Rainier Drive (Cedar Cove #6)(47)

“Congratulations, Allison.” Her father raised his water glass, and the others joined in the toast.

Really, Allison couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Both of her parents had attended UW and it was expected that she would, too. She’d encouraged Anson to apply for a scholarship there, and if he’d stayed in school, if he’d pursued it, she was positive he would’ve been accepted.

No one seemed to realize how intelligent Anson was. He picked up languages easily, as she’d mentioned to his mother; he’d also helped Allison get through her chemistry class. Without him she would barely have passed. All that stuff came to him with very little effort.

“What about you, honey?” her mother asked, directing the question to Zach.

“I attended the Rotary meeting this afternoon and sat with Seth Gunderson.”

Allison’s ears perked up. She kept a file with whatever she could find out about the Gundersons, the restaurant and the fire. Obviously, she didn’t possess the resources or the finesse of the authorities, but she collected every bit of information she could.

“How are Seth and his family doing now?” her mother asked.

“All right, it seems. He’s selling boats.”

“Boats?” Eddie echoed, a smear of tomato sauce on his chin. “That’s a switch, isn’t it?”

“Not really. He was a fisherman before he went into the restaurant business,” Zach explained.

“Oh.” Uninterested, Eddie returned to his meal.

“Apparently the arson investigators found a cross in the fire,” her father added. “There was a picture of it in last night’s paper. Seth hopes someone might recognize it and come forward.”

Allison froze. She hadn’t read yesterday’s paper.

“What an interesting twist.” Her mother met Allison’s gaze, and Allison didn’t dare look away.

“Has anyone come forward?” she asked, her heart in her throat. Anson had worn a pewter cross. That didn’t mean anything, she was quick to tell herself. “But whoever wore it might not be responsible for the fire,” she said. “It could’ve belonged to anyone, right?”

Both her parents and Eddie stared at her.

“What makes you ask?” her father asked, watching her intently.

Allison lowered her head and swallowed hard. “No reason,” she mumbled. Only there was…. As soon as she could do it discreetly, she was going to find that newspaper and take a look.

No one at school had said anything about the article, not anyone, and Allison knew why. They were afraid to; afraid she’d get defensive and angry the way she always did when anyone dared suggest Anson was involved in the fire.

When dinner was over, Allison escaped to the privacy of her bedroom. Her mother, who had an uncanny ability to read her moods, came to see her shortly afterward. She held the local newspaper.

Allison pretended not to notice.

“Don’t you want to see the picture?” her mother asked, sitting on the bed beside her.

Allison thought of lying and acting as if it didn’t matter at all. Instead, she shrugged. “I suppose,” she said in a dispassionate voice.

“Anson wore a big cross, didn’t he?” her mother asked gently.

“It’s not his,” she said before she’d even glanced at the photograph. “And even if it is, that doesn’t mean anything.”

Her mother was slow in answering. “It might not. But then again, it might.”

“He wouldn’t do it, Mom,” Allison insisted and although her mother didn’t argue, Allison wondered who she was working so hard to convince—her family or herself.

Her mother handed Allison the paper, which was open to the picture. One look, and Allison closed her eyes, so sick at heart that she couldn’t bear to read the caption or the article below the photograph.

“Anson wore a cross like this?” her mother asked.

Allison bit her lower lip hard and nodded.

“You need to tell the sheriff you recognize it as his, sweetheart.”

A sob threatened to burst from her chest, but Allison managed to hold it back. “I will.”

Rosie slid her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Unable to speak, Allison nodded again. “It’s not him,” she said. “It’s not Anson.” He wouldn’t lie to her. He’d told her he hadn’t started the fire and she believed him.

After a moment, her mother stood and left the room. Allison remained on the edge of her bed. She had to think, to sort everything out. Whenever she least wanted to remember it, the conversation with his mother kept running through her mind.

Playing with matches. According to her, Anson had nearly burned the house down as a youngster. Later he’d started a brush fire with friends and then there was the toolshed at the park. Fires fascinated him; his mother had been quick to tell her that. According to Cherry, he was just setting bigger ones now.

Even his own mother thought Anson was responsible for burning down The Lighthouse. The only person who still believed in him was Allison. And yet every shred of evidence she’d collected pointed directly at him.

For the first time, her faith in Anson wavered. She wanted to believe, and prayed that he was innocent. But how could she maintain her faith in the face of everything she’d learned?