"You bet," she said, smiling. It was a joke that Belle said every time Love came to see Clint. "Let me know if you see my granddaughter."

"I'm on the case," she said, turning her eyes back on her three young customers. "Hey, girlies, if you ain't going to buy, quit fondling the sh.e.l.ls."

Love walked around to the side of the building and up the wooden steps. She could have gone up to his office without checking with Belle, but the older woman loved being asked. That too was one of the things about living in a small town. Everyone put up with everyone else's eccentricities. It made a person slow down, whether they wanted to or not. There's an idea for a column, she thought. The things that slow us down in life-good and bad. She could take a photo of something to do with a stop sign. Stop signs were great to photograph, the more beat up, the better.

She walked into the small foyer that held a metal secretary desk. It was tidy as a doctor's exam room. Clint actually had five part-time employees, but none of them worked on Sat.u.r.day.

"Clint?" she called out. His office door was closed, but through the pebbled gla.s.s door she could see the lights were on.

"Come on in," he called out.

He came around the wide oak executive desk when she opened the door. As always, his smile was genuine, and she started to feel herself relax. He was the kind of person who, the minute he walked in the room, made things feel calmer, like someone sprinkled the air with magical peace dust. She wondered if it was his years as a judge that gave him that sort of psychic power.

"It's good to see you, Love," he said, gesturing to a padded visitor's chair. "How's Rett feeling?"

"Fine," she said, taking a seat. "Physically, anyway. It might have just been a bit of travel fatigue. She seemed to get over it quick enough."

He took the other visitor's chair, scooting it around so they faced each other. His silver-streaked hair needed a trim, something that he said he never seemed to find time to do now that he was retired. His face, tanned and lined, had the look of someone who enjoyed the sun and didn't use sunscreen as much as he should. It made his light gray eyes look almost spooky, like the eerie, all-seeing eyes of an Australian shepherd. Love could imagine what power that gaze had on anyone standing before his bench. Final judgment eyes, Magnolia called them.

"Ah, the resilience of youth," Clint said, his eyes slitting with humor. "My own little whirlwind of mayhem went back home this morning. My potato chips are safe for the time being."

Love smiled. "Admit it. You miss him like crazy. He's a sweet boy, Clint."

"No thanks to me," he said lightly, grinning at her. "His mother was a saint."

Then it suddenly hit her. Garth's payment for his home visit. "Oh, Clint, I'm so sorry. I forgot to make Garth his cupcakes."

"No problem," he said. "He and I both knew you were a little distracted. We'll take a rain check. Trust me, he'll be back. Now, what can I do for you?"

"It is about Rett. She's . . ." She felt her neck start to get warm. For some reason, this was starting to be embarra.s.sing. The thought of spilling her family's messy background in front of this man she admired and liked made her feel like running out the door. "This is a little embarra.s.sing . . ."

Clint leaned over and took her hand, placing his on top of it the same way Rocky did when he wanted to comfort one of his flock. "Love, this is your old pal, Clint. Nothing you tell me can shock me or make me think any less of you."

"I'm not so sure about that. But I need some advice quick. My granddaughter has . . ." She almost said borrowed. "Oh, for Pete's sake, she stole a young man's banjo. A man who she had a relationship with, and they had a quarrel . . ." Oh, well, in for a penny. "They broke up because he was also having a relationship with my oldest granddaughter, Patsy, who is now pregnant. Patsy, that is, not Rett. Rett took this boy's-man's-banjo and hitchhiked here from Knoxville. He followed her and wants it back. He's threatening to go to the police. She took off before he came to my house, and I managed to convince him to wait until six this evening before doing that. Right now, I don't know exactly where she is. Magnolia's tracking her down. I'm afraid my granddaughter will go to jail, and I don't know what to do."

True to his judge training, Clint waited a long, thoughtful moment before answering. "Dale is this boy's name?"

She nodded.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-six."

"How old is your granddaughter?"

She put both hands on her jittery thighs. "I know where this is going. Yes, she was underage when he was seeing her. I've tried that card already. That's why he's waiting until six before going to the cops while I try to find her. She's eighteen now, so I'm not sure what the law is on that, but that doesn't change that she stole his banjo."

He nodded. "Yes, you're right. How much is this banjo worth?"

She looked down at her hands clenching her thighs. "Twenty-five thousand."

Clint let out a low whistle and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his wrinkled khakis.

"It's not good, is it?"

Clint pressed his lips together, his brow furrowed. "No, it's not. That makes it grand theft. Crossing a state line makes it even worse. The sooner we can find her and convince her to give him back his banjo, the better."

"And if she doesn't, and he goes to the police?"

He stood up, running his hands down the sides of his slacks. "Let's not worry about that yet. Let's find her and see if we can talk her into being sensible. I'm guessing this young man would just as soon not have the police involved. He's not exactly squeaky clean."

"Okay," she said, feeling both helpless and relieved. If there was trouble, Clint Lawhead was someone you wanted to have on your side. Rett had no idea how lucky she was that Love had so many friends here in Morro Bay willing to help them.

"I'll get back in the car and start looking for her," she said.

"Good idea. Let me know as soon as you find her. I'll do some checking on my own. What's this guy's last name?"

She felt like groaning again. "I don't know. I didn't even think to ask."

"Where's he staying?"

"Holiday Inn Express in San Celina."

"I'll make some calls. I should be able to find out his name, and then I'll see what I can find out about him."

"Thanks, Clint. I owe you-"

"February's column and some cupcakes," he finished, laughing.

"Really, thanks . . ."

He placed a finger over his lips. "Shhh. Not a bother. Go find your fugitive granddaughter."

She was driving down Main Street on her way to the highway, thinking that maybe Rett was trying to hitchhike out of town, when her cell phone rang. She pulled over and answered it on the fourth ring, right before it went to voice mail.

"h.e.l.lo, Magnolia? Did you find Rett?"

"It's Mel. Don't you look at your screen before you answer?"

She slumped back in the seat. "I usually do, but I wasn't paying attention. I'm a bit frazzled right now. Rett's run off-"

"She's fine. She's on her way back to your house. Evan's dropping her off."

"How did you . . . What did she . . . Oh, I don't even know what to ask."

"She came in here looking to hide from her pond sc.u.m of an ex-boyfriend. She told me the whole story, by the way."

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. "I was going to tell you everything, but it's been a little crazy since she arrived."

"I have the banjo. It's locked in a closet at the feed store. What are you planning on doing?"

"I talked to Clint, and things are a little more complicated than I thought. Apparently the instrument is worth quite a bit of money."

"If I'd been her, I would have tossed it in the bay."

"Please, don't even say those words out loud! She could go to jail, Mel. We have to get that banjo back to Dale and convince him to leave, to forget this ever happened."

Mel was quiet for a moment. Love could hear her soft breathing over the phone line. "Hard to do with a baby on the way."

"Yes, it is. But first things first. We need to make sure that Rett is out of trouble, then we can worry about the baby."

"Your first great-grandchild."

Love lifted her head and looked through the windshield. She could see the old Bay Theater, just recently renovated by its new owner. A quiet, solitary few hours watching a movie sure sounded good right now. "You know, that didn't even occur to me until you said it. Makes me feel . . ."

"Old?" Mel laughed.

She paused a moment, then said, "Yes, but more sad. Cy would have been so excited."

Mel was quiet for a moment. "Yeah."

"Oh, Mel, I miss him so much."

"Me too."

She straightened her spine. There was no time to fall into a funk. "Okay, thanks for helping. I'll let you know when we need the banjo. Guess I'll see you at the lighted boat parade tonight."

"You bet."

When she arrived home, there was no sign of Rett. But as she was opening the side door that led to the kitchen, she heard Ace's excited barking. She looked out the kitchen window and saw Rett tossing a ball to him on the small patch of backyard gra.s.s. She set her purse down and walked out on the deck.

"Hey," Rett said, looking up at her.

"Hey," Love replied. She watched them play for a while, wanting to put off as much as Rett did the discussion they needed to have. A few minutes pa.s.sed. "Rett, you know we have to talk."

Rett picked up the tennis ball and bounced it up and down in her hand. Ace sat her feet, his dark eyes boring a hole into the bright yellow ball. She tossed it, laughing as he scampered across the yard. Then she turned to Love, her smile falling away when she saw Love's sober expression. "Yeah, I know."

Love went back inside the house. A few seconds later, Rett followed, Ace at her heels.

"Let's sit down at the kitchen table," Love said. "I'll make some tea."

Rett shrugged and pulled out a kitchen chair, flopping down in it, att.i.tude sticking out of her like p.r.i.c.kles on a desert pear.

Love started talking as she filled the kettle with water, figuring it would be easier if they weren't just staring across the table at each other. "Dale came by. He's quite angry."

"He can join the party," she said bitterly.

She nodded, acknowledging that Rett had a reason to be mad. "As hurt as you are-"

"I'm not hurt; I'm p.i.s.sed," she interrupted.

"Okay," Love said, turning on the stove and setting the kettle on the burner. "Duly noted. And with good reason. Nevertheless, you being angry at something he did . . ." She paused and added, "Something really, really cruel, doesn't make it right for you to steal his property." She grabbed two mugs from the tree and put a tea bag in each one.

"Doesn't the Bible say an eye for an eye? That's what I'm doing. He hurt me, so I'm gonna hurt him. I ought to just chop up that banjo in little pieces and see how he likes that."

Love was thankful that the banjo was safely in Mel's hands. "First, that saying is taken out of context almost all the time. Jesus actually says in Matthew that-"

Rett glared at her. "Yeah, yeah, that we're not supposed to actually try to get back at someone who wronged us, but that we're supposed to turn the other cheek."

Love raised her eyebrows, surprised.

"I spent, like, my whole life in Baptist churches. Some of it rubbed off."

"Then I don't need to remind you that we're supposed to love our enemies, forgive what they do to us."

Her pale blue eyes turned sly. "Like you have my mom?"

Love turned away, her heart beating double time. Her first thought was, You little brat. Then she had to admit . . . Rett was right. She'd never really forgiven Karla and, to be truthful, she wasn't sure she wanted to even now. She kept her back to Rett, wishing for a split second that her granddaughter had never showed up at her door. It was hard enough missing Cy, trying to learn how to make a life without him. He'd been gone only a little more than a year. It still felt like one of her arms was missing. And it was hard enough trying to figure out what she should do with August and his obvious descent into dementia, how she could help him and Polly stay at the ranch. Not to mention her friends and the life she had here, the daily problems of just being part of a community. Her eyes itched with the desire to cry. She swallowed hard, tasting bitter salt. She didn't need a smart-mouthed teenager on top of all that. She just didn't.

"Where is Dale now?" Rett said.

Love turned around and frowned at her. Rett was sharp enough to know when to let something go. The issue of Karla and Love would no doubt come up again someday . . . if Rett stuck around.

"He's at the Holiday Inn Express in San Celina," Love said. "I convinced him to wait until six p.m. before he called the police. I think you need to talk to him." She set the sugar bowl in the middle of the table.

Rett contemplated the information. "You know what? I will." She went to the wall phone, dialed a number from heart. She waited, obviously getting his voice mail. Where was he that he couldn't answer his cell phone?

"Dale Bailey, this is your old pal, Rett Johnson. Y'all better leave me and my grandma the heck alone, or I'll throw your precious banjo in the ocean and see how well it can surf. And you know I'll do it too. You call the police, and I swear I'll tell them you and I were doing it when I was fourteen. No, make that twelve, you lyin', cheatin' water moccasin." She set the phone down in the cradle and smiled at Love. "He didn't pick up, but I left a message."

Love tried not to show the dismay that permeated her body like a super virus. "Well, that's not likely to be much help," she eventually managed to get out. She definitely needed to talk to Clint again. And maybe Rocky. Both legal and spiritual intervention was, no doubt, going to be required.

"He'll back off for a little while," Rett said. "I'm going to take a shower. Aren't we going somewhere tonight?" She looked much too happy for someone who would possibly be going to jail by nightfall.

"The lighted boat parade," Love said, trying to erase the mental picture of Rett's thin body in a baggy orange jumpsuit. Her granddaughter's constant bouncing between confidence and despair was beginning to wear on Love. Sometimes Rett seemed like a ten-year-old and sometimes she seemed like she was forty. "We watch it from the Embarcadero."

"Cool," she said, smiling. "What time do we leave?"

EIGHTEEN.

Mel Hey, Mel, get a shot of this!"