fantasy come true. His mocha eyes were set off by dark brows and thick unruly brown hair that captured and held the mid-day sun. He was good-looking in a GQ sort of way that Libby had never been fond of—too pretty, too smart, too privileged. She expected him to have a healthy ego and was wary of him for that, among other reasons. He dressed professionally, including a tailored suit that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. She’d opted for a fitted skirt and jacket with low-heeled shoes—nothing low-cut or remotely alluring, caution being her rule for dealing with Jason.
He once again kissed her hello. She wished she could accept it as a simple gesture of friendship but the kiss put her on edge. “I made reservations for us at the restaurant in the Thorpe Hotel,” he said.
“Great. I love that old building.”
“Let’s walk,” he said.
The entire historic district of Coho was still owned by Thorpe Long & Lumber—and therefore, Jason himself. First occupied by white settlers in the early 1850s, by the mid-1870s Coho was a thriving mill town. Now Coho was a pristine example of a late-nineteenth century community. Developed before mass-production of the automobile, one of the things Libby loved about the place was in the historic district, everyone walked everywhere, rain or shine.
Today the weather was shine—a perfect Pacific Northwest summer day. They neared the general store, where people stepped out onto the wide front porch, bags of groceries in hand. Residents going about their normal, everyday lives, the only difference from a hundred years ago being that back then, the store would have been closed on Sunday. Shoppers waved to Jason, who waved back.
Farther up the road, they passed the Masonic Hall, followed by the mill-owned church, where children raced through the arched doorway as services let out. These families were counting on Jack to build the Cultural Center to provide jobs and tourists for the depressed economy, a reminder of what was riding on that permit.
At the end of a beautifully maintained driveway lined with madrona trees stood the waterfront hotel. A stately old building, it was the jewel in the crown of TL&L’s holdings. The bustle of activity inside surprised her after the tranquil walk through town. A group of tourists gathered for a walking tour of the historic district, their guide an elderly mill worker Libby was scheduled to interview later in the week.
The hostess fawned over Jason as she led them to a booth in the back of the restaurant. A half-dozen stunning Tiffany-style chandeliers decorated the room with warm, colorful light. Ceiling-to-floor wooden partitions elaborately carved more than a hundred years before by a master of the craft separated the booths. The hotel and restaurant were the most upscale establishment in town. That the gorgeously maintained building was in tiny Coho remained a marvel to Libby.
The hostess gave Libby a menu, but not Jason, and immediately poured him a sample from a bottle of red wine that was waiting on the table. As a show of status, it was a bit heavy handed, and she wondered if it was done at Jason’s request or if the hostess was trying to curry favor.
Jason took a sip and nodded to the hostess, who then filled his glass. “Wine, Libby, or would you prefer something else?” he asked.
She agreed to wine, simply to speed the hostess’ departure. When they were alone, she took a deep breath and said, “I have a question for you about the scare I had at the site on Friday and related legal issues.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d tell me what’s going on.”
She told him about her Suburban being stolen, and then her suspicion that someone threatened her from the blackberries. She sipped her wine and then broached the first topic she wanted his opinion on. “I called the police for help, but my report wasn’t taken seriously. Then I became the focus of the investigation.”
“Not taking the victim seriously happens all
He once again kissed her hello. She wished she could accept it as a simple gesture of friendship but the kiss put her on edge. “I made reservations for us at the restaurant in the Thorpe Hotel,” he said.
“Great. I love that old building.”
“Let’s walk,” he said.
The entire historic district of Coho was still owned by Thorpe Long & Lumber—and therefore, Jason himself. First occupied by white settlers in the early 1850s, by the mid-1870s Coho was a thriving mill town. Now Coho was a pristine example of a late-nineteenth century community. Developed before mass-production of the automobile, one of the things Libby loved about the place was in the historic district, everyone walked everywhere, rain or shine.
Today the weather was shine—a perfect Pacific Northwest summer day. They neared the general store, where people stepped out onto the wide front porch, bags of groceries in hand. Residents going about their normal, everyday lives, the only difference from a hundred years ago being that back then, the store would have been closed on Sunday. Shoppers waved to Jason, who waved back.
Farther up the road, they passed the Masonic Hall, followed by the mill-owned church, where children raced through the arched doorway as services let out. These families were counting on Jack to build the Cultural Center to provide jobs and tourists for the depressed economy, a reminder of what was riding on that permit.
At the end of a beautifully maintained driveway lined with madrona trees stood the waterfront hotel. A stately old building, it was the jewel in the crown of TL&L’s holdings. The bustle of activity inside surprised her after the tranquil walk through town. A group of tourists gathered for a walking tour of the historic district, their guide an elderly mill worker Libby was scheduled to interview later in the week.
The hostess fawned over Jason as she led them to a booth in the back of the restaurant. A half-dozen stunning Tiffany-style chandeliers decorated the room with warm, colorful light. Ceiling-to-floor wooden partitions elaborately carved more than a hundred years before by a master of the craft separated the booths. The hotel and restaurant were the most upscale establishment in town. That the gorgeously maintained building was in tiny Coho remained a marvel to Libby.
The hostess gave Libby a menu, but not Jason, and immediately poured him a sample from a bottle of red wine that was waiting on the table. As a show of status, it was a bit heavy handed, and she wondered if it was done at Jason’s request or if the hostess was trying to curry favor.
Jason took a sip and nodded to the hostess, who then filled his glass. “Wine, Libby, or would you prefer something else?” he asked.
She agreed to wine, simply to speed the hostess’ departure. When they were alone, she took a deep breath and said, “I have a question for you about the scare I had at the site on Friday and related legal issues.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d tell me what’s going on.”
She told him about her Suburban being stolen, and then her suspicion that someone threatened her from the blackberries. She sipped her wine and then broached the first topic she wanted his opinion on. “I called the police for help, but my report wasn’t taken seriously. Then I became the focus of the investigation.”
“Not taking the victim seriously happens all
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