“I know, I know.” Isabel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just buying a house feels so permanent.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Lynda asked, leaning against the counter. “You bought the bookstore. That’s pretty permanent, too.”
Isabel smiled softly. “The bookstore was different. It felt right from the moment I walked back in. But a house...” She trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. “James and I lived in our home for forty-three years. We picked out every paint color together and planted an oak tree in the front yard when we first moved in. I still remember him standing on a ladder to hang the porch swing.”
Lynda reached over to squeeze her hand. “What would your perfect house look like in Sapphire Bay?”
Isabel’s eyes drifted to the large window overlooking the street. “Something with character. Not too big—I don’t need a lot of space anymore. But it has to have a small garden where I can grow herbs and flowers, and a veranda where I can sit in the evenings.” She smiled wistfully. “James always said Sapphire Bay would be a great place to retire. He wanted tolive somewhere that was quiet, where we could walk to town for coffee, and wave to our neighbors.”
“Margaret’s house has all of that,” Lynda pointed out gently.
“I know. That’s what makes it so hard. It feels like I’d be creating a life James should have been part of.” Isabel straightened a stack of bookmarks on the counter. “It’s silly, I suppose. He’d probably tell me to stop overthinking it and just have a look.”
Lynda’s expression softened. “It sounds like he never changed. From the few times we met, he always seemed super practical.”
“He was.” Isabel smiled at the memory. “Forty-two years in law enforcement gave him a very no-nonsense approach to decision-making. But he was also surprisingly sentimental about the smallest things. He kept every anniversary card I gave him in a box in his closet. I found them after he died.”
Isabel checked the time. It was only eleven thirty. Hopefully, Frank was working in his office and not near the lake.
To take her mind off the time, she looked across at Lynda. “Do you ever see your ex-husband? You don’t often talk about Ray.”
Lynda’s hands stilled on the book she was holding. “Not if I can help it,” she said with a dry laugh. “Though it’s harder to avoid him now that our daughter has children. We see each other at birthdays and holidays, but we keep it civil for Amy’s sake.”
“Was it difficult? Moving on after the divorce?”
Lynda seemed to consider her question carefully. “Yes and no. The end was so ugly that I felt more relieved than anything else when it was finally over. But starting over at fifty-two wasn’t easy. Dating was a nightmare, and I never want to do that again.” She gave Isabel a knowing look. “Speaking of which, how are things with Frank?”
Isabel felt heat rise to her cheeks. “We’re friends, Lynda.”
“Friends who have dinner together at least twice a week and text each other daily?”
“We have a lot in common,” Isabel protested mildly. “And Tommy is such a wonderful boy.”
Lynda’s expression grew more serious. “Have you talked to him about the man at the diner?”
Isabel nodded. She busied herself arranging a display of bookmarks, choosing her words with deliberate care. It was hard enough worrying about where Frank was, but having to keep information from her friend was just as bad. “Frank seemed concerned about Dave being here.”
“Concerned how?” Lynda pressed.
Isabel met her gaze. “Enough that he warned me to be careful around him. I don’t think Dave came for a friendly visit.” She hesitated, then added, “But that’s really all I know.”
Lynda studied her for a moment. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Izzy. I’ve seen that look in your eyes before—you want to help him, fix whatever’s broken. But sometimes people can’t be helped, not without losing a part of yourself.”
“I’m not rushing into anything,” Isabel assured her. “I’m just... being there if he needs someone to talk to.” She smiled gently. “We’ve all weathered enough storms to recognize when someone else is in the middle of one.”
The bell above the door chimed, and they both looked up to see a young mother struggling with a stroller. Isabel smiled and moved toward the entrance, grateful that the conversation about Frank was over.
“Welcome to Bookstore on the Bay,” she said with more cheerfulness than she felt. “Can I help you find something?”
As she guided the young woman toward the children’s section, Isabel caught Lynda watching her. She knew her friends were worried about her.
This time, they had a reason to be concerned.
CHAPTER 28
Frank arrived at the boat launch ten minutes early, parking his truck where he could watch the approach from both directions. Old habits died hard—especially ones formed during decades of high-stakes corporate litigation.
William sat beside him in the passenger seat, talking to another special agent on the phone. When he ended the call, he turned to Frank. “If Dave sent the message, are you sure you want to meet him here? We could still call it off, set up something more official.”
