“It’s so wet and cold right now I didn’t uncover the grill or deck furniture. I thought I’d leave that to you. You might not want to sit outside in this weather.”

Laine looked around for the first time. It looked like she had a table and four chairs, a chaise and a rather large grill under the weatherproof drapes. Laine turned and went inside again, taking note of the great room, divided from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. The pictures had done the interior more credit than it deserved. There was a maroon sofa, two uncomfortable-looking rattan chairs, a nice fireplace and zero homey touches. The breakfast nook held a beat-up but large table with eight cane-back chairs. There was a short hall that led to a laundry room, pantry and interior garage door.

“Bedroom?” she asked.

“Right this way,” Ray Anne said, leading her back toward the front door and up the stairs. Laine and Devon followed along. At the top of the stairs was a set of double doors that stood open to expose a rather small but comfortable-looking master bedroom. Not a suite, but a bedroom. One queen-size bed, one bureau, one bedside table and a fireplace. But it had a triple-wide set of sliding glass doors and a small deck again with the most stunning view. Laine was drawn to it. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at a vision of sitting against big pillows, looking out the window at the clouds, only the fireplace lighting the room.

Falling asleep with the light of the fireplace in the room held a special appeal. Since the shooting, she’d left a light on at night. She never told anyone.

“When the weather gets exciting, watching the lightning over the bay is like a fireworks show,” Ray Anne said. “Around here, it’s all about the view. There are a lot of views in this town. Some have the view in front, some in back, some up the hill, some closer to the water, sometimes from big houses and sometimes from little ones.” Ray Anne stepped to one side. “Bath,” she said, indicating a very functional master bath, dressing area and closet. There was a glassed-in shower, large spa-style tub and wide closet with built-in drawers and shelves.

Laine merely glanced, then her eyes were drawn back to that view again. Devon was oohing and aahing over the size of the master bath and closet space.

“There are two bedrooms down the hall with a jack-and-jill bathroom dividing them. The owner has queen-size beds in each. Storage is limited. They’re small bedrooms but the sofa downstairs pulls out—the house can sleep at least eight. The owners wanted a place for their children and grandchildren to visit. Linen closet across the hall from the master. Downstairs front closet under the stairs. You have a two-car garage,” Ray Anne said as she continued the tour.

And only a few rather tacky prints on the walls, no little touches of home, no plants, of course, and the lamps had been around a long time, Laine thought.

“I had a cleaning crew come through—the carpet is shampooed, bathrooms and kitchen scoured, clean sheets on the beds, some towels on hand. The carpet is fairly new. I don’t know what your plans are for the house, but it will accommodate a large group.”

Laine looked at her in some surprise. “My plan is to live in it.”

“Oh! Wonderful! Are you planning to work around here?”

She shrugged. “I’ll probably do a little computer work. I’m actually on leave from a government job but I can do some work from here—you know, clerical stuff. I had a pretty serious shoulder surgery and with all my vacation and good benefits and—”

“I hope it wasn’t rotator cuff,” Ray Anne said, moving her own shoulder up and down. “That’s the worst! I had that surgery a few years ago and it’s hell, that’s all I can say. It’s fine now but I thought it would take forever!”

Devon met Laine’s eyes, but didn’t comment. She just stood in the master bedroom and looked out at the rock-studded bay.

Laine was thinking about other things, like what the place would feel like with a nicer sofa, with a throw on it for winter nights in front of the fire. And how about some accent tables, designer lighting, paintings on the walls, books on her own bookshelves? Her own sheets and towels and some of her favorite cookware and dishes? And her mother’s small kitchen breakfront, her treasure.

She turned to Ray Anne. “Did you ask the owners if they mind that I store their furnishings and use my own? Of course I’ll cover the cost of packing, moving and storing their things.”

“They said that’s fine as long as their things aren’t damaged.” Ray Anne shrugged. “I can’t imagine how they’d ever know if anything was damaged. This stuff is adequate but old. In fact, as long as you pay your deposit and rent on time and put the place back the way you found it when your lease is up, there are hardly any restrictions in your lease. You should read it over. You can paint as long as you either stick to the colors or return it to the original.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which appears to be renter’s white. No knocking out walls or redesigning the property.” Then she lowered her voice as if to tell a secret. “If you paint some walls, which I would do before nightfall, try not to make them too bold so you’re able to return them to their original color when you move out.”

But Laine could only think of one thing. “Let’s go take a look at that kitchen, see what the owners left for me to use until my stuff comes. The moving truck is on the way—should be here in a day or two.”

“Okay,” Ray Anne said, “but there are plenty of places in town where you can get a bite to eat until you get settled.”

Laine was already on her way to the kitchen and when she got there, she started opening cupboard doors. She found plates, a few pots, a frying pan, utensils, some kitchen linens, just the bare essentials, designed for a vacation rental. But that was all right. She closed the last cupboard door, turned and smiled at Ray Anne and Devon. “I’m good,” she said. “If you could just give me directions to the nearest grocery, I’m going to light the fire and make soup. It looks like a soup day to me.”

* * *

Eric Gentry sat at the counter in the diner having a late breakfast. Next to him was Cooper from the beach bar, doing the same. Then the sheriff’s deputy walked in. Mac pulled off his hat and took the seat beside Eric. Mac’s wife, Gina, brought him a cup of coffee. Then she leaned over the counter and collected a kiss.

“I certainly didn’t get that kind of first-class treatment,” Cooper said with a smile. “And I ordered a whole meal.”

“Yeah, buddy, the day I hear about you getting treatment like that is the day you start walking with a limp.”

Eric chuckled, but he’d never make such a remark. He and Gina had history. And he liked walking straight.

“Mac,” Gina chided with a laugh in her voice.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Mac asked Cooper. “Get sick of Rawley’s cooking out at the bar?”

“Rawley doesn’t cook,” Cooper said. “Sometimes he warms things, but that’s just sometimes.”

“Sarah says he’s a good cook,” Gina pointed out.

“Oh, he cooks for Sarah,” Cooper said of his wife. “When she wanders into the kitchen he asks her right away what she’d like. Now that she’s packin’, Rawley takes real good care of her.”

“Packin’?” Eric asked.

“Pregnant,” three people answered in unison.

“I see,” he said, sitting back and wiping his mouth on the napkin.

“Business must be good,” Mac said to Eric. “I saw a dually pulling a trailer through town, an old Plymouth on the trailer.”

“A 1970 Superbird,” Eric told him. “It’s in for a rebuilt engine, new bench seat and a refurbished dash. I think we’re going to have to refresh that roof, too. It’s the original vinyl and not going to be easy.”

“Bench seat? Not buckets?”

Eric shook his head. “Not in the Superbird. I guess if you drove one of those you got girls and if you got girls, you wanted them sitting right next to you.”

“Where’d it come from?” Mac asked.

“Southern California.”

“Someone would bring an old car up from Southern California?”

Eric sipped his coffee. “It’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar classic. The owner would bring it across six states for the right work. I’ve done a lot of work for him. He owns twenty cars. I think it’s most of his estate. He likes to do a lot of the restoration work himself and he does a great job. He doesn’t have the equipment for replacing an engine block and the car is his baby.”

“His baby?” Gina asked.

“He kisses it before he goes to bed every night. He probably treats the car better than he treats his wife.”

“Boys and their toys,” Gina said.

“You’re putting us on the map,” Mac said. “Imagine—that car is worth more than this diner.”

Eric noticed a couple of young women walking across the street from the clinic. One he knew to be Devon, the doctor’s office manager—he’d met her a couple of months ago and had seen her around. The other one he didn’t recognize. She was wearing a ball cap low over her forehead and fitted yoga pants, a jacket and running shoes. Her blond hair was strung through the back of her cap, noticeable when she turned to laugh at something Devon said.

When they walked into the diner Gina beamed a happy grin and said, “Hey!”

“What’s this?” Devon asked. “Grumpy old men’s club?”

“I beg your pardon,” Cooper replied. “I’m not old.”

“He’s older than me,” Mac said.

Eric said nothing. His eyes were busy with the new girl and when something like that happened it tended to tie up his tongue.

“Laine, you know Cooper and Mac, but have you met Eric? Eric owns the service station and body shop at the end of the street. Eric, this is my friend, Laine Carrington. She’s new in town.”

Eric found himself on his feet. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” she replied. “Please, sit. We’re just going to grab a cup of coffee.” She looked at Gina. “You due for a break?”

“I am,” she said. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

As Devon and Laine headed toward the back of the diner to a booth, Eric followed them with his eyes. Then he guiltily returned his eyes to his coffee cup, grateful to note that Cooper and Mac were discussing how much money was too much to spend on a car. A two-hundred-thousand-dollar Superbird didn’t even enter the conversation.

Eric had a couple of classics, cars he’d restored himself. He’d salvaged them and had planned to restore and sell them, then he got attached. It happened. There were dealers and then there were collectors. Then there were guys like him who were looking to make a few bucks and turned into collectors.

He talked with his friends for a while longer, forcefully keeping his eyes from wandering to that back booth, until finally Mac stood and left the waitress a tip, making the men laugh. Cooper left a ten on the counter for his seven-dollar breakfast.

But Eric walked to the back booth. “Gina, I’m going to need some change. You’re good, but not that good.”

“I’d argue with that, but it will be quicker to get your change.” She snatched the twenty out of his hand and headed for the register.

“Nice meeting you, Laine. If you ever need any dents popped or rough edges smoothed out, I’m your guy,” he said. When he saw Laine and Devon looking at him with wide eyes, he winced. But the women laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

Two

Even though Laine needed help with the heavy lifting and some of the picture-hanging in her new home, it didn’t take any time at all to begin to feel settled. She had learned long ago how to be extremely focused. In less than a week all her furniture was in place right down to throws over couches and pictures on the walls, thanks to a lot of help from Devon and her fiancé, Spencer. The owner’s furnishings were now in storage, packed up and taken away on the same truck that brought hers. She had picked out a couple of walls she wanted to paint and purchased the supplies. Despite the challenge painting with her right arm presented, she was determined to get it done. She could handle most of the trim if it was shoulder level or lower, but reaching the roller above her head would be a job for her left arm. She was getting really good with that left arm! She’d try using her right arm, though—it was great therapy. She was very dedicated to her exercises.