Page 23 of Finding Home

He pulled out his phone and called his brother.

James picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Cole. I was wondering when you’d surface.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“That’s the problem. You’re always busy.” James’s voice held the ease of a man who had a great job, a wonderful wife, and very few issues. “How’s the Montana project going?”

Cole glanced at the photo. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Someone damaged the construction equipment a few weeks ago. They put sugar in the fuel tanks and cut the hydraulic lines. It cost us a lot of time and money.” Cole studied the joy on his granddad’s face. “And then last week, a fire destroyed the large storage shed.”

Silence came from the other end of the phone. “Was it arson?”

“That’s what the sheriff thinks. A former journalist who’s living in Sapphire Bay is helping me find who’s responsible. She’s been interviewing anyone in town who’s been associated with the project.”

“Shouldn’t you be leaving that to the sheriff?”

“In a perfect world, yes,” Cole told his brother. “But the police department is understaffed. We’re sharing everything we find with them.”

“As long as you don’t get hurt.”

Cole looked at the photo of his granddad and brother. Getting hurt when they were younger meant scraped knees or a broken bone. If the people responsible for the sabotage were determined to stop the development, the outcome could be more serious than needing a Band-Aid or a sling.

James cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

Cole frowned. “I’m fine.”

“You said that when you had your heart attack. You aren’t overdoing things in Montana, are you?”

“I’m fine, James.” But even as he said it, Cole recognized the hollowness of his words. He was tired in ways that had nothing to do with sleep. The fire had rattled something in him. Not his resolve, but his certainty that everything would sort itself out the way his projects always had.

“I’m at Granddad’s cabin,” Cole told his brother.

Another pause. “I was wondering if you’d go there. Was the key in the same place?”

Cole turned the skeleton key over in his hand. “It was. The cabin needs work. The stove looks okay, but the weatherstripping is shot and something got into the loft at some point. Squirrels, probably.”

James laughed. “Do you remember the baby squirrel we found in the kindling box? When you told Granddad you were taking it home, we both got a lecture about not having wild creatures as pets.”

It had broken Cole’s heart not to look after the squirrel. It wasn’t until their mom promised to take it to a local wildlife center that Cole felt better. “I found the photo. The one from our last fishing trip with Dad and Granddad.”

“I haven’t seen that in years,” James said softly.

Cole picked up the frame and studied the joy on each of their faces. “I’ll send a copy of it to you.”

“Thanks.” James paused. “Granddad would have liked your latest project. You’re building something lasting in a place that matters to you. That would have made sense to him.”

Cole nodded and set the key on the table beside the photograph.

Through the nearest window, a branch swayed against the glass. Cole watched its slow, unhurried contact. Everything here seemed to move at that pace. The lake, the light, and even the seasons seemed to arrive without urgency.

“How’s Diane?” he asked.

“She’s good. The kids are—” James stopped abruptly. Cole heard his name spoken in the background, a woman’s voice, distinct and immediate. “Hold on a second.” A muffled exchange, too low to decipher, then James came back. “Hey, I have to go. Diane needs me for something. You know how it is.”

Cole looked at the photograph. “Sure.”