16 Lighthouse Road (25 page)

Kelly had insisted there'd be some evidence, but Grace had all the evidence she needed. It'd started years ago. The emotional distance and the wild mood swings had been going on for so long, she couldn't remember when they'd begun. Evidence, she realized, of someone dealing with guilt and remorse.

By God, she'd prove it. Not to her daughters but herself. Dan
had
left some evidence; he must have. It was right here in this room—where else could it be? After years of reading mysteries, she should've thought of this sooner. The evidence she sought was probably something ordinary, something right in front of her eyes. Something tangible… Proof that Dan was living with another woman.

She banged open the sliding closet door and jerked a shirt free of its hanger. The force of her rage left the wire hanger swinging like a pendulum. She checked the pocket, tossed the shirt aside and reached for another one.

Nothing.

He'd been too smart for her, or so he thought, destroying all the evidence. But Grace wouldn't be foiled, not this time.

The second shirt joined the first one on the carpet. Soon the floor was heaped with Dan's clothes. Her shoulders heaving, she grabbed as many as her arms could carry and
hauled them through the house, dumping everything at the front door. Staring at the heap, she unlocked the dead bolt and threw open the door with a fury that made it crash against the opposite wall. Then, standing on the top step, she flung her husband's clothes into the night. Trip after trip, she repeated the action, until his half of the closet had been stripped bare and every bit of clothing Dan owned was sprawled across the porch and the sidewalk.

Then, nearly tripping over her cotton nightgown, she kicked a dress shirt on the top step, and sent it soaring into the darkness. A pair of work pants went next as she got caught up in a frenzy of kicking, hurling his clothes one piece at a time.

Sobbing now, she sank onto the porch step and covered her face with both hands.

“Dan!” she screamed. “Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?”

Only silence answered. Her rage hadn't brought him back, nor had her love. All that was left were her tears. The emotion poured out of her until she was spent and weak.

Wiping the tears from her face, she staggered back into the house, not bothering to lock the door. If someone wanted to break in and kill her, she'd welcome death. It was better than this nightmare that had become her life, better than having to walk into an empty house every night and acknowledge that the man she'd loved no longer wanted to be with her.

What was it Dan had told her? His idea of hell was spending the last thirty-five years living with her. Right to her face he'd said such a thing, not caring how that made her feel. Not caring that his words were as brutal as any weapon.

“I hate you…” she whispered as she crawled back into the bed. “Oh, God, I hate you.” Curling into a fetal position, she began sobbing again, until there were no tears anymore.

Grace woke at first light. She didn't move, but remained in the same curled-up position, her knees tucked against her stomach. The memory of the night before flooded her mind. She'd been like a wild woman, purging her life of Daniel Sherman.

A sound came from the front room. Dan? It'd be just like him to appear now, she thought wryly. Just like that bastard to show up and behave as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

“Mom?”

Maryellen and Kelly. Dear God, not her daughters. Grace didn't want them to find her like this.

Maryellen stepped into the bedroom, and sobbing openly, Grace covered her eyes.

“Mom…” Maryellen leaned forward, and wrapping her arms around her, pressed her cheek against Grace's hair. “It's all right. Don't cry, Mom, please don't cry.”

Grace's eyes burned, and even after sleeping for what must have been several hours, she felt as though she hadn't rested a single moment.

“What happened?” Kelly begged. “Tell us what happened.”

Grace didn't know how to explain that the clothes strewn across the front yard had been the result of a temper tantrum. “Why are you here?” she asked instead.

“Mrs. Vessey phoned,” Maryellen explained. “She woke up and saw all Dad's clothes outside and was worried about you.”

“Oh.”

“Did you hear from Dad?” Kelly pressed, and it killed Grace to hear the eagerness in her child's voice. With all her heart, Kelly believed that Dan loved them all. Soon, any time now, he'd return with a perfectly logical explanation of where he'd been and why.

“Do you know where Dad is?” Maryellen asked gently.

“No.”

“Daddy…where…are…you?” Kelly raged. She started to sob.

Grace didn't have any answers for her daughter. All she could say for sure, as she caught a glimpse of gold on the other side of the room, was that when Dan had left, he hadn't bothered to take his wedding band with him.

 

Justine couldn't concentrate on banking. Already she'd made two mistakes and it was only eleven o'clock. This was not the way she wanted to start her work week. The problem had to do with her class reunion. The planning committee had gotten together Friday night for an informal dinner and discussion. Everything had been set in motion weeks earlier and the reunion was less than a month away.

Justine had never intended to get this involved. She blamed Lana Rothchild for being so eager to enlist her help. And she blamed her mother for encouraging her. Before she could back out, Lana had her collecting the money and paying the bills. At the last meeting, Justine discovered she was also expected to be part of the decorating committee. Now it would be impossible not to attend.

It wasn't only the reunion that was getting her down. Seth was on her mind constantly, although she hadn't heard from
him since the night Warren proposed. Not one word. For a man who claimed to be so crazy about her, he did damn little to show it.

She'd thought… She'd hoped… The hell of it was, Justine didn't know
what
she thought anymore. Not about Seth and certainly not about Warren.

She and Warren weren't getting along, either. It'd serve Seth right if she did accept Warren's proposal. Even as that idea went through her mind, she knew it was the worst thing she could possibly do.

“Looks like you've got company,” Christy Palmer whispered as she walked past Justine's desk.

Seth. It had to be Seth. Her head shot up with a smile she couldn't restrain.

Only it wasn't Seth who strolled into the bank, but Warren. He carried a huge bouquet of fresh flowers in a glass vase. Every eye in the room turned to him as he headed directly for her office.

If Justine could have slid out of her chair and hidden beneath her desk, she would have. She'd promised an answer to his proposal, and the deadline had come and gone, and still she didn't know what to do.

“Hello, baby.” Warren greeted her loudly enough to ensure that everyone in the bank heard him.

“Hi, Warren,” she returned without emotion.

“I came to invite you to lunch.”

“Sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to be flippant, “but I have a noon meeting.” That was true enough, but she didn't mention it was a meeting with one of the tellers and would take all of five minutes. If that.

Warren sighed. “I'm still waiting, you know.”

“For what?” She closed the file she was working on.

“You still haven't given me your decision.”

“I told you,” Justine said impatiently, lowering her voice, “that if you pressure me, the answer is no.”

“Hell, I figure we might as well get married, seeing that all we've done lately is argue. Is that what you want? What's happened, baby? We used to be close and now all of a sudden, it's like I'm not good enough for you.”

“That's not it.” How could she explain something she didn't fully understand herself?

“It's that high-school reunion of yours, isn't it?”

Justine didn't know how many times she'd had to tell him otherwise.

“If that's not it, then it has to be that old boyfriend you met up with.”

Seth wasn't an old boyfriend. “I never went out with him.”

“But you wanted to.”

“No.” Not when she was in high school, at any rate. The problem was a more recent one.

“We need to talk,” Warren said urgently.

“Warren,” she began, doing her best not to show her frustration, “I can't just take off in the middle of the day because you want to chitchat.”

“You could if you married me—you wouldn't have to work.”

Justine narrowed her eyes. “Don't say another word.”

“All right, all right.” He held up one hand, smiling. “Come on, this'll only take a moment.” He set the flowers on the corner of her desk and pleaded with his eyes.

It wasn't like Warren to be humble. She realized this must
be important, at least to him. Normally he went out of his way to act arrogant.

“Fine,” she said, motioning for him to sit down.

“I'd rather do it someplace more private,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder.

Justine darted a look at her watch. “Listen, I have an appointment in ten minutes. I can leave after that. Would you like to meet outside? We could talk there.”

“All right.”

Justine thought he seemed relieved.

Sure enough, Warren was waiting for her when she left the bank. He was leaning against his car and straightened when she stepped outside. Hurrying around to the passenger side of the car, he held the door and Justine climbed inside. He didn't need to tell her that the engagement ring was stored in the glove box.

“I only have a few minutes,” she reminded him when he slid into the seat beside her. “I've got meetings all afternoon.” A slight exaggeration, but in a good cause.

“You sure you can't get away for lunch?”

She answered him with a hard look.

He shrugged. “Just asking.”

“What's all this about?”

Warren gazed out the side window. “I wanted to talk to you about us getting married.”

“Warren!”

“I think I know the reason you can't make up your mind.”

Great. If he had any insight into that, she'd gladly listen.

“You've got the hots for Seth Gunderson.”

For one moment she was too breathless to respond.
Breathless with embarassment—and chagrin. “I most certainly do not! That you'd even say such a thing—”

“Now, don't get mad. The least you can do is hear me out before you get all riled up.” He clenched the steering wheel with both hands—the only outward evidence of tension.

“Fine,” she said curtly. This was what got her about Warren. As insensitive and blind as he could sometimes be, every now and then he had the uncanny ability to know her better than she did herself.

“You don't have to hide the way you feel about Seth.”

She crossed her arms irritably. “Is that right?”

“I can give you the things a woman wants. Jewels, gifts, status.”

Justine rolled her eyes. “That's what a woman wants? You sure, Warren?”

In response, he leaned across her and opened the glove compartment, withdrawing the ring box. He flipped open the lid and she nearly gasped, seeing all four gorgeous carats of the diamond in the full light of day. It sparkled like nothing she'd ever seen.

“You tell me,” Warren said. “You're a woman meant to wear a ring like this.”

Justine didn't argue with him. He was right; this was an incredible diamond and any woman would feel beautiful with it on her finger.

“Well?” he pressed.

She gave a long, drawn-out sigh, conceding. “You've made your point.”

“That's what I thought.”

“Is there anything else?” she asked. “I need to get back to work.”

“You want the ring, and I want you to have it, but you're still hesitating and I think I know why.”

Justine said nothing.

“I can give you all the things you deserve in life, but we're both aware that there's one thing I can't give you.”

“Warren…”

“Hear me out. You want Seth Gunderson. You're young and healthy, and hell, I'm not blind.” He held her look, then pointedly slid his gaze past her. “But I can be.”

Justine frowned. “I don't understand.”

Warren slid his arm along the back of her seat. “Baby, you want sex. What woman doesn't? So go ahead, with my blessing. Screw his brains out if that'll make you happy, and then come home to me.”

The crudeness of his words made her gasp. “You're sanctioning an affair?”

“If not Seth, then someone else. You pick.”

“That's not the kind of marriage I want!”

He spoke as though he hadn't heard her. “The only thing I ask is that you tell me who it is.”

Justine couldn't believe they were having this conversation or that Warren would suggest something so…so reprehensible. “I'm not like that, Warren.”

He grinned with the amusement of a man who'd seen it all. “You never know, Justine. You just never know.”

A
s a single man, Jack Griffin didn't make a habit of turning down dinner invitations, especially ones that came from Bob and Peggy Beldon. Peggy was an extraordinary cook, and meals at their bed-and-breakfast were the stuff of culinary legend.

Jack had been friends with Bob for more than ten years; Bob and Peggy had owned Thyme and Tide for seven. It was on Lighthouse Road, a mile or so from Olivia's house. The two-story white structure with the black wrought-iron fence had been called the Mansion before Bob and Peggy bought it. A Navy Commander was said to have built it in the early 1900s. It had turrets, one at either end of the house, and the larger of the two had a widow's walk.

The B and B had been successful from the outset, due in no small part to the Beldons' skill as hosts—and of course, to Peggy's cooking.

Jack arrived with a bouquet of flowers and a healthy appetite.

“Welcome,” Peggy said as she opened the door and kissed him on the cheek. “We don't see nearly enough of you. Our guests aren't scheduled to arrive until late, so we're free to relax for a few hours.” Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “I always enjoy the opportunity to feed someone who appreciates my cooking as much as you do.”

“Invite me to dinner any time you like,” he said enthusiastically.

“Did I hear the doorbell?” Bob walked in and the two men exchanged handshakes.

“I'll take care of these flowers,” Peggy said and left the room.

Jack followed his friend onto the patio behind the house. Its location granted a full view of the cove, with the Bremerton ferry in the distance.

“I've already got the cribbage board set up and ready to go,” Bob told him. “How about a glass of iced tea?”

“Sounds great.”

While Bob hurried into the kitchen for the tea, Jack inspected Peggy's herb garden. It was lovely to behold, a delight for all the senses. Even Jack, who liked to say that he had “a green thumb—green with mold,” derived real pleasure from Peggy's garden. Many of the fresh herbs were used in her prized recipes, and he wondered what she'd serve tonight.

Bob returned with two glasses of iced tea. “This retirement is for the birds,” he muttered. “It looks like the house is going to need painting this summer, and Peggy thinks I should be able to do it myself.”

“She's joking, right?”

“I hope so.” Bob sank down on one of the lounge chairs.
“Can you believe it's the middle of June already?” He sat upright with a startled look.

“What's wrong?”

Bob glanced away and seemed embarrassed, as though he'd said something he shouldn't have. “Nothing,” he said, shaking off the question. “Just another one of life's regrets. Let's not discuss it.”

Jack frowned, but if there was anything he understood it was regrets.

“So—you've been here almost a year,” Bob said casually, reaching for his tea.

Jack nodded. A year. Well, it would be in October. Busy as he was with the newspaper, the months had flown by. It seemed only a few weeks ago that he'd sat in Olivia's courtroom that first time…. He was shocked to realize that six months had passed.

“What do you think of Cedar Cove now?”

“Hey,” Jack said with a grin. “It's my kind of town.” Bob and Peggy had been raised in Cedar Cove. They'd graduated from high school together, and then Bob had been drafted and gone off to fight in Vietnam. He'd come home haunted by demons—memories and experiences he could scarcely speak of, even now. Those demons had led him to look for oblivion in the bottom of a bottle. Jack had faced his own demons from Nam and they, too, had led him to the deceptive gratifications of alcohol. He'd met Bob in a rehab center, and they'd struck up a friendship that had grown over the years. Although he had ten years' sobriety now, the consequences of those hard-drinking years still lingered. Only now had Eric begun to trust him.

“I thought we'd eat out on the patio tonight,” Peggy announced, joining the two men.

That suited Jack just fine. After a week of intermittent rainfall, the evening was clear and warm. A soft breeze came off the water, and with it the faint scent of the sea.

“So,” Peggy said, taking the wicker chair next to Bob. “How's the paper doing?”

“It's thriving.” Jack was proud of that. He'd made a lot of changes in the last eight months, added a second edition each week and followed his instincts. One of his most popular innovations had come from Charlotte Jefferson. Her Seniors' Page had become a huge hit with the community. Olivia's mother was a natural. Her chatty column every Wednesday was full of tidbits about local happenings. If Mrs. Samuel's grandson was visiting, Charlotte reported the news. If the Robertsons' dog had puppies, she wrote about them, guaranteeing the litter good homes. She passed on recipes and some great old-fashioned household hints. Who would've guessed vinegar had so many uses? She wrote about the past, discussing local history, especially events that took place around World War II. And she threw in bits and pieces of her own wisdom.

“What about you?” Peggy asked. “Are you thriving, too?”

“Me?”

“Are you happy?”

“I'm sane and sober, and that's about as good as it gets for me.”

“What about Olivia?” Bob asked.

His buddy would ask the one question he didn't want to answer. Jack shrugged.

“What kind of answer is that?” Peggy scolded. “A few weeks ago, you had lots to say about the judge.”

“She's in love with her ex-husband,” he said bleakly. He'd seen it the day Olivia returned home from her trip to California. Since then he'd only heard from her once, when she called to break their date for the following Wednesday. There'd been no contact between them after that. He sighed, remembering how she'd come back from the airport with her ex, the top down on a fancy red convertible, music blaring. They'd had eyes only for each other. Anyone looking at them would think they were lovers. Jack wasn't a man who walked away from a challenge, but he was smart enough to avoid a losing proposition—like falling for a woman still involved with her ex.

“I thought Stan remarried,” Bob said, turning to Peggy.

“He did.”

“That doesn't change the way Olivia feels about him,” Jack insisted.

“Did you ask her about it?”

Jack shook his head. More than willing to move on to another subject, he said, “What do you hear from the kids?” Bob and Peggy had two children; Hollie, their oldest, lived in Seattle and their youngest, Marc, was in Kansas.

“They're both fine,” Peggy told him. “What do you hear from Eric?”

His son didn't make any effort to keep in touch with Jack, which he supposed was fair. For a good portion of Eric's life, Jack had been absent, if not in body, then in spirit.

“Not much,” Jack confessed.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

Jack had to think about that. After their dinner with Olivia, he'd phoned to invite Eric to Cedar Cove, but his son had
refused, offering a convenient excuse. He had a date. This wasn't the first time Eric had mentioned the girl he was seeing. Shirley or Shelly—her name was something along those lines. It seemed Eric might be serious about this one, and Jack had made the mistake of saying so. He'd suggested it was time Eric thought about marrying and settling down. His son had nearly snapped his head off.

There was a reason for Eric's reactions. He couldn't father children, due to the massive doses of drugs he'd been given as a child, and had never gotten around to telling Shirley…or Shelly, who apparently wanted a family. The conversation had ended on that sour note, and Jack hadn't called him since.

He would soon enough, but he needed to give Eric time to forgive him for his careless remark. He longed to forge a path to his son, not destroy the fragile groundwork that had painstakingly been laid.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Peggy said, leaving the two of them. She returned a moment later, carrying out a large salad.

“Let me help,” Jack said.

“Nonsense.” Peggy waved aside his offer. “You two play cribbage. Bob's been looking forward to it all day.”

Jack was more than willing to comply. Bob had the cribbage board set up on the table, and Jack sat down opposite him, his back to the sea. He didn't want to be distracted. Bob was a good player, quick and decisive, and Jack needed all his wits about him.

“Is Peggy all right?” Jack asked after Bob had dealt the first hand.

Bob put aside the deck and reached for the seven cards. “What makes you ask?”

Jack wasn't sure. Peggy was as warm and welcoming as ever, but he sensed that something was troubling her.

Although he appeared to be studying his cards, Bob had the look of a man deep in thought.

“That bad?” Jack teased.

Bob frowned in confusion.

“The cards,” Jack explained.

“No, no.” His smile seemed forced.

Jack set his cards aside. “Everything's all right with you and Peg, isn't it?” he asked, his voice worried.

“After thirty-two years, it should be, don't you think?”

“You never know.” He desperately wanted evidence of one solid marriage, just to prove it was still possible in these days of easy divorce. One marriage that could survive a crisis… He thought of his ex-wife—and he thought of Olivia. He'd never wanted a woman with the intensity he wanted her. He—

“Jack?” Bob's voice broke his concentration.

He glanced up.

“Are you going to stare at your cards all night or are you going to discard?”

“Discard.”

“Something on your mind?” Bob asked.

“Like what?” Jack said.

Bob grinned, obviously a man capable of reading all the signs. “Like Olivia.”

Jack gave an exaggerated shrug. “That readable, am I?”

Bob chuckled. “No more readable than Peg and me.”

“Nothing wrong, is there?” He didn't mean to belabor the point, but the thought of problems between Bob and Peggy
depressed him. They were the one couple he knew who'd found happiness and clung to it through all the years, both good and bad.

“We're fine. What about you?”

“I'm okay, just a bit disappointed.”

“Olivia?”

Jack nodded, and nothing more was said.

They finished the first game, and by then Peggy had dinner dished up and ready to serve. Good food and good friends. It was the best meal he'd had in weeks, but Jack decided that the company was even more satisfying than the food.

 

The accident aboard the
John F. Reynolds
made headlines on the national news for several days. Cecilia was in daily contact with Ian. Some days she couldn't get to a computer, so she wrote out her thoughts. These letters would take a week or longer to reach him, but Ian said he enjoyed hearing from her in any form.

With finals in only two classes, Cecilia had one day in which she didn't have to be in school. Since she wasn't scheduled to work until late afternoon, she decided to celebrate and made plans to spend the morning with Cathy.

After examining her at the Navy Hospital, the attending physician had told Cathy that the pregnancy was safe but suggested she quit her job as a cashier at the local grocery. Being on her feet for an eight-hour shift wasn't good for her or the baby. Not wanting to take any chances, Cathy had immediately handed in her notice.

When Cecilia arrived at her friend's duplex, she discovered that Carol Greendale had stopped by, too. Cecilia almost
changed her mind and turned around. Almost. Carol's little girl was just a day or two older than Allison would have been. Cecilia dreaded seeing the baby and was drawn to her in equal parts.

“Hello, Carol,” she said in a friendly voice, pretending she was at ease with the other woman. Little Amanda was toddling happily around the apartment, examining everything in sight, reaching for books, trying to grab knickknacks, pulling at the curtains.

“Come here, Amanda,” Carol urged, holding out her arms for her daughter. The child immediately lurched toward her mother, shrieking with pleasure.

“I'm glad you're here,” Cathy said, gripping Cecilia's hand tightly as if to let her know she understood.

“We were just talking about the
John F. Reynolds,
” Carol explained, bouncing the child on her lap.

“Carol came by with the latest news,” Cathy said.

“I just heard they're heading back,” Carol squealed.

“The
John F. Reynolds
is coming back to the shipyard in Bremerton?” Cecilia wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding. Where the aircraft carrier would go for repairs had been undecided.

“Yes!” No one could doubt Cathy's excitement.

“When will they get here?” Sheer joy raised Cecilia's voice.

“It shouldn't be long.”

Cecilia felt hopeful about her marriage, especially after the last few weeks. Ian had communicated with her practically every day. In the beginning, most of what they'd exchanged had been ordinary, everyday information. Facts more than feelings. But as the weeks went on, they'd both
felt ready to venture into more dangerous territory—their daughter and her death.

In the process, Cecilia realized that she'd heaped too much of the blame on Ian's shoulders. She hadn't meant to, but trapped in grief and pain, she'd lashed out at him. It wasn't fair, she'd known that even at the time, but she hadn't been able to prevent those reactions. Dealing with his own shock, Ian hadn't been much help to Cecilia. Almost a year had passed now, giving each of them a new perspective on the role they'd played in nearly destroying their marriage.

“Let me get the baby a cracker,” Cathy said, moving into the kitchen.

“That's not necessary,” Carol told her.

“Oh, I want to.”