“I don’t have a shredder.”
“A match?”
I indicated the fireplace. “Help yourself.”
She placed the envelope in the grate and I obligingly opened the flue, not really wanting to choke on the fumes. I handed her the box of matches and a piece of paper I crumpled into a loose ball. She bent, lighting the match, and we both watched as the flames curled and flickered, growing as they gained strength, the envelope catching fire, the edges coiling, the photos slowly disappearing into nothing.
Deciding it was as good a time as ever, I grabbed the other files and added them to the pile, watching as my father’s legacy of fear died in a pile of ash. I would destroy the USB drives. I wasn’t remotely interested in their contents.
It was over. And despite what I had lost, I felt lighter.
Martha turned, heading toward the door. There was too much bad blood between us for there ever to be anything but the most tenuous of business relations, but perhaps going forward, the hate would begin to dissipate. Maybe she could forge a new relationship with her husband.
Stranger things had happened.
She paused at the door.
“I knew your mother.”
I snapped up my head, prepared to fight.
“She was one of the kindest girls at school. Always willing to help someone out. She refused to let bullies win. She used to lecture them, pointing out their wrongs. Your father was one of the worst ones in school—that was how they met. He seemed to change, but I suppose he never really did.”
“I guess he hid it for a while.”
“Or maybe he tried, but his true nature won out. He was very selfish—even when he was younger. Your mother was the exact opposite. I think she thought she could make him a better person.”
“That obviously didn’t work.”
She smiled. It was the first real one I had ever seen from her. “Even angels can’t always perform miracles.” She tilted her head. “You are very much like her.”
No one had ever said that to me. No one ever spoke of my mother.
“Thank you.”
She turned to leave, stopping as she gripped the door, not looking back. “She would be very proud of you.”
Then she was gone, her footsteps hurrying away and fading.
I blinked at the empty doorway.
I wasn’t my father.
I was like my mother.
Her son.
And that, going forward, was how I would act.
22
Sunny
I wiped my hand across my eyes as I scrubbed the already clean wall. My shoulders burned with the strain, the pain radiating down my arms.
I ignored it, the throb in my bones nothing compared to the pain in my chest. My heart ached with loss.
Linc.
He was all I could think of. What he insisted he had to do. It was going to kill him. All of his work—everything he’d strived so hard for would be wiped out with one horrible move to try to protect me. He refused to listen to me. To Abby. He was hell-bent on destroying himself, refusing to believe there was any other way.
I would clean this bakery a hundred times over—close it, in fact—if it meant he didn’t stoop to the level of his father. I had been serious when I told him he was on a slippery slope. He would justify this action. Then do it again. Over and over until it became a part of him—until the good I knew he had within him was gone, and he became the one thing he fought against.
The wall in front of me became blurry, and I had to blink my eyes to clear them. The sound of a throat clearing behind me was startling.
“Um, boss? Someone here to see you.”
“Tell them to come back,” I ordered. Lots of people wanted to see me today, asking why we were closed, what the notice on the door was about, demanding to be allowed to help.
“I think you’ll see me.”
At the sound of Martha Tremont’s voice, I froze, turning my head to meet her gaze.
“A moment of your time, Ms. Hilbert.”
I slid from the stool, wiping my hands, wondering what was about to happen. She looked like herself, but different. The usual frown was missing from her face, the look of distaste she always wore when she looked at me, gone. Her expression wasn’t friendly, but it was no longer hostile.
“I received an incorrect report about your bakery. The notice has been removed.” She handed me the green and white pass form. “You can stop cleaning now.”
I shook my head, but she held up her hand. “It was a mistake. A novice inspector going overboard. I have rectified the situation.”
“Linc,” I mumbled.
She cleared her throat. “Ah, yes. Mr. Webber. I saw him earlier today—we had an eye-opening chat. Cleared the air, so to speak. I do hope he changes his mind and returns to Mission Cove.” She crossed her arms, staring at me meaningfully. “He is always welcome here.”
I didn’t understand. What had happened?
“He is so much like his mother.” She paused, and I was certain she almost smiled. “Nothing like his father. Nothing.” Then she turned. “I have to go to the dry-cleaning store now. More errors to follow up on. The work of the deputy mayor is never done, you know. My citizens need to be cared for.” She lifted her hand and disappeared.
I stare after her, blinking.
What had transpired between her and Linc? Something big—but not what I feared, judging from her demeanor. It wasn’t friendly, but the hostility was gone—or at least lessened.
Her words rang through my head. “Nothing like his father. Nothing.”
I had to find out what happened. I needed to talk to Linc.
Except, Abby had told me he was leaving. I had heard him walk out this morning, my heart breaking as I turned my back on him before I lost my nerve and ran to him, begging once more for him to choose us over doing what he felt he had to do. Choosing the light he so often said I was to him, over the dark.
Abby came up beside me, and I handed her the form. “We can stop cleaning now.”
“Did he…?” Her voice trailed off.
“I don’t think so.”
“What happened?”
I yanked off my apron. “I don’t know, but I have to find out. I need to get to him before he leaves, Abby, or I may never see him again.”
She pressed her keys into my hand. “Go.”
I drove up the hill, my heart in my mouth. Linc’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but the front door stood open. I ran inside, heading to the den. I stopped in the doorway, horrified at the sight before me. The room was wrecked—the desk overturned, the chair smashed. Pictures were torn off the walls, flung around. The fireplace was wet, rivulets of water running onto the expensive floors and carpet, a pile of sodden ash in the grate.
What the hell had happened here?
I dialed Abby, panicked. “He’s not here,” I gasped. “The den is wrecked, his car is gone.” A sob escaped. “He’s gone.”
“Wait,” she instructed.
I looked around the room, noticing the metal box Linc had dug my letters from open and lying on its side. I bent and looked inside. It was empty. Another smaller box was upside down on the rug. I didn’t touch it.
“Okay, we track each other’s cell. He’s still in the area. East of you. He’s stationary.”