Harbor Street (Cedar Cove #5)(99)

The sheriff set down his coffee mug when Allison entered the kitchen. He sat at the table with both her parents.

“This is our daughter, Allison,” her father said, motioning that she should sit down. “Allison,” he said, looking straight at her. “Sheriff Davis has some questions for you. It’s important that you answer him honestly and directly. Do you understand?”

She lowered her head and whispered, “I will.”

“Hello, Allison,” Sheriff Davis said pleasantly. “I hear you’re friends with Anson Butler.”

She nodded.

“I’m wondering when you last saw him,” the sheriff said next.

The minute Anson left, she knew he’d done something he shouldn’t have. He’d as much as said so. His chilling laugh echoed in her mind.

Her father leaned toward her. “Please tell Sheriff Davis the truth.”

“Last night,” she whispered, knowing her parents would be outraged that she’d let him into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

“When?”

“About two this morning.”

“You snuck out of the house?” This outburst was from her mother, who was clearly upset.

Allison shook her head. “No. Anson came to me.”

“At the house?” her father clarified without apparent censure. But his eyes let her know he wasn’t pleased, although he kept his voice even.

Allison sighed. “He tapped on my window and woke me up. He—he came to say goodbye.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He said he didn’t know.”

“Do you have any idea where he is now?”

She shook her head a second time.

“You’re sure he ran away, though?” her father said, pressuring her for more information.

“He hasn’t been at home or at school. I asked around and no one’s seen him.”

“Where’s he been keeping himself?” This came from the sheriff.

“I don’t know.” Allison wished she did. All week she’d wondered and waited to hear from him. The thought of Anson living on the streets made her want to weep all over again. His mother wasn’t any help; she didn’t even seem to care.

“Do you know whether he had any money?” the sheriff asked.

She hesitated, but for only a second. “He didn’t say.”

Sheriff Davis exchanged a look with her father.

“What did he do?” Allison had to find out.

“At this point we don’t know that Anson did anything,” Sheriff Davis said, his words measured and flat. “He’s what we consider a person of interest.”

“Interest in what?”

Again her father and the sheriff exchanged that ambiguous glance.

“About one this morning, The Lighthouse restaurant burned to the ground.”

“Is it arson?” she cried.

“We don’t know for sure,” the sheriff said, “but the indication from the fire chief is that the fire appears to have been purposely set.”

Allison gasped. “Anson would never do that!”

“He burned down the shed in the park,” her father reminded her. He placed his hand on her shoulder as if to lend her strength.

“I don’t care,” she said, shrugging off his comfort and leaping to her feet. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Seth Gunderson laid him off.”

“Mr. Gunderson thought Anson had taken some money from his office, but he didn’t.”

“Anson was angry.”

“You would be, too,” Allison shouted, “if you were unjustly accused of—something.” Her voice broke. She couldn’t believe The Lighthouse was gone. It’d become a Cedar Cove landmark.

“As I mentioned, we’re not certain that the fire was arson,” Sheriff Davis said in an obvious attempt to calm her.

“But you’re already trying to frame Anson!”

“Allison.” Her mother spoke her name softly. “No one’s going to frame him for anything.”

“All I want to do right now is talk to Anson,” the sheriff assured her.

Allison didn’t believe him. She was convinced the sheriff and her parents considered him guilty. She recognized that he must have done something, but he hadn’t burned down The Lighthouse. Despite any evidence or suspicion to the contrary, she knew one thing: Anson was innocent.

Justine Gunderson stared at what had once been their restaurant, her arms tight around her son to ward off the cold wind gusting from the cove. Leif was peacefully asleep, thumb in his mouth. Seth stood a few feet apart from her, answering the fire chief’s questions. The stench of fire invaded her nostrils, clung to her clothes and hair. Smoke wafted up from the ashes of what had once been their dream—their restaurant, their investment and sole source of income. Even now, staring at the charred remains, it was hard to believe The Lighthouse was no more. All that survived of the structure was a blackened skeleton and a pile of rubble. With a jolt she recognized the twisted metal frame of a photograph—the picture Jon Bowman had given them when they opened the restaurant.

After a few minutes, Seth returned to her side and took Leif from her arms. Their son was still asleep so he’d be spared seeing this. Justine felt numb with shock. She couldn’t cry, could barely think.