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“Do any of you know the girl’s father?” she asked the onlookers.
“Name’s Caleb Blackthorne,” a man said. “He and his daughter live a half mile right down the road.” He pointed east. “They have one of them fancy new type A-frames set back from the road. Look hard to the left. You can just see it through the trees.”
“Thanks.”
The Blackthornes lived so close, she would deliver the supplies in person. And maybe get a bead on what was troubling the girl. Painting that mural on the development’s property made it Grace’s business. Then she spent the next several minutes rounding up a couple of workers and a neutral-color paint. Her chest tightened as she watched the men start to obliterate the mural that obviously must have meant something to Summer Storm. Once again, she wondered what had made the girl express her unhappiness so publicly.
Not that she had long to think about it. A van pulled up, its side scribed with Kenosha Journal in fancy lettering. Oh, great. What a terrible time for a reporter to show up. It took everything Grace had to smile at the man who alighted from the vehicle. She assumed the reporter was interested in the green community—it had already been featured in news reports in southern Wisconsin. Surely no one had called in the story about the mural.
“Hi. I’m Grace Huber with Walworth Builders. Green Meadows is our development. Can I help you?”
“Hope so. You can tell me about the latest ghost sighting.”
Grace had to scramble mentally to change subjects. “Ghost sighting?” She’d heard the rumor about there being a ghost flitting around the complex at night, but of course that was ridiculous. Why would a newspaper be interested?
“Nellie saw it last night,” an elderly woman stated. “That’s why she took a tumble.”
Nellie? The name jarred Grace into remembering why she’d come to the community center in the first place. She managed to sputter, “Nellie didn’t say anything to me about seeing a ghost.”
“Well, she did!” the woman’s companion added. “That’s why she fell on that rubble your crew left in the area. She told me she was distracted by something weird moving through the trees and her foot caught on a piece of discarded flagstone.”
The reason people were talking about Nellie suing Walworth Builders.
“Maybe Nellie has a few problems with her sight,” Grace said, remembering the older woman’s large glasses. “She’s probably confused if she thought whatever startled her could be a ghost.”
“How do you know?” another man asked. “There were rumors about the old farmhouse that used to be here being haunted.”
“Really,” the reporter murmured, zeroing in on the man.
Grace got between them. This was ridiculous. “There’s no story here. One of our residents had a little mishap chasing her cat last night. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I’d like to talk to her myself.”
Holding back a moan of dismay, knowing she couldn’t stop the annoying reporter, Grace forced another smile. She’d wanted to speak to Nellie alone, to get the whole story without an audience to egg her on. Now that was out of the question.
“All right, then. Come with me.”
Though reluctant, she led him inside the community center, where she hoped she could run interference if the situation got out of hand.
* * *
CALEB BLACKTHORNE WAS royally ticked at his daughter getting into a mess again with her edgy little friend Kiki Johnson. He might feel sorry for the foster kid, but he wished Angela would stay away from her and what he saw as a negative influence. Kiki was always getting into some kind of trouble, and lately, so was Angela.
“Are you ready to explain yourself, young lady?”
He gave Angela a quick glance, long enough to see her mouth tighten before she turned her head away from him to stare out the side window in silence.
“What were you thinking, defacing private property?” Surely she would have something to say in response to that.
But no, the silence continued.
“And why would you go to Green Meadows in the first place? You don’t know anyone there.” The development was so new that only half of the units were even in use at this time.
More silence. Obviously his daughter didn’t mean to speak to him. Something that was becoming very familiar lately. This talk would have to be continued. She couldn’t go around doing whatever she wanted. He would be lucky if she didn’t get arrested this time, a distinct possibility. Something he would do anything to avoid.
What happened to his little “Angel”? His daughter had changed, especially lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe he deserved this. His karma for giving his mother so much grief when he was a teen. Maddie Blackthorne had been and was a great mother and person, a social worker who helped the homeless on the local Chippewa reservation find housing and health care and jobs. He’d never met his father, who’d disappeared without even knowing his mother was pregnant. Though she’d been on her own, his mother had given him a settled, safe life.
Despite his trying to do the same for his daughter but with more money than his mom had been able to make, Angela was as wild as he had been at her age. Now that she’d done something illegal, how long would it be before the local police came to pick her up? Was there any way to avoid that happening?
He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Whose idea was this stunt? Yours or Kiki’s? Why do you want to hang around with her?”
That did it—Angela came out of her silent funk, shouting, “No! I’m not going to stop seeing her. She likes the same things that I do. She understands me. Kiki is my best friend!”
He knew both the girls thought of themselves as artists. “And you’re the only friend she has. That girl is a bad influence on you.”
“I don’t care what you say. I won’t stop seeing her. You can’t take someone else away from me!”
“I didn’t take anyone away from you.”
“What about my mother?”
Caleb gritted his teeth at that. Angela had seemed okay that it had been just the two of them all these years. What had brought this up now?
“I didn’t make your mother leave.” At sixteen, he’d been a too-young father with an irresponsible baby mama. “She wanted you...” And then she hadn’t. Lily had run away, leaving a month-old baby girl in his arms. “...but she was really young and scared.”
“You always tell me what to do and make me do what you want. You could have made her stay.”
“I only wish that was true. Lily made a bad decision because she was so young, Angel. I’m sure she’s regretted it a million times over the years.” At least he wanted his daughter to believe that.
“Then why didn’t she come back for me?”
A question he’d never been able to answer.
And 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.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a8b6e841-d94c-5b65-9b4a-0f0997d91ed2)
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,” Grace said sincerely, noting the tone of these paintings was far happier than the mural Angela had done that morning. She was glad she’d taken an art appreciation class so she had some basic understanding of expression in various mediums.
Caleb snorted. “Art, ha! How will my daughter make a living? She has no respect for my wishes or my hopes for her future. Whenever I tell her she needs to do something practical for a career and do her art on the side, she simply gets angry with me.” Making an exasperated sound, he pushed a wild strand of long hair back from his face. “Hey, I just made some iced tea. Can I get you a glass?”
“Sure. That would be great.” A reason to stay a little longer, so she could have a more in-depth conversation about Angela with him.
He moved into the open-concept kitchen area and grabbed two glasses from a shelf and filled them with ice from the refrigerator door. “Before Angela started calling herself Summer Storm, she was ‘Sights Lightning’ and before that, ‘Snow Falling.’” He poured the tea. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s ‘Looking for Trouble.’”
One look at his expression and the raised eyebrow and Grace grinned. She liked a man with a dry wit, especially when he could use it to counter his own feelings. He was obviously upset by his daughter’s action and was dealing with it in his own way. He handed her one of the glasses, and when he indicated the high chairs at the island, she slid onto one.
She sipped her iced tea. “I think all teenagers go through an identity crisis of some sort.”
“Yeah, that.” His voice was gruff. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning. My daughter has some issues, but why she went to Green Meadows to resolve them, I have no clue.”
“Is she unhappy about something in particular?”
“She’s fifteen.” He left it at that as if it would explain everything.
Which it sort of did to Grace, though she was certain there was more to it. But she was a stranger, and Caleb Blackthorne didn’t seem to be a man who liked to air his dirty laundry. He had his back up, but still, she couldn’t let it go.
“I was fifteen once, too. I did some things that made my dad a little crazy. But I had good reason.” Not that she wanted to tell a stranger her life story, either. “So I expect Angela had good reason for doing something so daring.”
Giving her an intent look, he said, “You seem to be in charge over there.”
“Sort of. Well, temporarily. I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. Grace Huber. Walworth Builders is the family company. I’ll be in town overseeing things until Green Meadows is completed and more residents move in.”
He nodded. “About what happened, then...have you called the authorities?”
“No. I don’t want to handle it that way. I could see how upset your daughter was and I feel for her.” When Caleb gave her a questioning look, she said, “Remember, I was fifteen once, too.”
He heaved a sigh. “That friend she was with—Kiki—she’s always in trouble. It was probably her idea, convincing Angela to deface your property.”
“You really believe that?”
“Unfortunately, I do. The girl’s a problem. She doesn’t have anyone to stop her, either. Her dad overdosed on drugs and her mom’s in jail. She’s in a foster home.”
Grace couldn’t help but feel a pang. “How terrible!” But she wanted to talk about Angela. “Why does your daughter want to hang out with that girl? She was angry about something. And hurt. I could see it in her expression. In her eyes. Whatever her reason, it goes deeper than an irresponsible friend egging her on.”
Caleb sat stone-faced. She remained silent, hand tensed on her glass. Was he going to ask her to leave?
* * *
