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CHAPTER ONE

RUMOR HAD IT that Walworth Builders was responsible for Nellie Martin’s fall while chasing down her cat the night before, and there was speculation that Nellie was going to sue.

Sue for what? Grace Huber wondered, zooming out of Sparrow Lake proper and heading for Green Meadows. She hadn’t heard the nature of Nellie’s injuries, but the woman was up in years and a little frail. Concerned that Nellie might be more hurt than she’d let on, Grace wanted to make sure she was all right in person. And she wanted to take care of Green Meadows, as well. She’d found a new passion in building with the environment in mind, having talked her father into developing the “green” community, which combined condos, rental apartments and semidetached homes, all constructed with sustainable materials and heated with solar energy.

So it was no wonder that she wanted to deal with the problem herself.

Green Meadows didn’t need bad publicity, and she didn’t want her perfect community ruined by a lawsuit. She needed to work this out so Nellie was properly taken care of without the development being in jeopardy.

Turning off the main road, she entered Green Meadows and headed straight for the community center, where Nellie had agreed to meet with her. She was almost there when she realized a crowd had gathered outside in the parking lot. Because Nellie had been badly hurt? Worried, she pulled into the lot, left her car and made her way through the throng, only to stop when she saw the reason for the commotion. Taking a good look at the previously blank side wall of the building, Grace started. The community center had been constructed using repurposed wood plus stone from the local quarry, and the stuccoed side wall now boasted a large mural. In it, a woman walked away from prison bars separating her from the girl who was reaching for her.

“You ruined our community center!” a man cried.

“You two ought to be arrested!” a woman added.

It took Grace a moment to realize residents had surrounded two teenage girls. One looked like a wild punk rocker with dyed black hair, black eye makeup and lipstick. The other appeared more subdued, naturally dark hair pulled back from a makeup-free face that hinted of a Native American heritage. She held a paintbrush in hand.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” the punk rocker said. “They don’t appreciate your talent, Summer Storm.”

The girl did seem stormy when Grace stepped closer for a better look.

“Talent?” a woman said. “She defaced our property! Someone call Police Chief Novak!”

“What’s so wrong?” the young artist protested. “The development will look better with a mural! And they don’t even have to pay me for it.”

The sound of a truck squealing to a stop made Grace turn away for a second. She watched as a man with a rugged profile and blue-black hair worn to his shoulders jumped out. He was probably six feet and appeared powerful, if not broad. His tan shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealed arms roped with the muscle of someone acquainted with hard work.

“Grab the girl,” a woman called out. “We can bring her to the police ourselves.”

That pulled Grace’s attention back to the situation. “Wait a minute, no one is grabbing anyone!”

Now that she was closer to the artwork, she was stunned by the ferocity of emotion in the mural and knew it had nothing to do with beautification. The teenager herself wore a defiant expression, but Grace couldn’t miss the haunted look in her eyes. What had happened to make her so angry?

Before she could do anything to find out, the man from the truck stepped in. When he took the girl’s arm, she protested, “Dad!”

She struggled, but he didn’t free her. His dark-eyed gaze aimed straight at Grace when he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later to make sure this mess is taken care of.”

“Mess?” Summer Storm jerked her arm to no avail. “Taken care of? What do you mean, Dad? You’re going to ruin my mural, aren’t you?”

As he hauled his daughter off to his waiting truck, the man said, “I’m not the one who has explaining to do.”

Grace stared after them, wondering why she’d never noticed the attractive man around town before. He was definitely unforgettable.

“Are you going to let her get away with this atrocity?” someone in the crowd asked Grace. “Do something!”

Grace sighed and tried to muster a smile. “It’s time for everyone to go about your business. Don’t worry, I will get everything in hand.”

As the group dispersed, another person muttered, “You need to have both of those girls arrested.”

Girls. What happened to the other one? Grace wondered as she looked around. The punk rocker was nowhere to be seen. She’d disappeared while the going was good. Pints of different-colored acrylics that Summer Storm had used to paint the mural had been left behind in a carry carton, along with painting knives and brushes on a tray.

Several of the residents remained, undoubtedly waiting to see how she would solve the problem. Not knowing what to do with the girl’s paint supplies, Grace gathered them together and set them on one of the outdoor tables.

“Do any of you know the girl’s father?” she asked the onlookers.

“Name’s Caleb Blackthorne,” a man said. “He and his daughter live a half mile right down the road.” He pointed east. “They have one of them fancy new type A-frames set back from the road. Look hard to the left. You can just see it through the trees.”

“Thanks.”

The Blackthornes lived so close, she would deliver the supplies in person. And maybe get a bead on what was troubling the girl. Painting that mural on the development’s property made it Grace’s business. Then she spent the next several minutes rounding up a couple of workers and a neutral-color paint. Her chest tightened as she watched the men start to obliterate the mural that obviously must have meant something to Summer Storm. Once again, she wondered what had made the girl express her unhappiness so publicly.

Not that she had long to think about it. A van pulled up, its side scribed with Kenosha Journal in fancy lettering. Oh, great. What a terrible time for a reporter to show up. It took everything Grace had to smile at the man who alighted from the vehicle. She assumed the reporter was interested in the green community—it had already been featured in news reports in southern Wisconsin. Surely no one had called in the story about the mural.

“Hi. I’m Grace Huber with Walworth Builders. Green Meadows is our development. Can I help you?”

“Hope so. You can tell me about the latest ghost sighting.”

Grace had to scramble mentally to change subjects. “Ghost sighting?” She’d heard the rumor about there being a ghost flitting around the complex at night, but of course that was ridiculous. Why would a newspaper be interested?

“Nellie saw it last night,” an elderly woman stated. “That’s why she took a tumble.”

Nellie? The name jarred Grace into remembering why she’d come to the community center in the first place. She managed to sputter, “Nellie didn’t say anything to me about seeing a ghost.”

“Well, she did!” the woman’s companion added. “That’s why she fell on that rubble your crew left in the area. She told me she was distracted by something weird moving through the trees and her foot caught on a piece of discarded flagstone.”

The reason people were talking about Nellie suing Walworth Builders.

“Maybe Nellie has a few problems with her sight,” Grace said, remembering the older woman’s large glasses. “She’s probably confused if she thought whatever startled her could be a ghost.”

“How do you know?” another man asked. “There were rumors about the old farmhouse that used to be here being haunted.”

“Really,” the reporter murmured, zeroing in on the man.

Grace got between them. This was ridiculous. “There’s no story here. One of our residents had a little mishap chasing her cat last night. That’s all.”

“That’s all? I’d like to talk to her myself.”

Holding back a moan of dismay, knowing she couldn’t stop the annoying reporter, Grace forced another smile. She’d wanted to speak to Nellie alone, to get the whole story without an audience to egg her on. Now that was out of the question.

“All right, then. Come with me.”

Though reluctant, she led him inside the community center, where she hoped she could run interference if the situation got out of hand.

* * *

CALEB BLACKTHORNE WAS royally ticked at his daughter getting into a mess again with her edgy little friend Kiki Johnson. He might feel sorry for the foster kid, but he wished Angela would stay away from her and what he saw as a negative influence. Kiki was always getting into some kind of trouble, and lately, so was Angela.

“Are you ready to explain yourself, young lady?”

He gave Angela a quick glance, long enough to see her mouth tighten before she turned her head away from him to stare out the side window in silence.

“What were you thinking, defacing private property?” Surely she would have something to say in response to that.

But no, the silence continued.

“And why would you go to Green Meadows in the first place? You don’t know anyone there.” The development was so new that only half of the units were even in use at this time.

More silence. Obviously his daughter didn’t mean to speak to him. Something that was becoming very familiar lately. This talk would have to be continued. She couldn’t go around doing whatever she wanted. He would be lucky if she didn’t get arrested this time, a distinct possibility. Something he would do anything to avoid.

What happened to his little “Angel”? His daughter had changed, especially lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe he deserved this. His karma for giving his mother so much grief when he was a teen. Maddie Blackthorne had been and was a great mother and person, a social worker who helped the homeless on the local Chippewa reservation find housing and health care and jobs. He’d never met his father, who’d disappeared without even knowing his mother was pregnant. Though she’d been on her own, his mother had given him a settled, safe life.

Despite his trying to do the same for his daughter but with more money than his mom had been able to make, Angela was as wild as he had been at her age. Now that she’d done something illegal, how long would it be before the local police came to pick her up? Was there any way to avoid that happening?

He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Whose idea was this stunt? Yours or Kiki’s? Why do you want to hang around with her?”

That did it—Angela came out of her silent funk, shouting, “No! I’m not going to stop seeing her. She likes the same things that I do. She understands me. Kiki is my best friend!”

He knew both the girls thought of themselves as artists. “And you’re the only friend she has. That girl is a bad influence on you.”

“I don’t care what you say. I won’t stop seeing her. You can’t take someone else away from me!”

“I didn’t take anyone away from you.”

“What about my mother?”

Caleb gritted his teeth at that. Angela had seemed okay that it had been just the two of them all these years. What had brought this up now?

“I didn’t make your mother leave.” At sixteen, he’d been a too-young father with an irresponsible baby mama. “She wanted you...” And then she hadn’t. Lily had run away, leaving a month-old baby girl in his arms. “...but she was really young and scared.”

“You always tell me what to do and make me do what you want. You could have made her stay.”

“I only wish that was true. Lily made a bad decision because she was so young, Angel. I’m sure she’s regretted it a million times over the years.” At least he wanted his daughter to believe that.

“Then why didn’t she come back for me?”

A question he’d never been able to answer.

And then it came to him. The mural. The woman walking away from the jailed girl—Lily walking away from Angela and Angela feeling helpless to do anything about it. That had to be it. Something had brought up a hornet’s nest of emotion in his daughter. Not hard to envision. Angela was fifteen now, questioning everything, especially him and anything he wanted for her. But why was her absentee mother suddenly so important to her?

He flicked a look over to his daughter, who once more was staring out the side window, her shoulders set so tight he knew she wouldn’t answer if he asked. He wondered if she would talk to her grandmother, tell her the truth. Mom was his go-to person when it came to Angela. His daughter never resented her grandmother the way she did him. He would call Mom as soon as they got home, then he would settle this mural mess.

But how to do that other than manage the cleanup?

The woman who’d told everyone that no one was grabbing his daughter had appeared to be in charge at Green Meadows. She seemed like a decent sort. Attractive, too, he thought, remembering her lush dark hair and the spark in her pretty blue eyes as she’d controlled the situation. A strong woman. One who didn’t shirk from responsibility.

When he went back to take care of the mural, he would look for her. Talk to her. See if she could help.

He would do it for his daughter.

Still, the thought of getting to know a woman like that was extra incentive.