311 Pelican Court (16 page)

“Me?”

“You and the guy who turned up dead at the bed-and-
breakfast,” she joked, then grew serious. “He asks my advice.

I was the one who urged him to ask you out that first time.”

“Then I should thank you.”

“He admired the fact that you refused until your divorce was final.” Those had been bleak days in Grace’s life, as she’d confronted the unknown. Dan’s body had yet to be found, and she’d felt certain he was with another woman. Her self-esteem had been in tatters, and then along came this handsome rancher who courted her with gentleness and humor.

“I told Dad he should hire a full-time trainer, otherwise he was going to lose you,” Lisa said. She opened the dishwasher, a model as old as Grace’s, and arranged the dishes inside.

“I understand what it’s like to start up a new business,” Grace hurriedly assured her. The truth was, she’d barely noticed that she hadn’t heard from him much lately. Anytime she did hear from Cliff, it had seemed like an intrusion.

She hated feeling this way, but she couldn’t help it. Cliff was like Buttercup. He was big and warm and friendly and there when she needed him. On the other hand, her friendship with Will was exciting and new. The two of them talking for hours every day and keeping it a secret held a hint of intrigue. They were conspirators.

“Are you in love with my father?” Lisa asked, her arms elbow-deep in dishwater.

“I…I—”

“Are you embarrassing our dinner guest?” Cliff asked as he stepped into the kitchen. He stood behind Grace, slid his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. She closed her eyes—not to savor the tenderness of the moment, but in relief because she didn’t have to answer Lisa’s question.

This was wrong, but she couldn’t say anything to Cliff. Not with his daughter and her husband so close. Not with
Cliff’s granddaughter napping in the other room. It would have to wait until they were back in Cedar Cove, in familiar territory.

She could have told him on the flight home, but Grace refused to do that to him, especially after the hospitality his family had shown her. That would’ve piled wrong on top of wrong.

The instant Grace was back in Cedar Cove, she collected Buttercup from Kelly and Paul’s and headed home. Ten minutes after she walked in the front door, she was sitting in front of her computer.

“Oh, be there,” she whispered as she logged onto the Internet. She brought up the message board and hit the appropriate icons and waited an interminable few moments.

“Will, are you there?” she typed.

Almost immediately he responded. “Welcome back. How was Thanksgiving with your boyfriend?”

“Wonderful. How about yours?” she typed, wincing at the half lie.

“All right, I guess.”

“I had a good time, but I missed our chats,” she typed.

It seemed forever before Will answered. “Grace, thank you. I hated being without you. I didn’t realize how much I’ve come to rely on our talks to get me through the day.”

“I rely on you, too,” her fingers raced to tell him. She gnawed on her lower lip. “I thought about you constantly.”

Another long moment passed. “You’re all I thought about, too.”

Grace shouldn’t be this happy, but joy filled her. She felt like a teenager all over again—a teenager head over heels in love.

T
hick, dark clouds marred the December-morning sky over Cedar Cove. Peggy Beldon walked down the stairs, and from her view through the upper hallway window, she saw that the waters of the cove were murky and restless, churning up whitecaps.

It didn’t surprise her that Bob was already awake. He’d probably been up for hours. Ever since he’d talked to Pastor Flemming, that day at the golf course, he’d been sleeping poorly. When she’d asked him about it, Bob had repeatedly shrugged off her questions. She’d pressured him until she got an answer, although it hadn’t been too satisfactory.

In the beginning, their marriage had been shaky. Bob wasn’t the same after Vietnam. They’d married shortly after he was discharged from the army, but he’d started drinking by then. At first it was just a few beers with his friends after work. Peggy didn’t begrudge him that. Then Hollie was born, followed two years later by Marc, and Peggy had been so preoccupied with motherhood she hadn’t really noticed what was happening to her husband. Soon he was out with the boys every night or bringing his drinking buddies home.
She and Bob had argued often and she’d grown increasingly desperate.

The summer afternoon Bob received his first DUI, she realized that his drinking was more than a few beers with friends; it had become a serious problem that dominated their marriage and their lives. Despite her tears and her pleas, he refused to acknowledge there was anything wrong.

Peggy would always be grateful to the friend who’d recommended she start attending Al-Anon meetings. Without the support and encouragement she’d received from other men and women married to alcoholics, she didn’t know where she’d be today. It forever changed her life. She’d stepped back and stopped protecting Bob from the consequences of his addiction. If he drove drunk, she phoned the police; if he fell down on the floor too drunk to get up, she left him there. His drinking was
his
problem and she refused to make it hers, refused to be caught in the eye of a hurricane because he chose to hide his sorrows in booze.

Thankfully, after Bob had been fired by the third plumbing contractor in a row, gotten his car insurance canceled only to be renewed at rates that rivaled a house payment and been called before a judge, his head started to clear. Then and only then did the light dawn. He’d gone to his first AA meeting and by the grace of God, hadn’t touched a drop since.

Shortly after he’d achieved three weeks of sobriety, he came to her and told her everything that had happened one terrible day in Vietnam. He’d wept bitter tears of guilt and self-recrimination as she held him and cried with him. She’d marked the date he sobbed out his story on her heart, because it was that day their lives and their marriage had changed. It was that day she knew Bob had the power to stop drinking. That had been twenty years ago now, in January
1983. He’d helped many an alcoholic through the AA program since then, and she continued to attend Al-Anon.

As Peggy came into the kitchen, Bob smiled at her. He had the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“How long have you been up?” she asked. Since he was already dressed and shaved, it must’ve been a while.

“A few hours. I have an appointment with Roy this morning. I wouldn’t mind company if you’d care to tag along.”

Although he tossed out the invitation in an offhand manner, Peggy knew her husband well enough to realize he wanted her with him. He’d been nervous for days. Ever since Troy Davis had come by the house.

The local sheriff had asked Bob a few questions regarding the John Doe who’d died in their home. As far as she could tell, they were the same questions he’d asked months earlier, when the body was discovered. Troy didn’t stay long, but afterward Bob had paced the house for hours until Peggy thought she’d go mad if he didn’t sit down.

“Sure, I’ll go,” she told him as she poured a cup of coffee. The pot was nearly empty, and she started a fresh one. They had no guests at the moment, but extra coffee never went amiss.

“Looks like we might get snow,” her husband said, staring out the window.

Peggy sat down across from him and reached for the remote control. They kept a small TV in the kitchen, where she generally watched the morning newscast from the local Seattle station. There’d been rumors of snow all week, but only now had the temperature descended to the point that it was a possibility.

Snow in the Puget Sound area wasn’t a common occurrence. Contrary to popular belief, Seattle and its outlying regions
actually had a moderate climate. As long as records had been maintained, it had never gone over a hundred degrees in summer or below zero in winter.

“I hope it does snow,” Peggy said, thinking how the schoolkids would love it. As a matter of fact, so would she. The Christmas lights were up outside, the wreath hung on the door and the illuminated family of deer stood in the middle of their front yard. Snow would be the perfect complement.

Bob closed his Big Book and yawned loudly.

“What time did you get up?” she asked again.

He shrugged. “Early.”

“Two? Three?”

“Around there,” he agreed, settling his gaze on the television screen.

Peggy suspected it might’ve been even earlier. Her husband couldn’t get the notion out of his head that he knew the dead stranger. The John Doe had received extensive plastic surgery, which certainly complicated the process of identifying him. For a while, there’d been speculation that it might be Dan Sherman, but that had turned out not to be the case, since Dan’s body was found a few weeks later. All this death in Cedar Cove—it was hard to reconcile in such a friendly, sleepy town.

“What time’s your appointment?” Peggy asked.

“Ten.”

“I’ll be ready,” she promised him.

A few hours later, Bob and Peggy arrived at Roy McAfee’s office not far from the Harbor Street Art Gallery. Corrie, Roy’s wife, acted as his secretary. Peggy liked Corrie, although she didn’t know her well. Roy was a no-nonsense man, a stolid, Detective Friday kind of investigator who tracked down the facts. The similarity between Roy and Joe Friday from the old
Dragnet
TV show reassured Peggy. He
was a bit distant, an observer, a man who didn’t allow emotion to cloud an investigation. Corrie was just the opposite, warm and outgoing. Even though she now worked for her husband, she appeared to be the stay-at-home-and-bakecookies type of wife and mother. Peggy suspected that was the reason she’d been drawn to Corrie. They were a lot alike.

As they sat in the reception room, Peggy picked up an old issue of
Readers’ Digest
and Bob jiggled his foot incessantly. It was all she could do not to reach over and stop him.

“Roy can see you now,” Corrie announced, holding open the door.

Peggy looked at her husband, silently wondering if he wanted her to go in with him.

“Not right now.” Bob shook his head. “I think I’d like to talk to Roy alone, if you don’t mind.”

He’d gone pale, she noted. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

Bob walked into the room and closed the door. Peggy gazed anxiously after him. She didn’t know what he was going to ask Roy, or if he had anything he needed to hide.

Now it was Peggy who did the pacing.

“I’ve always meant to ask you about your herb garden,” Corrie said from behind her desk. “How did you get started?”

Peggy folded her arms and looked out the office window, onto Harbor Street. “By accident, actually. Years ago we bought a house that had a rosemary bush and I loved the scent of it. I clipped branches from it so often that I soon bought a second plant and then a third. Before I knew it, I was buying bay and sage and basil. I found out that I have a knack for growing herbs. When we decided to move back to Cedar Cove—”

“Oh, you lived here earlier?”

Peggy nodded. “Bob and I both graduated from Cedar Cove High School. Bob was in the class of 1966 and I graduated two years later in ’68.”

“We’re close to the same age,” Corrie said. “I’m forty-seven and Roy is fifty-one.”

“Do you have a herb garden?” Peggy asked.

Corrie shook her head. “No, but I’d like one. Any suggestions?”

Peggy recognized that Corrie was distracting her, but she didn’t mind. The other woman seemed genuinely interested in learning about herbs. “Come visit anytime,” Peggy invited. “I’ll give you a few plants to start off with in the spring.”

“I’d love that,” Corrie told her.

“Bob planted the blueberries.” Now that she was talking, Peggy couldn’t seem to stop. “We have our own small patch at the side of the house. They need lots of water and it’s a struggle to keep the deer out of them.”

They must have talked for twenty minutes about recipes, especially ones with blueberries. Peggy stopped abruptly when the door opened and Roy stuck his head out.

“Peggy, would you join us?”

She nodded and walked into the room on shaky legs. Claiming the empty chair next to her husband, she reached for Bob’s hand. His fingers tightened around hers.

“I told Roy what happened in Nam,” Bob said, his voice low and emotional. “I told him there were four of us, all under twenty-five. We made a pact never to talk about it. I don’t know if our John Doe has anything to do with this, but I’ve asked Roy to find out what he can.”

On the night twenty years earlier, when Bob had described that day in the jungle, he’d vowed never to speak of it again. Telling her had been a one-time thing, an act of self-preservation.
The burden of carrying his secret had nearly destroyed him and their marriage.

“Dan Sherman was with me.”

“Dan?” Peggy gasped. He’d never told her his high-school friend had been in that hellish fight until now.

Peggy turned her attention to Roy. “Do you think what happened in Nam has anything to do with the man who died in our home?”

Roy leaned forward, his expression serious. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

The festive atmosphere in the halls of Kitsap County Courthouse was contagious. Olivia looked out the window of her chamber office, delighted to see it was snowing. Snow in December was perfect. It made her want to rush home and bake gingerbread cookies and string popcorn. Instead she had to listen while lawyers stated their cases and awaited her decision.

Finishing her tea, she reluctantly went back to the courtroom. The bailiff announced her arrival and those congregated halfheartedly rose to their feet as she took her place behind the bench.

The next case was called, and the first attorney stepped forward. Olivia glanced up and to her surprise discovered Jack Griffin sitting in the back of the room, pen and pad in hand. He was already taking notes, and she hadn’t listened to a single case yet. Either he was in court on legitimate business, or he’d come to rile her. She felt her heart pound hard against her ribs.

But whatever his reason for being there, a few moments into the case, Jack stood and made his way out of the courtroom. Olivia was disappointed; they’d hardly seen each other in weeks. He was busy, she was busy, and despite effort
on both their parts, their relationship hadn’t returned to the closeness they used to share. Damn it all, she
missed
Jack. Missed the fun they’d had together, his merciless teasing, his potent kisses. A woman her age shouldn’t be thinking about such things in the middle of a custody case, but Olivia couldn’t help it.

She wanted him back in her life, and she longed for their relationship to be what it had once been. She didn’t know who was the guilty party, she or Jack. A year earlier they’d had dinner together at least twice a week. Jack regularly came to the house on Tuesday nights and they’d watch crime shows on the Discovery channel. She hadn’t seen him on a Tuesday night in months.

All of that was before his son had moved in with him, she remembered. Eric’s presence had certainly turned Jack’s world upside down, but he felt he owed this time to his son, so Olivia had graciously taken a back seat. She didn’t like it, but there’d been no choice.

Eric was married now—she’d performed the ceremony herself—and the father of twins. Last summer Eric, Shelly and the babies had moved to Reno, Nevada.

Just when it looked as if life might return to normal, Stan had entered the scene. She’d give him credit; her ex-husband was persistent. He phoned her ten times more often than Jack did. She could have a date with Stan anytime if she was interested. But she wasn’t.

Oh, she might’ve been, in the beginning. There was something so emotionally satisfying about her ex-husband admitting he’d made a terrible mistake in divorcing her. For a brief period, her ego had been comforted by it and she’d come close to letting those righteous emotions sway her. Luckily, common sense had convinced her otherwise.

Olivia was sincere in what she told her ex-husband. Stan
needed a woman in his life and he wasn’t afraid of a challenge. The problem was, he viewed
her
as a challenge. Of course, any woman Stan wanted would have to be adoring. Intelligence wasn’t a requirement, although it was a bonus. No question, Stan Lockhart was witty and possessed a high IQ. His emotional IQ, sadly, was far lower.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as Olivia dealt with a series of family court cases, one after the other until they blurred in her mind. By the time court adjourned for the day, she was ready to go home and read recipes for gingerbread cookies.

As she peeled off her robe, she checked her phone messages. There was one from Stan—no real surprise—and another from her daughter. Justine was a stay-at-home mother now, although she continued to manage the finances at the restaurant. She paid the bills and took care of the payroll. But when it came to the complicated tax laws, Justine was smart enough to leave those in the hands of Zachary Cox, her capable accountant.

Olivia returned the calls, and after short conversations with both—” no, thanks” to Stan on the dinner invite, and yes, it’s best to use brandy in Julia Child’s fruitcake recipe with Justine—she prepared to leave the courthouse.

She pulled on her coat and gloves and stepped out of her office to discover Jack waiting for her, leaning against the wall. He grinned sheepishly when she appeared.