Cedar Cove Collection

“Hmmph.” Goldie’s frown was as transparent as her gruff manner. “I’ll bring you anything but coconut cream,” she said, eyeing Olivia and Grace. “I can’t get either of them to order anything else. We have the best apple-raisin pie in the county and you’d think they could at least give it a try.”

“You can bring me a piece of that,” Cliff said. “What about you, Jack? I’m buying.”

“I’ll take a slice of pear pie if you have it.”

“We do,” Goldie said, beaming with approval. She left and returned a couple of minutes later with two extra-big slices, which she set on the table.

“Well,” Cliff said, after cutting into his apple-raisin pie. “Want to know why we’re here?”

“You mean it wasn’t for the pie?” Grace teased.

“As a matter of fact, no, excellent though it is.”

The two men seemed very pleased with themselves, and Grace figured they’d explain this unexpected visit soon enough.

Five minutes later, they did—but not until every crumb of pie was gone.

Leaning back, Cliff gave her a satisfied grin. “You might be interested to know that at this very minute, the renters on Rosewood Lane are in the process of moving.”

“Now? Tonight?” Grace gasped. “What happened?”

Jack chuckled. “Cliff called me this afternoon with an idea for persuading these creeps to leave town.”

Olivia looked concerned. “Did you threaten them? Because if you did, I don’t want to hear it.”

Jack shook his head.

Cliff shrugged. “The two of us, you mean? We weren’t anywhere near them.”

Olivia didn’t seem convinced of their innocence. “You’d better tell us exactly what you did.”

Jack gestured to Cliff. “You tell. It was your idea, and a mighty fine one if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll be happy to.” Cliff took a last swig of coffee. “After seeing how upset Grace was this morning, I decided there had to be a way to get those people to leave.”

Grace nodded uncertainly. She couldn’t even guess what he’d come up with. “And?” she said.

“And that’s when I talked to Jack,” Cliff continued. “I had an idea I wanted to run by him.”

“I was so impressed with Cliff’s plan that I asked to be part of it.”

“Okay, Cliff, you’re brilliant,” Olivia said. “What did you do?”

“You know the biker bar off Heron Avenue?” Cliff asked.

“Well, yes.” Grace had never been inside. It was a wooden structure that resembled a saloon out of an old western. With its sagging roof, the place seemed about to cave in. The Horse with No Name had become a popular watering hole for a rough biker crowd from miles around.

“Jack and I paid the bar a visit,” Cliff went on to say. “I stood in the middle of the room and said I was having trouble with some deadbeat renters who didn’t seem inclined to move.”

“You didn’t!” Grace burst out.

“I most certainly did.”

“He promised a keg of beer to anyone who’d be willing to ride to the house and convince the renters it was time they looked for housing elsewhere.”

“But … but—”

“Don’t worry,” Cliff said and raised his hands as if anticipating Grace’s objections. “I explained that they were to do no bodily harm, although they could threaten all they liked.”

“Then what?” Olivia asked.

“I can’t rightly say,” Jack said virtuously, then dipped his finger in Olivia’s remaining coconut cream pie and brought it to his lips. “All we know is that about ten of them hopped on their motorbikes. Big, loud bikes.”

“Big, loud guys, too,” Cliff added. “Lots of tattoos and leather. Mean-looking bunch. If they showed up at my place, I wouldn’t want to argue with ’em.”

“They were back about twenty minutes later,” Jack finished.

“What did they say?”

“Not much,” Cliff said. “Just that there shouldn’t be a problem anymore and that they wanted their keg of beer.”

“That keg cost Cliff less than a hundred bucks.”

“They’re leaving?” Grace asked in astonishment. “The Smiths are leaving?”

“Leaving?” Jack repeated, his grin so big it must’ve hurt his face. “Cliff and I drove past and they’d already loaded up their car. My guess is they’ll be gone by morning.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Grace could hardly believe it. “You’re not making this up, are you?”

“No, I swear to you it’s true. Your tenant problems are over.”

“Cliff Harding, have I told you how much I love you?”

“Do you love me enough to share your pie?”

Grace nodded. “Not only that, I’ll buy an entire one just for you.”

Thirty-Seven

After the kidnapping attempt, Bobby had agreed to a match. Apparently, the Russian had given him specific instructions on the first few moves he was to make, moves that would guarantee a loss because Bobby would find himself in what chess players referred to as the Black Hole. So far, no one had devised a method of escaping from this position. Bobby intended to be the first.

Ever since his conversation with Vladimir, Bobby had been sullen and uncommunicative. Teri was furious that her husband had given in to his blackmailer, although she understood that he felt he had no other option.

The Russian’s henchmen had disappeared and, according to the sheriff, the investigation had stalled. They’d found no solid evidence linking Vladimir to the crime; not surprisingly, this was a man who knew how to cover his tracks.

Bobby planned to do something about that, and his plan started with a long, secretive discussion in the sheriff’s office. The next step would be a chess match in New York City on November 11. In one week’s time …

“You can’t lose,” Teri had protested.