The cold shock of his large, empty house punched Boone with reality when he slid off the couch the next morning. He hadn’t even made it to the bedroom before dropping his bags on the floor and falling asleep on the couch, watching old westerns.
You most certainly don’t belong with me.
He turned off the television and made his way to the kitchen of his small ranch, opened the blinds, the rising sun casting sharp shadows across the room. The view of the street hardly compared to the lake view he’d enjoyed for his five—scratch that—four weeks in Deep Haven. He already missed the rhythm of the town. The people.
Vivien.
Even on its remote perch, his cabin in Deep Haven hadn’t felt so isolated.
Kellogg, on the other hand, had definitely lost its luster.
Worse, he’d left with a job undone. He still hadn’t figured out who’d been harassing Vivien. Or now, who’d destroyed the theater.
He wouldn’t sleep until he solved that case. Until he knew she would be safe.
Albeit without him.
Yeah, he should have probably stuck around Deep Haven, if only for that reason.
Vivien’s laughter twined into his memories. He could see her, animated, guiding the cast through the play. Sitting down at the piano to play with Courtney and Ellie after rehearsal. Even her jumping into the lake and her determination to not quit on Tasha.
He pressed his hand against his chest. Yeah, the biggest heart problem he had was Vivien Calhoun.
If he dared to admit it, he probably loved her. Loved her smile, loved her laughter. Loved her crazy ideas and wild enthusiasm. Loved every way she latched on to life with vigor.
He shook his head. Yep, he definitely had a type.
Vivien.
Bold and courageous and so full of life. She was adventure and zeal and added a brightness to his day.
She turned a plain, ordinary day into something extraordinary.
Until he’d managed to do something to muck it up.
Your stupid play. Well, that performance certainly wouldn’t win him the best supporting actor award. Nope. He might as well have just told her that her life dream was ridiculous.
Because that’s really what he’d done. Even if he hadn’t meant a word of it.
The knock at the door drew him from his thoughts.
His mom stood on the steps. She wore a puffy vest with her jeans and T-shirt, her dark blonde hair piled in a messy bun.
“Hi, honey.” She rose to her tippy toes and he leaned down to hug her while she kissed his cheek. “I brought you some fresh coffee cake.” She pushed past him and he closed the door. Followed her to his small kitchen.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
She plopped a pie tin on the countertop, the smell of cinnamon and her perfect crunchy streusel warming his kitchen. “I’ve missed you. It gave me a reason to stop by.” She slid out of her vest. “Oh, I have your mail too.” She pulled a stack of mail from her bag.
“You can set it on the counter—and you don’t need a reason to stop by.” He walked over to the thermostat and turned up the setting to take the cool edge off. The hardwood floors captured the chill of the morning even as the sunlight turned them to deep amber. “How did you know I was back?”
She winked. “Mrs. Thompson next door. She may have called me when she saw your car pull in.”
“I was going to call.” Boone poured water into the coffee pot, placed grounds into the filter, and turned the pot on.
“I figured.” She pulled plates from the cupboard and grabbed two forks and a knife. “But, when I heard you’d come back early, I was a little concerned.”
“I’m a grown man. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She paused. Studied him. “And who’s been cutting your hair? It’s getting long. Are you doing that on purpose?”
“Mom.” He gave her a look. “It’s hardly what anyone would consider long.”
She shrugged her shoulder. Smiled.
She cut two slabs of coffee cake and plated them. “I’m your mom and God knows I spent enough years not acting like it. So, you have to let me be Mom.” She slid a plate to him. “It’s my job.”
He sat down on a stool at the peninsula and took a bite of the cake, still warm from baking. “Oh, this is really good.” He took a second bite, then stood and grabbed the coffee carafe.
She slid onto the stool next to where he’d been sitting. “Tell me what’s been going on.”
“I’m on the short list for the chief job. A decision is due any day.”
She swallowed her cake and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Well, that’s no surprise.”
“Thanks.”
“How was Deep Haven? The last time we talked, you said you were helping Caleb coach and doing something with a…play?”
And, somehow, over coffee and cake, his mom drew out the sordid details of his summer. Maybe he’d spent too much time with Rachelle because he didn’t seem able to stop himself from blabbering on about Vivien. About the stalker and strange deliveries. About the play. Even about Vivien dangling from the rappel platform.
“So, here I am,” he finished.
“You love her.” His mom looked at him plainly.
“I don’t know.” He got up and collected her plate, his, and put them in the sink.
“Are you trying for plausible deniability?” She waggled her brow at him.
He grinned as he ran water on the plates. “Well, I don’t think it matters if I do. I made the same mistake with her that I made with PJ. I didn’t stand by her. When it got down to it, I wanted to protect my chief prospect.” And frankly, she hadn’t stood by him either, had she? But maybe he deserved that. “And I let my fear nearly box her in.”
He sat down again beside her.
His mom ran her thumb back and forth along the handle of her third cup of coffee. “Boone, I’ve experienced God’s grace poured out on me. It changed me. Freed me from my past. From who I thought I was.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed, and he met her eyes. “Let God’s grace do the same for you.” She blinked back tears.
“You sound like Caleb.”
“I always liked that guy.” She smiled and took a sip. “Seriously. Don’t be afraid to allow grace to transform your life. You just don’t even know what’s possible.”
Except, he knew his dad was counting on him getting the job and, well, how could he ever let him down?
“For now, it sounds like you, Detective Buckam, have a case to solve.”
“Right.”
She walked to the sink and began washing their dishes.
He grabbed a towel to dry and she handed him a plate. He paused. Watched as she washed their cups.
I have redeemed you.
Washed away.
“Mom?”
She continued scrubbing a stain, chatting. “And, no, I’m not saying I want you to leave Kellogg or that you wouldn’t make an outstanding chief. But you need to be who God tells you to be—”
“Mom.” He turned off the water and stilled her hands, slipping the last cup from her fingertips and placing it on the drying mat.
“What?” She looked up at him, clarity in her blue eyes.
“Thank you.”
Her head tilted, her eyes staying on his. “You’re welcome.” She dried her hands and wrapped him in a hug, her hand pressing his cheek against hers. “I love you, hon.”
“I love you too.”
She picked up her vest and walked to the door. “I need to get to Bible study. I think your dad is hoping to stop by tonight.”
And, shoot. He’d much rather keep eating coffee cake with his mom.
He closed the door behind her.
You, Detective Buckam, have a case to solve.
Boone grabbed his duffel bag and pulled out the notes from his last conversation with Kyle. Joslyn—yes, she still had to be the key.
He found the phone number for Detective Rayburn of the NYPD, the one who’d promised to look into Boone’s questions when he had a spare minute. Well, Boone wasn’t waiting around for answers any longer.
Time to make some calls.
Unfortunately, dawn didn’t afford Vivien any peace. Her insides were still as wrecked and ripped apart as the playhouse. When she’d placed calls the night before to each of the cast members, she’d felt like she’d not only failed herself, but each one of them.
All the time they’d put in. For nothing. And it wouldn’t even matter if Kyle solved the case. Whether or not he discovered the real culprit. Because the bridges had been burned for her.
Even worse, she’d found the women’s Bible study flyer in her purse when she’d cleaned it out for the flight.
She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.
Nope. Not happening.
She’d turned away the cast’s offers to help her clean up the theater. How could she let them do that?
Maybe she’d left the door unlocked. Maybe she’d invited trouble into town. Maybe it was true—maybe trouble followed her.
Whatever it was, she was the reason the place had been destroyed and she couldn’t let them spend their morning cleaning on her behalf. Cole and Kyle had taken a report. Walked through the debris looking for clues only to come up empty-handed.
She just needed to clean up her mess and get out of Dodge.
Except, where would she even start?
All the large pieces Adam had built. The ones she’d painted with Issy and Ree and Mona. She lifted one of the large boards and looked at the underside.
Would-be leaves covered in orange spray paint before being pounded apart.
Her silver lamps in a thousand pieces.
Like someone had taken a sledgehammer to every set piece. She tugged her work gloves from her bag and lugged a sizeable chunk of plywood across the floor and out the back door.
An hour later, she tossed another chunk of broken set piece into the dumpster and made her way back inside. At least she was almost packed for her flight.
“Knock knock.”
Vivien jumped, her fingers gripping the metal-light housing she’d pulled from the debris pile.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Issy stood in the doorway in a pair of overalls, her curly brown hair tied back. “Hey.” She took a few steps in. “I heard what happened.”
“It’s probably all over town by now.” Vivien tossed the fixture into the trash can.
“Well, I may have overheard a few of your cast members drowning their sorrows in some cold brew down at Java Cup.” She blew out a breath as she stepped over broken glass. “I stopped by your house and Ree said you were here and refusing to let anyone help.” Issy picked up the box of trash bags and pulled one off the roll. “I brought gloves.” She whipped the trash bag open and pulled on her gloves. “And I’m not leaving.”
Vivien closed her eyes. “You aren’t staging an intervention, are you? Because I have a plane to catch this afternoon.”
Issy laughed. “Oh, girl, I so get you.” She pulled the full trash bag from the can, tied it off, and slid the new bag in, snugging the edge around the can rim. “I just thought you could use a friend.” She grabbed the broom and swept glass into a pile.
Vivien rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Fine.” She gave her friend a sad smile. “Thanks.” Oh, she was going to miss her friends when she got back to New York.
“Sure.” Issy dumped the contents of her dustpan into the can. “I think between the two of us, we can lift this big one.” She pointed to one of the broken set pieces and picked up the end of it.
Vivien grabbed the other side and they carried it to the outdoor dumpster, heaving it high enough to toss in with a crash.
Issy swatted paint chips off her hands and followed Vivien back inside. “Do you really have to leave town?” She pointed to the broken park bench on the stage and picked up one end of it.
“There’s nothing here for me.” Vivien grabbed hold of the other end of the bench and they carried it out the back door.
Issy slapped her gloves together, blasting dust off of them before sliding them back on. “Do you remember the unsolicited advice I gave you a few weeks ago?” She followed Vivien back inside.
Vivien picked up the remaining smaller pieces, one and two at a time, and Issy grabbed the broom again.
“Don’t let fear rule your heart.”
“A lot of good that did me,” Vivien snapped.
Issy swept the rest of the pile into the dustpan in silence and stripped off her gloves.
“I’m sorry, Issy. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” Vivien dropped two empty paint cans into the trash can. “It’s just—I let myself be vulnerable. I tried to do the right thing and take a risk…and here I am. Again.”
“I don’t have all the answers, Vivie, but I know—I know God’s love is perfect and I know you can trust Him.”
Vivien tossed the final chunks of set into the dumpster, tugged off her gloves, and reached out to give Issy’s hand a squeeze. “I thought this wasn’t an intervention.”
“Oh, it’s not. You know when I pull off a full-fledged-Isadora-Knight-intervention, it’s a big production.” She offered a pinched smile. “I bring in the cheer squad. A team huddle. My whiteboard. Definitely a whistle.”
“Right.”
“This is just me, as your friend.” This time, Issy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Vivien in a hug.
Don’t cry.
Vivien closed her eyes. “It feels like my dad, all over again.” Her voice cracked and she pulled away, cleared her throat.
Issy nodded. “I’m so sorry.” She framed Vivien’s face with her hands. “You are not alone.”
Vivien pulled away. Swallowed. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.
Her favorite theater technique to not cry when she wanted to.
And there, her heart was slammed with memories of sunset rides in the convertible. She shoved those down and pulled away. Think different happy thoughts.
“Well, I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” Vivien said, not sure if it was a statement about the status of the playhouse or of her own life. She glanced at her watch. She’d have just enough time to finish packing and get to Duluth for her flight. And head off to NYC…alone.
Issy led the way to the door and held it open for Vivien.
“You’re a good friend, Issy.” She turned and gave her one more hug. “Thank you for your help.”
Issy nodded. “Come on. I’ll drop you off.” She looked at her watch. “You probably need to head out soon.”
Vivien nodded, unable to speak. Well, soon enough she’d feel better—as soon as she could get her feet back onto the stage in New York.