“It’s not a coincidence,” she said.

“Stick with the locked doors for the time being, all right?”

“And look over my shoulder a lot?” she asked.

“Look, Grace, when those notes were originally sent by your stalker he had a plan that put you in jeopardy. He hasn’t delivered this note. Do you have any reason to believe anyone means you harm?”

She thought for a moment before she shook her head.

“I think it’s mean, doing that to you. I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll watch the shop when I’m in town. I’ll tell the other deputies to watch. But it just doesn’t follow that whoever did this wants to hurt you.”

“Of course you’re right,” she said. “But someone did do it to scare me. I can’t imagine why.”

“That’s the mystery, isn’t it?” he said. “You going to be all right?”

She shrugged. “I guess. I’m not going to let something like this beat me. It really pisses me off.”

“Good. It should. Call me if anything happens that worries you. Anything at all.”

“Thanks, Seth. I understand there’s nothing much more that can be done. I appreciate the time you put into this.”

He touched his forehead in a salute. “We’ll be on duty, Grace.”

When he left, she stepped out onto the sidewalk behind him. It was a sunny early April day, but the front of the shop wasn’t as exciting as usual. She hadn’t put out her sidewalk displays because some asshole had forced her in behind locked doors with a stupid little note. She turned, stomped back into the shop and dragged out her big wooden bunny for Easter. She cranked out her awning. Next, she pulled out a wicker basket filled with plastic daffodils and a sign that read Spring Sale! Then she unpacked her yellow, pink, mint-green and pale blue banner that read Easter Flowers! Order Now! She fixed it over the door. And finally she tore off the note over the doorbell.

Seth was right, she thought. It’s mean and creepy but it’s not an open threat. She would be cautious and safe. She refused to be insanely paranoid. If anyone crazy came at her, she’d beat him over the head with her ceramic tulip sculpture.

However, she did keep the back door locked, just to be sure.

* * *

Ray Anne painted her second bedroom, bought new linens for the bed and reupholstered the window cornices with matching fabric. She did it all herself, as she always had. Although she knew every handyman within a hundred-mile radius, she was also adept at home repairs and decorating. She knew how to hang wallpaper, install crown molding, replace wallboard and a dozen other things. In preparation for Ginger’s arrival, she removed all her clothes, shoes and purses from the closet in the guest room—she had used it for her overflow wardrobe.

There was a small bath and shower in her bedroom and a larger bathroom with tub and shower beside the guest room. She cleaned under the sink and stocked it with bath gels, bubble bath, scented soaps, lotions and sponges. She put candles on the back of the commode and on the side of the tub.

She was nervous as a cat, waiting for her Gingersnap. She didn’t know how she could help her get beyond this dark patch. How does anyone get past it? Poor Al had spent over thirty years trying to move beyond the death of his own baby son.

“I must have held on to that pain as stubbornly as an old bull,” Al told her.

Ginger was driving down from Portland on Monday. At noon she still hadn’t arrived and Ray Anne started to worry. She called her cousin and Dickie said she’d gotten an early start and should be there. Ginger didn’t answer her cell phone when her father called or when Ray Anne called. At two, just about the time Ray Anne was thinking of asking Seth to check with the state troopers to see if there’d been any accidents, Ginger pulled up in front of Ray Anne’s little house.

Ray Anne had seen Ginger four times in the months since the baby died. She hadn’t been looking good then. She wasn’t looking any better now. As Ray Anne walked toward Ginger, who was pulling her suitcase out of the trunk, she thought perhaps the girl was steadily deteriorating. She was far too thin, that was obvious even while she wore her coat. She was pale under her freckled complexion and her expression had become permanently downcast. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail; the beautiful strawberry blonde locks had gone dull and dark. She obviously hadn’t done a thing to it in months.

“There you are!” Ray Anne said cheerily. “I was starting to get worried!”

“I stopped to look at the ocean,” Ginger said.

“Well, of course! I should have thought of that! But now you’re here, let’s get your things inside.”

“I’ve got it,” Ginger said, snapping up the pull handle.

“Is that all you’ve got? One bag?”

“It’s all I need,” she said.

“Well, I guess you’ll be doing laundry then. Come on, let’s get you settled.” Ray Anne took the handle of the suitcase and pulled it up the walk and into the house. “I cleaned out the guest room and the bathroom, so it’s all yours. I put some pampering things in there for you—soaps, lotions, candles. Did you bring a hair dryer?”

“I don’t need one.”

No wonder her hair was so flat and thin looking. She must be washing it and letting it dry any which way. And she wasn’t using any product! “We can share mine. Or maybe we’ll get you a new one.”

“Really. I’m fine.”

“Right in here,” Ray Anne said briskly, pulling the suitcase into the newly painted and decorated bedroom. “Voilà!” she said, throwing an arm wide to showcase her decorating.

“Thanks,” Ginger said, not noticing how pretty it was. “I’ll just lay down for a while.”

“No, ma’am,” Ray Anne said, lifting the suitcase onto the bed. “We’re going to unpack, hang and put away your clothes.” She unzipped the suitcase and found the items inside had shifted because it wasn’t even full. Or maybe they hadn’t and Ginger had just haphazardly tossed them inside. She lifted out the first pair of wrinkled jeans. Then a second. Then a long-sleeved T-shirt. Then an old sweatshirt that she might have used when she painted something...years ago. And her underwear—pathetic.

“Oh, brother,” Ray Anne muttered.

Ginger just sat on the bed. She didn’t respond.