious, and he leaned forward. “I’ve got a couple of things I want to discuss with you.”
“Sure.”
Louie looked down at the floor. “First, I want to remind you that I’m up for reelection this November. I was hoping for an endorsement.”
“It’s yours.” Troy was surprised the other man felt the need to bring it up so early in the year. Besides, he’d supported Louie’s previous campaigns. Nothing had changed. To the best of his knowledge, no other candidates had declared their intentions to run against him.
“I value your support,” Louie said. “And of course you have mine.” His gaze fell on Troy’s desk. “On another matter … What can you tell me about those remains that were recently discovered?”
“I got the autopsy report a few days ago,” Troy told him. “Jack Griffin ran an article about it in the Chronicle over the weekend. I’d hoped someone might step forward with information as a result. Dental evidence is useless because without a name we can’t get a chart for comparison. To date, I have nothing.”
Louie leaned back in his chair and eyed the open folder on Troy’s desk. “So … no clue who that unfortunate soul might be?”
“None whatsoever.”
This didn’t appear to please the mayor. “The reason I’m pushing you on this is that I got a call from the Seattle paper. Apparently Jack’s story aroused some interest there. They want to do a piece on those unidentified remains.” The mayor’s frown deepened. “I tried to steer the reporter away from the subject, but she seems determined to find out whatever she can. I gave her your contact information, so expect a call.”
“Must be a slow news day.” Troy appreciated getting advance notice. “Thanks for the heads-up.” Over the years he’d dealt with the press many times and was accustomed to handling reporters. He had nothing against them as long as they didn’t probe where they didn’t belong or print misinformation.
“My fear,” Louie went on to explain, “is that a negative story will hurt Cedar Cove’s reputation. We want to attract tourists, not drive them away with … with ghoulish stories about our town.”
“At this point there’s nothing for them to report,” Troy reassured him.
“Have you found out anything?” Louie inquired.
“Not really.” Troy shrugged. “Pretty much what Jack wrote in that article. The remains are those of a male, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. He’s been dead since 1980, give or take a few years. No indication how he died.”
Louie seemed uninterested in the details. “The thing is, Cedar Cove doesn’t need any bad press. Our initiative this year is to attract more tourists to the area. I hate the thought of Cedar Cove becoming the center of some macabre story about unidentified remains and an unsolved mystery.”
Troy nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“Good.” Louie rose to his feet. “Do your best to solve this as quickly as possible.”
Standing up, too, Troy opened his mouth to assure the mayor he was doing the best he could, but he wasn’t given the opportunity.
“I’m not saying I want you to sweep anything under the rug, you understand?” the mayor said.
“Of course I won’t.”
“Good.” Louie extended his hand and Troy shook it. “Make sure nothing sensational or misleading gets printed, okay? Like I said, I want Cedar Cove to become a tourist destination, not some freak sideshow.”
“Do you remember the reporter’s name?” Troy asked.
“I doubt I’d forget it. Kathleen Sadler.”
“Kathleen Sadler,” Troy repeated. “Not to worry, I’ll set her straight.”
“Thanks.” Louie gave him a relieved smile. “I knew I could count on you.”
When the mayor had left, Troy went back to the paperwork on his desk. The phone rang frequently that afternoon, but there was no call from the reporter. He just hoped Kathleen Sadler hadn’t taken it upon herself to investigate the actual location. The cave was still taped off, but a piece of yellow crime-scene tape wasn’t always a deterrent to determined reporters.
Troy had kept the names of the two teenagers who’d discovered the body out of the Chronicle. However, that didn’t mean Sadler wouldn’t be able to track them down.
After they’d stumbled upon the remains, Troy had spoken to the teens twice. He was confident Philip “Shaw” Wilson and Tannith Bliss had told him everything they knew, which wasn’t much. The conversations had been straightforward. Although Tannith—Tanni—had done a good job of pretending to shrug off the incident, Troy could tell she’d been badly shaken. He was glad to turn the sixteen-year-old over to her mother.
The last thing Tanni needed was to be questioned by the Seattle press. Shaw was a bit older and Troy felt the young man would cope admirably with a barrage of questions. It might not hurt to give the two of them some warning.
His phone rang and Troy grabbed it, prepared to talk to the elusive Kathleen Sadler. “Sheriff Davis.”
“Uh, I hope I’m not disturbing you unnecessarily.” It was Cody Woodchase.
Troy caught the hesitation in his voice. “You’re not. What’s up?”
“I just got a call from the 9-1-1 dispatcher and apparently there’s been a break-and-enter at 204 Rosewood Lane.”
“Faith?” Troy’s reaction was immediate as he bolted to his feet. That was the address of the rental house where Faith had recently moved. She’d been there a little more than two months.
“I believe I heard she might be a … friend of yours.”
“Yes,” Troy said curtly, his throat muscles tight.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“I do, Cody. Thank you.” Within seconds, Troy had thrown on his coat and reached for his hat. He charged out the office door, unable to think of anything but Faith. He needed to know she hadn’t been hurt, that she was safe from harm.
Two
The moment Faith Beckwith approached her home she recognized that something was wrong. A sense of foreboding stopped her even before she’d unlocked the kitchen door. She shivered but it wasn’t because of the damp chill of early January, although it’d been raining on and off all day, and the wind cut through her winter coat. Her indecision didn’t last long; she shook it off, turned the key and stepped into—chaos.
Her kitchen floor was strewn with garbage. Someone had upended the trash bin all over the linoleum. Coffee grounds, eggshells and an empty frozen orange-juice container left a trail of grime and filth. Footprints of coffee grounds led into the living room.
Without thinking, Faith reached for the phone. She managed to restrain herself from calling Troy Davis, pausing before she hit the first number, which she’d memorized long ago. Instead, she punched out her son’s home number, praying he was back from work.
The relief that cascaded through her at the sound of Scott’s voice nearly buckled her knees. “Scottie … someone broke into the house.”
“Mom? 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.”
