Second Time's the Charm

Mark’s outspoken, wheelchair-bound grandmother and his hotshot lawyer fiancée were in love with Abe. Jon figured his son could do worse.

“How about I bring Abe by after dinner and the two of us will visit with Nonnie while you and Addy go out on a date?”

Nonnie lived with Mark. At eighty years old and in the late stages of multiple sclerosis, she was sometimes a handful.

“You got a deal.” Mark’s grin wasn’t masked by the bite of sandwich he’d just taken. And then he sobered. “I assume you heard about the break-in?”

“What break-in?” Jon stared, his urgency to get back to work put on hold.

“I just figured you’d heard,” Mark said, dropping his sandwich back into the little plastic bag from which he’d removed it. “It was less than a mile from your place. Sometime last night. A guy lifted the sliding glass door out of the track, took a bunch of cash and left the door leaning up against the kitchen wall. The couple were in Phoenix seeing a play and called it in when they got home. Everyone was talking about it this morning in the break room.”

Jon didn’t shake his head on the outside, but inside his mind was reeling. Would he ever get used to living in a place like Shelter Valley? It was so different from the neighborhoods he’d grown up in, where a dead body under a bench wasn’t much in the way of news, that he sometimes felt as if he were living on another planet.

A break-in would be a big deal here. As would the knowledge that a new guy in town had done time for robbery.

“I guess they don’t get much crime around here, do they?” he said, reminding himself that this was the life he wanted for Abraham.

Shrugging, Mark dug out his sandwich again. Took a bite. “One thing about this town—people watch out for one another here. And the sheriff, he makes it his business to get to know everyone.”

Wishing he hadn’t just eaten, Jon kept the expression on his face neutral.

“A real autocrat, huh?” he asked, mentally calculating how much he’d have to pay back in scholarship monies if he packed up and skipped town with Abe. If they came after him for the money.

“Not at all,” Mark said, finishing one lunch-meat sandwich and pulling out another. “He’s open-minded and fair. But he’s also a great cop, ready to help anyone who needs it.”

The statement made him curious. “You’re as new to this town as I am. How come you know so much about the sheriff?”

In his world, guys kept their distance from cops. Mark finished his sandwich, bunched the bag into a ball shape and tossed it into a can six feet away. “Addy was born here,” he said, as though testing the waters. “She knows him.”

Walking with his friend back to the shop, Jon forgot about time, about his impending meeting that afternoon, and frowned as Mark mentioned his fiancée, the woman who watched Abe once a week. “I thought she was new to town, too.”

“She’s only been back for a couple of months. She moved away when she was six.”

There was more to the story, Jon could sense as much. But Mark didn’t elaborate, and Jon didn’t ask.

* * *

LILLIE WAS RUNNING late. She’d been called to the clinic to assist with setting the arm of a ten-year-old boy who’d fractured it playing football. It had been almost one o’clock before she’d been free to change into her jeans and tend to the paperwork and reports that had built up during the week, and she hadn’t eaten yet that day.

Which was why she was at the Shelter Valley Diner at three, grabbing a bite before walking over to the city park across the str

eet for her four-o’clock appointment with Jon Swartz.

“Hey, woman, how are you?” The familiar voice greeted her as she stood at the counter, trying to decide what she felt like eating. Salad or sandwich? Or maybe just a cup of soup?

“Ellen? I didn’t know you were in town!” There was nothing about the pretty blonde that suggested the trauma she’d lived through almost ten years before.

“Jay and I are dropping Josh off at Mom’s. We’re heading up to Jerome for the night.”

Jerome, an authentic old mining town built into the top of a five-thousand-foot mountain, was a couple of hours north of Shelter Valley. These days, the bustling roadside town was an artists’ haven and boasted several B and Bs in addition to a well-preserved twenty-five-room hotel that dated back to the 1900s.

“Are you taking the motorcycle?” Lillie asked, noting the happy glint in Ellen’s brown eyes, the shine to her natural blond hair. Marriage to Jay had done wonders for the woman Lillie had first met through Ellen’s son, Josh, when Lillie had first come to town. She’d supported Josh through a routine procedure at the clinic. And bonded with his grateful mother in the process.

Ellen, who’d been born and raised in Shelter Valley, had been a regular to the clinic back then—visiting the counselor whose office was just across the hall from Lillie’s—as she fought her way back from the hell of having been raped.

Jay, a masseuse at the clinic, had been central to Ellen’s recovery. In ways no one could have foreseen.

“Of course we’re taking the bike.” Ellen’s grin stretched across her face. “Jay’s been great about taking the car when we have Josh in tow, so I insist on taking the bike anytime it’s just the two of us.”