92 Pacific Boulevard

Troy sat up straighter. “She did?” He hated the hopefulness that elevated his voice.

“It’s a recipe for bran muffins.”

“Oh.” His hopes quickly deflated.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been over to her house.”

“It was a routine call. I stopped by to follow up after the break-in.”

“I think it’s terrible that someone would do that to Faith.”

Troy agreed.

“Have you seen much of her lately?” his daughter inquired. She sounded as if she’d been taking classes from a trained investigator.

“Just that once since the break-in.”

“I see,” Megan said. “Faith looked good, didn’t she?”

In Troy’s opinion, Faith always looked good. “Yes, she did,” he murmured.

“She said you really enjoyed the muffins and suggested I bake them for you.”

As he recalled, he hadn’t had anything to eat that particular morning and had skipped lunch. The fact was, he would’ve eaten sawdust if Faith had served it.

“I thought I’d bake these for you and bring them over this evening.”

“Wonderful, thank you.” A reminder of Faith was the last thing he needed.

“Can I drop them off after dinner? I mean, you’ll be home, won’t you?”

“Where else would I be?”

This was obviously an exploratory question to see if he’d be with Faith.

“Craig wanted to run a couple of errands tonight and I figured I’d go with him, then we’ll stop at your place. Should I call first?”

“No need. I’ll be home.”

“Okay.” She seemed disappointed. “I’ll see you around seven. We won’t stay long.”

“You’re welcome anytime, Megan, you know that.”

“I know,” she said.

They chatted for a few more minutes before Troy closed his cell and slipped it back inside its case. His daughter sounded better than she had since Sandy’s death. Troy was well aware that she missed her mother, but Megan had come to terms with her grief, the same way he had.

Before he went home, Troy left a message for Kathleen Sadler at the Seattle paper. For the second time, he asked that she direct all future calls to him. She probably felt Louie Benson was an easier target, but Troy planned to put a stop to that. He’d prefer the mayor not question him in the parking lot again.

On his drive home, Troy decided to swing past Rosewood Lane. He didn’t expect to see Faith, although he hoped he would. It’d been more than a week since they’d talked.

As it happened, he saw her struggling with a heavy bag of groceries, dragging them from the backseat of her car. She glanced up just as he drove slowly past. Since she’d already seen his vehicle, Troy pulled over to the curb and parked.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, moving toward her.

“I’m fine.” But even as she said it, she surrendered the two heavy bags.

Troy trailed her up the back steps and into the kitchen, where he set the groceries on the counter.

Faith stood against the stove, hands braced behind her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” How polite and stilted they sounded, like strangers brushing past each other on the street.

“I don’t want you to think I make a habit of driving by your home, Faith,” he explained. “I’ve asked Deputy Walker to make a couple of detours this way during the course of his shift.”

“Thank you,” she said again. She lowered her gaze as if she found something on the floor of infinite interest.

“How are you sleeping?” he asked, reluctant to leave.

She didn’t answer right away. “Better,” she finally said.

“Any more unexplained noises?”

She didn’t respond.

“Faith, if there’s a problem I want to hear about it. You aren’t the kind of woman who imagines things.”

She shrugged. “It was probably nothing.”

“So you have heard something?”

“Last night …”

When she didn’t finish, Troy prompted her. “What about last night?”

“I.I thought I heard someone in the side yard. I got up and turned on the porch light and—”

“Don’t tell me you decided to investigate on your own!”

“Oh, honestly, Troy, I’m not stupid. I didn’t wait for a storm, light a candle and then go walking on the cliff’s edge like some gothic heroine, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I did phone 9-1-1, but while I waited for a patrol car I turned on the house lights and made a bunch of noise, as if I was ten people instead of just me.”

A smile tilted his lips. “Exactly how did you do that?”

“Well,” she said, grinning, too. “I banged a few pots, put the television on and started talking loudly to my imaginary son, who happens to be a professional wrestler.”

Troy laughed out loud.

“When the officer arrived, whoever was outside—if there was anyone outside—had long since left.”