50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [45]
Linnette took a moment to digest this information. “What happened to the flowers?”
“Your father told me to get rid of them.”
“Did you?”
Linnette smiled. “Sort of. I brought them down to the Cedar Cove Convalescent Center that night. They were thrilled to have them.”
“That was a very considerate thing to do.”
“It was either that or watch your father have a conniption.”
As if the thought had just occurred to her, Linnette asked, “Was there a card attached?”
“Yes…” The gift card had infuriated Roy even more than the delivery itself. The person sending the flowers was taunting them. One look and her husband had torn it in half and tossed it in the garbage. After he’d left, Corrie retrieved the ripped card. “It said Guess Who?”
Linnette let out a low whistle. “I’ll bet that infuriated Dad.”
“It sure did,” Corrie said grimly. “I don’t know what to expect next—from our mysterious stalker or your father.”
Eighteen
Cecilia had never seen Allison so nervous. She’d been up and down a dozen times in the half hour since she’d arrived at the office after school.
“Did my dad tell you when he expected to be back?” she asked Cecilia for the third time, jumping up from her chair again.
“No, I’m sorry, he didn’t.” That, too, was unusual. If Mr. Cox was going to be away for an extended period, he always let Cecilia know. Judging by the way Allison was behaving, Cecilia figured that wherever her employer was, it concerned his teenage daughter. And that probably meant it had something to do with Anson.
“What time is it, anyway?” Allison glared at her watch. “He should be back by now.” She sat down again.
“Back from where? Does this involve Anson?” Cecilia asked quietly.
The color drained from Allison’s face. “What makes you think that?”
“How long have I known you, Allison? Two years? Three? You haven’t been this anxious about anything in all that time. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” To Cecilia’s shock, the girl covered her face with both hands and burst into tears.
Cecilia placed an arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go into your father’s office.” She steered Allison inside, then shut the door.
Allison slumped into the chair in front of her dad’s desk, and Cecilia dragged its twin close. Reaching into her pocket, she handed the girl a clean tissue, which Allison crumpled into a tight ball.
“You’re right,” Allison admitted. “This does have to do with Anson. He got into—he did something he shouldn’t have. Afterward, he felt really bad about it and didn’t know what to do, so he came to me.”
Cecilia had suspected trouble the instant she’d seen the boy, and the few things she’d heard had only confirmed that opinion. Everything about Anson screamed attitude, from his street-length gunslinger black coat to the spiked bracelet. She hadn’t liked the idea of Allison hanging around with him, but had kept her opinions to herself.
“Anson came to you for help?” Cecilia repeated, wanting to be sure she understood. She didn’t press Allison with questions about what Anson had done, for fear she’d stop confiding in her.
The girl nodded.
“What could you do?” Cecilia was annoyed that the boy had expected Allison to solve his problems.
“I took him to talk to my dad,” Allison explained. “I knew Dad would help and he has. Dad’s been really wonderful.”
“What did your father do?”
Allison swallowed hard. “Dad said Anson had to turn himself in to the police.” She lifted her gaze to Cecilia’s. “I know you’re probably wondering what Anson did, but…I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Turning himself in was a good start, in Cecilia’s view. Her mother had drilled the concept of personal responsibility into her from a young age. Her father, on the other