Homeplace by Joann Ross Page B

residents considered the tradeoff worthwhile.
    Coldwater Cove, originally founded a century ago by a Swedish lumberjack, remained a town of Nordic cleanliness, where shop owners still swept the sidewalks each morning and the streets were as clean as a Swedish kitchen. There was one theater, and churches outnumbered taverns three to one. The crack of Little League bats could be heard on Saturday mornings, the chime of church bells on Sunday.
    She paused at the only stoplight in town where a wide, grassy town square at the end of Harbor Street served as the centerpiece of the town. A fountain bubbled at one end of the green; a horseshoe pit claimed the other. A clock tower, made of a red brick that had weathered to a dusty pink over the century, could be seen for miles. Raine wondered if each of the four sides of the clock still told a different time, and suspected, given the way the town seemed frozen in time, they probably did.
    “We’ve just received an update concerning the ongoing crisis in Coldwater Cove,” the male voice announced as she continued through town. “Stay tuned for the latest development following this word from Timberland Bank, neighbors serving the Puget Sound community for fifty years.”
    Raine dove forward and began twisting the dial. Having no doubt what the crisis referred to, she didn’t have the patience to listen to a commercial pitching debt-consolidation loans.
    After skimming through various country, jazz, religious, rock, and oldies stations, she gave up and returned to K-SOUND— More News, Less Chitchat .
    “How about less commercials?” she suggested acidly as the bank commercial segued into one for a franchise fish restaurant, then a break for station identification. Then, finally! The news update she’d been waiting for.
    “This is Patrick Christopher, with an update on the crisis in Coldwater Cove. Sources tell us that fire trucks from neighboring Port Townsend and Port Angeles have been dispatched to the Lindstrom residence. Although the weather has grounded K-SOUND’s Eye in the Sky , we have our pilot, Captain Jim, in the newsroom, monitoring the situation…. Jim, what are you hearing from your sources?”
    “Well, Patrick, there have been several confirmed reports of smoke coming from inside the house. We’ve been told that whatever fire may have been started seems to be under control at this time. Although that hasn’t been confirmed by either Sheriff O’Halloran or any involved fire personnel.”
    “A fire?” Raine echoed, her blood going even colder than the rain lashing against the car.
    “What about the three delinquent girls, Jim? Have you received any word regarding them?”
    “Something’s coming in now, Patrick. If you’ll just wait a minute…” There was a moment of dead air. “Yes, the sheriff has reported that all three girls escaped the house unharmed.”
    Raine let out a long breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding.
    “Any word regarding a possible cause of the fire, Captain Jim?”
    “Nothing’s been confirmed as yet. But speculation seems to be that the police may have grown tired of waiting for the girls to surrender their standoff and shot an incendiary device into the house to smoke them out.”
    “A bomb?” Raine shouted at the radio. “He bombed three teenage girls?” The sheriff was going to pay for this, she vowed. She was going to keep the hick Lone Ranger wannabe in court until doomsday.
    “Thank you, Captain Jim,” the voice on the radio was saying. “Of course we’ll keep you informed on further word regarding this potentially dangerous situation. Meanwhile, this is Patrick Christopher, K-SOUND Radio, returning to our weekly Focus on State Government with moderator Jane Kendall, in progress.”
    By the time she reached her grandmother’s house, Raine was fuming, scheming the legal revenge that would not only cost the sheriff his job and whatever good reputation he may have inherited from his father, but everything he