first time he’d laughed since his father got arrested.
His laughter died when he heard someone call his name. Zach Turner stood at the edge of the court, his arms folded, his mouth set in a fearsome scowl.
EIGHTEEN
After two weeks of “motherhood,” Savannah was ready to pull her hair out. How could one teenage boy create so much havoc? If he was this big a pain at fourteen, imagine how he’d be at sixteen.
Of course, she admitted, she was part of the problem at times. From the first day when she discovered he’d left the house, assumed he’d run away, and called the sheriff’s office for help, to today when, in a hormonal snit, she’d yelled at him for leaving the seat up in the bathroom, she had done her share of making matters worse. She was supposed to be the grown-up in this relationship, but sometimes she’d acted ten years old to his fourteen. Getting her feelings hurt because he didn’t like her ginger cookies was just plain stupid, and so what if the one time she’d seen him engaged and open was while talking about basketball with Gabi Romano? She should be glad for every non-juvenile-delinquent moment she got! Instead, she snapped at him, he stormed out, and then she spent the rest of the day fretting.
The phone rang, and she picked it up without checking caller ID. “Heavenscents.”
“Hello, dear,” Celeste said. “Have I called at a bad time?”
“Not at all. Business has been slow today. I admit it worries me a little bit. August is supposed to be the height of tourist season.”
“You’ll have days like this going forward. The key is to remember that the sun always rises on a new day.”
That rather cryptic comment caused Savannah a modicum of concern. Why did she think Celeste might be talking about something other than walk-in customers?
She knew, of course, and she couldn’t hold back a sigh as she asked, “What has he done now?”
“TJ is such a troubled boy. My heart truly breaks for him.”
“Celeste, what did he do?”
“He is quite inventive, you realize. Has a bright, creative mind. He simply must learn how to channel all that creativity—without a can of spray paint.”
Oh dear.
“Some graffiti artists are true artists. Coming from the city like TJ does, it’s not surprising that he turns to that outlet for some of his anger.”
Anger? I’ll show him anger. “Where is he?”
“He’s at Angel’s Rest, dear. He decided to decorate Cougar’s Lair cottage. I’m afraid that my spa manager spied him in the act and called the sheriff’s office. Zach is here.”
Savannah closed her eyes. “I’ll be right there.”
Zach was pissed enough to chew the bark off a Ponderosa pine. The little dipstick had gone too far this time. It wasn’t simply the fact that TJ had defaced Angel’s Rest. What he’d painted was beyond inappropriate. Savannah was gonna blow a gasket.
He stared at the cottage wall and considered the state of his own gaskets. In all his years in law enforcement, he’d never been tempted to use the power of his office as payback … until today. Cam Murphy and Mac Timberlake had already been by to take a gander. He figured Callahan and Rafferty weren’t far behind. At least Davenport was out of town. Zach would be hearing about this all winter long.
A male figure sat in the image of the claw-foot bathtub now painted across the long side of the dark red, Victorian style cottage. You couldn’t tell by the face that the guy was meant to be him, but the badge painted on the naked chest made it clear. Soap bubbles floated on the air all around him, and a cartoon speech balloon read, “Hey, Peach, want me to soap your fuzz?”
Zach turned a fierce, narrow-eyed glare on the unrepentant little hoodlum as the Angel’s Rest caretaker arrived with the supplies Zach had requested. “These are my last two gallons of the red, Sheriff,” the man said. “Should be enough to paint the wall unless those neon colors bleed through.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s been over a year since I painted this cabin. Could be that a fresh coat on this wall will stick out like a sore thumb.”
“If that’s the case, TJ will repaint the entire cottage. He’ll also replace the paint he uses today.”
TJ smartly chose to keep quiet as the caretaker unloaded a paint tray, roller, paintbrush, and rags from the back of the utility vehicle. Only after the man drove off did TJ quip, “Just call me Tom