16 Lighthouse Road (16 page)

“Are you all right?” Janet asked.

“Of course,” Charlotte insisted, but she wasn't. Her hands trembled and she felt chilled.

“I know he appreciated your friendship.”

Charlotte nodded, scrabbling inside her purse for a handkerchief to dab her eyes.

“Your visits meant the world to him.”

“It's been two weeks—I should've been here.”

“Charlotte, you couldn't possibly have known,” Janet said gently.

Charlotte knew that was true, but she couldn't squelch the feeling that she'd let Tom Harding down. Before her work with the newspaper, she'd stopped by at least once a week. Tom had been the first person to hear her initial column. She'd read it to him herself and he'd smiled and approved of her efforts. Jack Griffin, on the other hand, had taken his sharp red pencil to her work and cut away at it until she'd barely recognized it as her own. Granted, she knew she wasn't an experienced writer, certainly not a professional, but it had wounded her pride. When she'd complained to Tom, he'd given her a sympathetic look, which was just what she'd needed.

That was the last time she'd seen him.

Janet reached for her phone and called down to the kitchen for tea. Five minutes later, one of the staff carried a tray into the office.

“He was a special man,” Charlotte said, grateful for the hot, comforting tea. It helped ease the lump in her throat.

“Yes, he was,” Janet agreed.

“What should I do now?” Charlotte asked.

Janet stared at her blankly.

“With the key? Remember he gave me the key to that storage unit?”

Janet frowned. “I guess the state will want it. You'd better return it as soon as you can.”

J
ack Griffin was strongly attracted to Olivia Lockhart, and that wasn't a good sign. Oh, hell, maybe it was. Still, pursuing this attraction meant losing emotional independence, and he wasn't sure he liked that. He couldn't help it, though—he found himself making excuses to talk to her. To learn more about her.

After the fiasco of their first date, he hadn't made a point of asking her out again. Mostly, he was afraid she'd turn him down flat and, frankly, he wouldn't blame her. He didn't want to give her any opportunity to reject him. Instead, he made excuses to be around her.

Jack Griffin spent many more hours at the courthouse than his job required. Plus, he made sure he was in the Safeway store every Saturday morning on the off-chance that he might run into her again. He had two or three times, and they'd ended up having coffee. Damn, but he liked her. Judge
Lockhart was down-to-earth, smart and sexy. What got him, what
really
got him, was that she didn't seem to know it.

Friday afternoon, on his way home, Jack stopped at the dry cleaner. He rushed from the parking lot through the pulsing rain, cursing the foul weather under his breath. The skies had been a depressing lead-gray all week, with intermittent showers. The only bright spot on the horizon—so to speak—was a story he was writing about the Annual Seagull Calling Contest, being held that night.

He raced into the dry cleaner and nearly collided with Olivia. The shock of seeing her destroyed any chance of being clever. Her name was all he could manage. “Olivia.”

Her smile was infectious. “Don't look so surprised. I do get my clothes cleaned regularly, you know.” Her purse sat open on the counter.

“Me, too.” Now that was brilliant. He nearly rolled his eyes. With other women he was a witty conversationalist, but Olivia unnerved him.

Duck-Hwan Hyo, who'd come from Korea in the 1960s, owned the dry cleaning shop. Jack had written an article about Duck-Hwan soon after he'd started as editor, impressed by the hardworking immigrant family. As soon as Duck-Hwan saw Jack, he rushed to give him the fastest possible service, in the process ignoring Olivia.

Jack felt he should explain.

“Don't worry,” she assured him, “I'm in no hurry.”

Friday night and in no hurry. Jack reached for his wallet and paid his bill, the whole time wondering if Olivia's response was her way of telling him she didn't have any plans
for the evening. It almost seemed she was
hinting
that he should ask her out. Could that really be the case?

With the hanger for his dry cleaning hooked around his index finger, he waited for Olivia.

“You mean you're not going to the high-school theater?” Jack had figured that a good portion of the town would be turning up for the event.

“The Seagull Calling Contest is tonight?”

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Would you like to go? With me?” He clarified his question so she wouldn't just assume he had an extra ticket he was willing to pass along.

“Sure,” she said, agreeing instantly.

Jack was tempted to ask if she was sure, especially after their last date, then decided not to sabotage his good luck. “Great,” he said. “That's terrific.”

“I've waited a long time for you to ask me out again,” Olivia said casually, walking toward the door. “What time should I be ready?”

She was joking, she had to be, but rather than leap up and click his heels in sheer jubilation, Jack merely checked his watch. “Is an hour too soon?”

“It's perfect.”

Since he'd been lucky once, he was willing to try for twice. “How about dinner afterward?”

“The Taco Shack?”

He could see she was teasing him, but he let it pass. “If you want. Otherwise I suggest D.D.'s on the Cove or The Captain's Galley.”

“Hey, I'm coming up in the world,” she said with a laugh. “I'll let you decide.”

What Olivia didn't know, because he didn't quite have the guts to tell her, was that dinner at local restaurants, including the more upscale places, was in exchange for advertising. The newspaper often traded advertising space for a restaurant credit; being able to take advantage of that was one of the perks that came with his job. The Taco Shack, for instance, owed the newspaper several hundred dollars and there were only so many tacos Jack could eat all by himself.

They parted outside the dry cleaner, and Jack hurried to his old Taurus, his step lighter than it'd been in months. Years.

Forty-five minutes later, he'd showered, changed clothes, cleaned out his car and was driving to Olivia's. She was ready, dressed in jeans and a hand-knit sweater and didn't bother with an umbrella. This was something he'd noticed living in the Pacific Northwest. Few people carried umbrellas. Anyone who did was automatically tagged as a tourist.

By the time they arrived at the high-school auditorium, the place was packed. Because he was with the newspaper, a pair of front-row seats had been saved for him.

No sooner had they settled down than Roy and Corrie McAfee walked over. Jack knew the couple from an article he'd written earlier in the year. Roy was a retired Seattle policeman who'd started his own detective agency; his background and experience made him a much sought-after private investigator. His wife ran the office and worked as his assistant. Roy and Jack had hit it off and gotten together a couple of times after that. Roy was an ardent hiker and Jack, who'd never been much of an outdoorsman, wanted to give it a try.

Roy reacted immediately to the fact that Olivia was with Jack.

“Hey, Judge, what are you doing with the likes of Griffin?” he teased her.

“Having a great time. Hello, Roy. Corrie.”

Corrie took the empty seat beside Olivia, and Roy claimed the single one next to Jack. Before long, the two women were involved in a discussion of some sort, and Roy was talking to Jack about state politics. This wasn't exactly how Jack had pictured the evening, but on second thought it took the pressure off him to be a brilliant conversationalist.

Just as Mayor Benson walked onto the stage, Olivia leaned toward Jack and whispered, “Is it okay if Roy and Corrie join us for dinner?”

Jack hesitated. “Is it okay with you?”

“I don't mind if you don't.”

Apparently she didn't, because she leaned close to her friend and he watched Corrie nod.

As he suspected, the evening's competition was entertaining. Jack learned that it had begun as a way to bring some laughter to a wet, gray spring. The contest had been going for a number of years. The rules were simple: Young and old did their utmost to sound like the cantankerous seagulls that populated Cedar Cove. Jack laughed, shouted, cheered and booed with the rest of the audience.

The winner, a fourteen-year-old boy, astonished everyone with his mimicry and won easily. Jack and Olivia walked close together as they filed out of the auditorium. He placed his hand protectively on her back—and wished he had the nerve to do more, to take her arm in his.

They met Roy and Corrie at The Captain's Galley a few minutes later. A sober-faced young woman who looked
somewhat familiar led them to their table and gave them menus. Almost by rote, she wished them an enjoyable meal and departed.

“Who's that?” Jack asked.

Olivia's eyes widened; she was signaling that she couldn't discuss this. Not until later did it hit him. Their hostess was the woman who'd been in court the first day he'd seen Olivia. The woman she'd prevented from filing for divorce. He'd written about her—she was the Divorce Denied wife.

“How about a bottle of wine?” Roy suggested.

Everyone seemed to be in agreement. Jack studied his menu and let Roy do the ordering. When the waitress arrived with the wineglasses, he declined.

“Just one glass,” Roy protested.

“No, thanks.” He didn't drink and he didn't make excuses.

The restaurant had an excellent reputation, and Jack's meal certainly lived up to it. He ordered the fried oysters and Olivia had seafood fettuccine. After a congenial dinner, Roy and Corrie headed home while Jack and Olivia stayed for a second coffee.

The young hostess wandered past their table and Olivia glanced at Jack. “You recognize her now, don't you?”

He nodded, feeling a surge of sympathy for the woman, who seemed barely out of her teens. He'd sat in court and listened to a tragic yet all-too-common story. A story he knew well, about a marriage that couldn't weather a true crisis. A couple separated by grief. He didn't know what had happened since that day in court or whether they'd gone ahead with the proceedings. What he could see, just by looking at her, was that Cecilia Randall was very unhappy.

“Do you think she recognized you?” Jack asked.

Olivia shook her head. Jack didn't think she had, either.

“It makes me wonder,” Olivia murmured.

Jack could tell she was upset. “You think you made the wrong decision?”

Olivia shrugged and stared down at her coffee. “The poor girl looks like she's got the weight of the world on her shoulders.”

“Maybe she just had a bad night,” he said.

“Maybe,” Olivia echoed, but Jack could tell she didn't believe that and neither did he.

 

When Seth Gunderson left for Alaska in the first week of April, Justine was relieved. It was better this way. She thought about him far too often, treasured every minute they'd spent together. She didn't want to become involved with Seth. Didn't want to care about him, and most certainly didn't want to fall in love with him, but that was exactly what was happening—had already happened.

After their impromptu dinner date, she'd refused his next invitation. She knew trouble when she saw it, and was well aware of her own weakness. He wanted her and she, God help her, wanted him. But Justine was too smart to give in to those yearnings. She wasn't a woman ruled by emotions.

Seth, however, wasn't a man easily dismissed. He opened an account at First National Bank, and found an excuse to come in at least once a week. He didn't pressure her, didn't argue with her, didn't do anything out of the ordinary; he was just
there.
And one day she simply couldn't stand it anymore.

She followed him outside. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, standing in the parking lot, the sun burning off a
thick fog, threatening to break through at any moment. Justine felt like weeping, but she was too damned angry to let him know how much he'd disturbed her.

Seth didn't deny his intentions, but he met her anger with a gentleness that nearly broke her heart.

“If you want me to stop, I will,” was all he said.

“Stop!” she cried, and marched back into the bank. A week later, after seven sleepless nights, she went in search of him. Not knowing exactly where to find him, she walked down to the marina.

He appeared almost immediately, meeting her out on the pier, wearing his heavy wool jacket, a knit cap on his head. She stood with her back against the railing, and Seth smiled and wordlessly pressed his warm hand to her cold cheek.

Justine resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean into his hand. “I'm here to tell you that Warren Saget is the perfect man for me,” she said.

“No, he's not.”

Justine wanted to stamp her foot the way a child does. She wasn't sure why she'd come—to assuage her longing to see him? To end this once and for all? But now that she was here, she knew it was a mistake.

“Warren is older, mature and wealthy, and you're none of those things.”

“No, I'm not,” he agreed.

She hated it that he so willingly accepted her arguments. It made everything ten times worse. “Warren's a respected businessman.”

“And I'm a fisherman.”

“Exactly,” she cried, more angry with herself than with Seth.

“But it's me you want,” he said simply.

Refusing to answer him, she'd vaulted from the dock and run back to work. She hadn't seen him since. The only reason she knew he'd left for Alaska was that she'd heard someone at the bank mention it earlier in the week.

Friday afternoon Warren phoned her at work. “How about dinner?” He sounded sure of himself, sure of her answer.

“Not tonight, Warren.”

There was a short, uncomfortable silence. “Why not?”

“I'm not feeling well.” Which was a slight exaggeration. She did have a headache, but nothing a couple of aspirin and a few minutes with her eyes closed wouldn't cure.

He didn't like it when Justine turned him down. Warren was a man accustomed to getting his own way. “You're still mad about that class reunion, aren't you?”

“Not particularly.” As of this moment, Justine decided not to go. Seth might be there, and he made her weak in ways she didn't want to consider. One kiss had ruined her. One stupid kiss. Now, every time Warren attempted to touch her, she ran in the opposite direction. Seth Gunderson had a great deal to answer for.

“I have a killer headache,” she told him, exaggerating in order to avoid another confrontation.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asked, his voice soft, conciliatory.

“No. Have dinner without me and I'll talk to you soon.”

“All right, sweetheart. You take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Justine intended on doing exactly that. After work, she headed straight to her apartment with a quart of her favorite gourmet ice cream and two rented videos.

When the doorbell rang and a deliveryman stood there with a huge arrangement of flowers, her first thought was that they were from Seth. Then she read Warren's name on the tag and started to cry for no discernible reason.

She dumped the flowers in the sink. Dressed in her oldest flannel pajamas, she sat cross-legged in front of her television, eating straight out of the ice cream carton.

Her doorbell ran again. Justine was in no mood for company. Stabbing her spoon into the ice cream, she shouted, “Go away! I'm busy.”