Debbie Macomber - 6 Rainier Drive

Seth stood at her side and Robert Beckman, the insurance claims adjuster, was with them. He made notes on a clipboard as they surveyed the site together. Leif, thank goodness, was in preschool. As much as she could, Justine wanted to protect her son from all this.

Her panic attack the week before had shaken her. She hadn’t told Seth about meeting Warren. There seemed no reason to do so. Knowing she’d been anywhere close to the other man would only upset him, although her husband had nothing to worry about. Her love for Seth and their family was rocksolid. Warren had been kind to her, and for that she was grateful. He’d asked her to join him for lunch; she’d declined and hadn’t talked to him since.

“How much longer will the investigation take?” Seth asked, keeping pace with the adjuster.

Justine wrapped her hand around his arm in silent entreaty. Seth was still bitter and impatient, yearning to move forward after the fire and resentful of every delay. Already he was talking about rebuilding, eager to get their business and their lives back on track. More than eager, he’d become obsessive. Every drawback, every question, frustrated him. He couldn’t sleep and the stress had begun to affect his emotional health.

“I know it seems to be taking a long time,” Robert said in a soothing voice. “But—”

“It’s already been over two weeks,” Seth snapped. “What else is there to investigate?”

“You’ll have to forgive my husband, Mr. Beckman,” Justine said quietly. “As you can imagine, this fire has been very difficult for us.”

“I completely understand,” the older man assured her. “As I was saying, I know it seems like a long time, but I do promise you that we’re working as quickly and efficiently as we can.”

“I didn’t mean to snap.” Seth gave a helpless shrug. “It’s just that every day we’re not open for business we lose customers and staff.” Word had come that morning that their head waiter had taken a job in Tacoma. Dion wouldn’t be easily replaced. It was inevitable that the rest of their staff would find other employment, as well. No one could go without a paycheck for long.

“The company recognizes that, but we can’t do anything until the fire marshal gives us an opportunity to survey the damage thoroughly. And because this is a criminal investigation, it’s simply going to require more time.”

Justine knew that Seth had made numerous phone calls to the fire marshal in an effort to get the investigation moving.

“I’ve contacted an architect,” Seth explained, and Justine barely managed to conceal her shock. She’d had no idea. “We’ve been discussing design plans,” he went on, “and I’d like to set up a construction schedule. I can’t do that until the fire marshal releases the property.”

“Well…you may have to wait a while.”

“When can we rebuild?” Seth demanded.

Robert Beckman slowly shook his head. “Since the fire appears to have been arson, the company would like to bring in a ‘Cause and Origin’ investigator.” He paused. “This is in addition to what your local people are doing.”

“What will he do?” Justine wanted to know. “Your investigator, I mean.”

“His—or her—primary purpose is to confirm the preliminary finding of arson. Our investigators do that by looking at flame patterns to see where the fire started.”

“How could anyone tell anything from a heap of ashes?” Impatience rang in Seth’s voice.

“It’s astonishing the information they can derive from the site. They’re able to distinguish exactly where the fire originated. They can determine the accelerant. Sometimes there are other clues they can find by sifting through the debris. There are certainly cases in which their investigations have led to the apprehension and conviction of arsonists. I remember one instance in which—”

“That’s all well and good, but what should I tell the architect?” Seth broke in. He ran his fingers forcefully through his hair.

Justine was horrified that Seth had already spoken to an architect and wondered when he’d done this. He’d been gone a couple of afternoons but hadn’t mentioned where he was or with whom. Nor had Justine questioned him. The truth was, it had been a relief to have him out of the house. Seth found it impossible to remain in any one place. When he was home, he stalked from room to room, unable to work at anything or even read for more than a few minutes. Unable to relax.

“Your policy covers loss of income for a year,” Robert Beckman continued, flipping a page on his clipboard. “If construction time goes over that, we can request an extension.”

“So the sooner we get started, the better, don’t you agree?” Seth asked. “For the company and for us.”

Robert gave another of his soothing replies, and unwilling to listen to any more, Justine walked across the parking lot to stand at the farthest edge, which over-looked the cove. The wind carried a briny scent on this overcast day, shrouding the pungent smell of smoke.

The view of the cove always calmed her. She absorbed that peace now, needing it to settle her pounding heart. Seth had taken matters into his own hands; without so much as talking to her, he’d held discussions with an architect. When they’d first conceived the idea of The Lighthouse, Justine had been involved in every aspect of the planning. Now Seth had excluded her.

The fire and its aftermath were so much worse than she would ever have believed. Her husband had turned into a stranger, a man Justine neither knew nor liked. The temptation to escape, to pack a suitcase and disappear, grew stronger every day. Warren had offered her the use of a summer cottage on Hood Canal. It sounded so peaceful there. Leif would love to walk along the beach, exploring, wading in the water. She could picture him now, digging for clams with his small shovel, his laughter spilling out into the wind. Not once since Leif was born had they taken a family vacation. The Lighthouse had filled every waking minute. Only in the absence of the restaurant and its demands was she beginning to see how completely it had taken over their lives.

“Justine.” Seth placed his hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her. “Everything’s going to be all right, sweetheart,” he said, his voice conciliatory.

“I know.” The fire, the destruction of the restaurant, was no longer her main concern. What worried her was the effect it’d had on her husband.

“I realize I’ve been a little cranky lately.”

She smiled and pressed her hand on top of his. To say he’d been “a little cranky” was an understatement of major proportions.

“Everything will be all right,” he said again, “once we find out who did this to us.”

“Will it?” she asked, but apparently Seth didn’t hear her because he didn’t respond.

Justine tilted her head to one side so her cheek could rest against his hand. “You’re already talking about rebuilding,” she murmured.

“Of course. I want to get started as soon as possible. Don’t you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” He laughed and seemed to assume she was joking. “We’re in the restaurant business. This is how we make our living. Unless we rebuild, we won’t have an income.”

“Yes, but…”

Her husband went still for a moment. “I can’t go back to fishing, Justine.”

Being a professional fisherman was a hard, dangerous life, and they’d agreed that Seth would give it up for good. His father had encouraged him in that decision.

“I wouldn’t want you to fish,” she said, turning so she could slip her arms around his middle. “I’m just not sure I want to be a restaurant owner anymore.”