92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [7]
“Good.”
“He won’t get here for another ten minutes, though.”
“Would you rather wait for him or would you like me to do a walk-through of the house with you now?”
It must be bad. “Would you come with me?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He clasped her elbow and together they headed toward the door off the kitchen. “I guess it’s a terrible mess.” The deputy’s reaction had implied as much.
As if touching her was a painful reminder that they’d severed their relationship, Troy dropped his hand. Trying to hide the bereft feeling that came over her, Faith opened the narrow closet next to the laundry and reached for the broom.
“I suggest we take a look at the damage before you attempt any cleanup.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
He walked into the living room, and when she followed him in, Faith gasped. It was as though a cyclone had gone through, leaving its devastation behind. The furniture was toppled and yellow spray paint had been blasted across her piano and bookcase.
Most distressing of all was what they’d done to the family photos displayed along the fireplace mantel. Shocked, Faith covered her mouth with both hands.
“This has to be personal,” Troy muttered. He reached for the picture of Scott and his wife and children. Each face had an X through it, drawn in bright red ink. The photo of Faith’s daughter, Jay Lynn, had received the same treatment. But a photograph of her late husband, Carl, had come in for the most brutal destruction. His image had been utterly blotted out.
“Who would do such a thing?” Faith cried.
“Have you argued with anyone lately?” Troy asked.
That was basically the same question Deputy Weaver had asked and the answer hadn’t changed. “No…”
“Think, Faith,” Troy insisted. “Whoever’s responsible for this—and it could be more than one person—is trying to hurt you.”
“In that case,” she snapped, “they’ve succeeded.”
“I’m so sorry this happened.” Troy’s words were gentle, kind. For a moment it looked as if he wanted to take her in his arms.
Weak and vulnerable as she felt just then, Faith would gladly have slipped into his embrace. She would’ve welcomed the comfort he offered, the reassurance that, in his arms, she was safe and secure.
Thankfully he remembered that they weren’t a couple anymore, and that his touch was no longer appropriate. He dropped his arm and took a small step in retreat.
“What about the bedroom?” Faith asked in an effort to disguise the uncertainty of her resolve.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Troy asked.
Would anyone be? “I…I’ll need to face it sooner or later.”
“True.” Again he led the way.
They were forced to step over drawers that had been dragged into the hallway, over chair cushions and books and lamps—and what appeared to be every piece of clothing she owned. It seemed as though the contents of her entire home had been emptied in the hallway.
When she saw her bedroom and the chaos there, tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t stand to look at any more. With a sob, she turned and hurried out of the room.
Anger surged through her. She couldn’t imagine who’d done this. Whoever it was wanted to disrupt the peace and serenity she’d worked so hard to achieve since moving to Cedar Cove.
“Can you tell if anything’s been taken?” Troy asked. She suspected he was trying to distract her from all the wreckage.
She walked into the living room and took several deep breaths. “No…not yet.” The knowledge that this might be more than vandalism upset her all over again. Whoever had broken in had probably taken whatever valuables they could find.
Why target her? Faith didn’t own more than a few pieces of expensive jewelry, some of which she was wearing. The other pieces—her wedding band and the pearls that had been her mother’s—were tucked away in a safety-deposit box at the bank.
“Is anything obvious missing?” he continued.
She shook her head.
“First thing I want you to do is get a new lock,” Troy said, examining the front door. “Make it a dead bolt. Consider an alarm system, too.”
“I’ll look into it.” His suggestion kept her from