311 Pelican Court (28 page)

“A
re your eyes closed?” Olivia asked, peeking around the sliding glass door that led to the deck of Jack’s rental house. Sitting in his hot tub, in plain view of the entire world, was an uncomfortable prospect for Olivia. Jack, however, had refused to take no for an answer.

A misty fog surrounded the hot tub where he sat impatiently waiting for her. It was a cloudy evening, the second Sunday in March. “My eyes are closed,” he assured her, grinning from ear to ear.

Even from this distance, she could tell he was lying. “Jack Griffin, your eyes are wide open.”

“Olivia, I’ve seen a woman in a bathing suit before.”

“But you haven’t seen
me!
”

“No, and I’m dying to, so hurry up.”

The patio light was far too bright, she decided. Grumbling under her breath, she tucked the towel more tightly around her and stepped barefoot onto the deck. Although it faced the cove and not the road, Olivia was sure the entire neighborhood would be catching a glimpse of her.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d donned
a swimsuit. This very one, in fact. Years and years ago. James had still been living at home. Justine, too. Her swimsuit was sadly outdated, but luckily it wasn’t the kind of material that attracted moths.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to drop that towel,” Jack told her as she took her first tentative steps outside. He leaned back in a relaxed pose, arms spread out across the back of the tub.

“If I see a picture of myself in
The Chronicle
, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”

“Hmm, you’re giving me ideas.” Jack chuckled as if an embarrassing photograph was indeed a possibility.

“Jack!” Reluctantly she lowered the towel. Feeling as graceful as a walrus, she climbed over the edge of the hot tub and slid into the water. It was warm, soothing and refreshing at the same time. “Ah,” she sighed involuntarily.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” he asked.

Olivia moved next to him, sinking shoulder-deep into the bubbling water. Rather than respond, she sighed again, a sigh of pure contentment. She was oh, so glad Jack had urged her to set aside her inhibitions and join him.

“You know, you’ve got a very attractive body,” he said. “I don’t know why you insist on hiding it.”

Olivia shook her head. “Do you know how old I am?”

“Yes—and what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Plenty. I’ve had children, Jack, and my body is far from perfect.”

“Hey, if I wanted to date a twenty-year-old model—” He gave a quick laugh. “Hell, a twenty-year-old model wouldn’t be seen dead with an old fart like me.”

Olivia smiled, too. “We make a good couple, don’t we?” She rested her head against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “We do, Judge O. Especially when we’re practically naked in a hot tub together.”

“Jack!” She giggled. She
was
enjoying herself but refused to give him credit; if she did, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Come on,” he said, “tell me I was right.”

“Would you mind gloating silently?” she muttered, letting her eyes drift shut.

“How’s Grace doing?” Jack suddenly asked.

Olivia groaned. She’d been deeply concerned for her friend. “Better, I think.” Grace had come to Olivia last Saturday afternoon, as upset as Olivia had ever seen her. Despite several attempts, Olivia wasn’t able to pry the entire story out of her, but apparently Grace had done something to offend Cliff and he’d decided it would be best if they no longer saw each other.

“Have you talked to her recently?” Jack said.

“I saw her Wednesday night. Why?”

Jack rested his chin on top of Olivia’s head. “I think she might be volunteering for the Humane Society.”

“Oh, yes, she did say something about that.” Olivia approved; Grace seemed to have a lot of time on her hands all at once. She’d always been fond of animals. Buttercup had brought her comfort and companionship when Grace had most needed it. This volunteer position was something she could do to help animals, and perhaps a human or two. Olivia also suspected that Grace saw it as a way of making up for not getting Buttercup to the vet more quickly, not noticing the symptoms sooner. She tried to reassure her friend, but Grace persisted in blaming herself, which Olivia thought unreasonable.

“How’d you know about Grace volunteering?” she asked.

“The way I know about everything. The paper’s doing an article about the shelter. When I showed up to talk to the director, Grace was there filling out the paperwork. The
shelter does a background check before they accept any volunteers.”

“I think it’ll be good for her.”

“I do, too,” Jack said.

Olivia opened her eyes and gazed up at the sky. The clouds had parted and the stars were coming out; it was turning into a spectacular night. Most of her friends were at a fund-raising dinner she’d gladly skipped. She could only imagine what her co-workers would say if they could see the very prim and proper Judge Lockhart soaking in a hot tub. And with a man, yet.

“I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, you know,” she told him. She didn’t need to elaborate on what she meant; Jack knew.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He kissed the top of her head.

Olivia felt his chest expand and then softly he said, “I love you, Olivia.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d admitted his feelings, but something about the way he’d said it felt different. She leaned away from him and looked into his eyes. “I love you, too, Jack.”

“Do you mean that, Olivia? Really mean it?”

She nodded. “I do.”

A sigh rumbled inside his chest. “I know you don’t like to talk about Stan, and frankly, I don’t blame you, but I think we should. For the last time.”

“All right.” This sounded ominous.

Jack didn’t speak for a moment, and she gave him a nudge with her elbow. “Your ex-husband made it plain from the day we met that he wanted you back.”

Olivia kissed Jack’s chin. “I know, but he can’t have me.”

“He’s got a whole lot more to offer you than I do.”

“Such as?”

Jack chuckled. “You don’t really want me to get into
that
, do you?”

“Yes,” she challenged. “What you don’t seem to understand is that my ex-husband doesn’t hold a candle to you in a hundred different ways. Okay, he probably brings home a bigger paycheck.”

Jack snorted. “Probably? No one gets rich in the newspaper business, at least not these days.”

“Are you suggesting money’s important to me?”

“No.”

“Then why worry about it?”

Again she felt Jack expel a deep sigh. “Because I’m attempting to be noble here and you’re making it damn hard.”

“Noble?” Olivia wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this.

“All right, if you must know, I’m asking you to put me out of my misery and marry me.”

For a wild moment Olivia was too stunned to react. “Jack, are you proposing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. I want us to be together, Olivia. I love you. The way things stand now, all we get are the leftovers of each other’s lives—and I want more. I want you to be in my life and I want to be in yours.”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

“I want to be there when you wake up in the morning and at your side when you get into bed at night, and all the in-between times, too.”

This was romantic, and romance was the last thing she expected from Jack Griffin.

“I don’t know how to say it any plainer than that,” he concluded.

“Then what was all this business about Stan?” If he told her he’d willingly step aside for her ex-husband, she was going to shove his head underwater, dammit!

“Yes, well, I was going to tell you—” He hesitated. “No, I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“Won’t let Stan have you. I thought I could do it, but as far as I’m concerned, the hell with him.”

Olivia leaned back and rewarded him with a long, breath-stealing kiss followed by a series of short kisses down the side of his neck. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Go on,” she urged.

Jack’s arms tightened around her. “I’m never letting you go again, Olivia. I’m only half alive without you.”

She felt a burst of happiness, and her body seemed so light, so buoyant, she thought she could soar straight up to the stars.

Jack took her by the shoulders and turned her sideways so he could look her full in the face. “Will you marry me, Olivia?”

She blinked back tears and nodded. “Oh, yes, Jack.” Then she was in his arms again and he was kissing her with an abandon that sent the blood surging through her veins. This was the beginning for them, a beginning that would last the rest of their lives.

A small piece of information had been niggling at the back of Roy McAfee’s mind ever since he’d met Hannah Russell. It took him ten days to figure out what it was. Patience almost always paid off; the facts hidden in his memory usually emerged if he gave them time. But now he’d glimpsed the elusive detail and he needed to talk to someone.

Consequently, he showed up at the sheriff’s office first thing Monday morning. Davis was sitting at his desk and seemed unsurprised when Roy walked into his office.

“You’re up and about pretty early,” Davis said, looking up from the paperwork spread across his desk. “Anything I can do for you?”

“That depends.”

Davis gestured toward the empty seat.

“I’ve been giving some thought to our meeting with Russell’s daughter,” Roy said as he sat down.

The sheriff steepled his fingers. “And?”

“You wouldn’t still have a list of Russell’s personal effects, would you?”

“I do. Mind my asking what you want it for?”

“I’d like to look at it again,” Roy told him.

“Any particular reason?” Davis flipped open a file folder that lay on the edge of his credenza, then left the office for a moment. Roy could hear the hum of the copy machine.

Davis returned, handed him the sheet and sat down again. He reviewed the list along with Roy. “There were his clothes,” Roy read aloud. “Nothing unusual there. A good suit, a long dark raincoat and a wide-brimmed hat.”

Davis nodded as he glanced over the items. “His daughter said he’d taken to wearing the hat after the accident.”

Roy lifted his head. Thus far, everything seemed as it should. “Anything else catch your attention?”

“His briefcase, of course.”

Roy would’ve liked the opportunity to search that himself before it’d been released to Hannah.

As if reading his thoughts, Davis said, “Nothing there. I checked it myself. No secret compartments or anything to indicate it had been tampered with in any way.”

Of course not. That would’ve been too easy, Roy thought. “What about the contents?”

Davis smiled, but it wasn’t a smile that conveyed amusement. “He had a crossword puzzle book, a mystery novel and a map of the area, plus a couple of candy bars. For someone who’d traveled this far, he packed pretty light.”

“How about his suitcase?”

Davis frowned. “Two changes of clothes, as you can see on this list. We turned that bag inside out looking for something that would give us a clue about who he was. I’m telling you right now, there wasn’t a damn thing out of the ordinary.”

Roy believed him.

Davis hesitated. “It seems to me you’ve studied that list a couple of times in the last few months. Why all the interest now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.”

“Tell me about your feeling and I’ll tell you about mine.”

Roy nodded; that was fair. “Do you remember, when Russell’s daughter was at the Beldons’, she mentioned the automobile accident that killed her mother?”

“I remember.”

“She said her father claimed something had gone wrong with the steering.”

“According to the report, the accident investigator found nothing,” Davis reminded him.

“Right,” Roy agreed, but they both knew there were ways to disguise the true cause of an accident. In addition, there’d been a fire, the same fire that had badly burned Russell’s face and hands. The blaze could easily have destroyed any evidence of foul play.

“Well?” Davis asked.

“We still don’t know what killed Russell.”

“We know his heart stopped beating. What we don’t know is why. But then, as the medical examiner said, the guy was in his late fifties, had been to war and back, and survived one hell of a car accident. Maybe it was just his time. He went peacefully, the doc said.”

Roy nodded, but he wasn’t buying any of it. “As I recall, there was something else in Russell’s personal effects.”

“What was that?” Davis asked, looking back at the list. Another smile slipped into place as he slowly straightened and leaned toward his desk. “A half-full bottle of flavored water,” he said, answering his own question.

“Did Russell’s daughter happen to take that with her?”

Davis shook his head. “She read it on the list, said it wasn’t unusual for her father to drink bottled water.” He shrugged. “I didn’t offer to give it to her—don’t have it anymore.”

Roy could feel his heart start to pound. “Don’t tell me you tossed it.”

“Nope.” Davis was grinning now. “I sent it off to the toxicology lab.”

Their eyes met and they nodded at each other in unspoken agreement. “My guess is, this death wasn’t as natural as some would like to believe,” Davis said.

“Why was he killed?”

“Why travel with fake identification? Why come to Cedar Cove in the first place?”

“He came to see Beldon,” Roy said. He was confident of that much.

“Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe that wasn’t the only reason he showed up in Cedar Cove.”

“What other reason could there be?”

Sheriff Davis leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied look. “Maybe he came to find out what happened to Dan Sherman.”

“I
don’t need a baby-sitter,” Eddie insisted, defiantly crossing his arms. He glared at Allison, his eyes narrowed, as he silently challenged her to say otherwise.

“Do, too,” Allison retorted. Zach’s daughter had never been able to walk away from a dare, especially one issued by her little brother.

“I think we should leave now,” Zach whispered to Rosie under his breath, “before the kids give us an excuse to stay.”

“Tell her,” Eddie demanded, pleading with his father.

Zach sympathized with the boy, but there were limitations to what he could say and do. “Baby-sitters get paid, and your sister isn’t getting anything to stay home with you.”

“You mean I’m doing this for
nothing?
” Allison cried, but the outrage was all for show and Zach knew it.

Eddie was only partially mollified, but he didn’t protest again when Zach led Rosie out the front door. “The kids’ll be fine.”

Rosie agreed. “I’ve been dying to see this movie.”

“Me, too,” Zach said as he hurried ahead to open the car door for her.

To his astonishment, she stared at the door and didn’t move.

“What?” he asked, slightly annoyed. Granted, it was an old-fashioned courtesy, but Rosie had never objected to it before.

“It’s…it’s just that it’s been a long time since you opened the car door for me.”

Zach felt a little shocked. He knew she was talking about the last year of their marriage, and he supposed she was right. They’d treated each other without considerateness or respect, and the disappearance of small courtesies was a symptom of that.

“It’s a nice touch, Zach, it always was. Thank you.” She slipped into the car and reached for her seat belt.

Zach hurried around the front of the vehicle. This was their third “date.” Their first had been dinner the night Rosie had wept and the children had called him. He still didn’t understand what that had been all about, but she seemed to feel better after they’d talked. Even now, almost two weeks later, he didn’t remember exactly what they’d discussed that evening; what he remembered was how comfortable it felt to spend time with Rosie again.

In the mess they’d made of their lives, Zach had forgotten one important fact. Rosie had been more than his wife—she’d been his friend. He’d missed the little confidences they’d once shared, the small private jokes, the conversations in bed late at night. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about those things until recently, and he realized how much he missed her. How much he missed the way they used to be…

This week the kids were on spring break and Rosie had five free days. They’d already met for lunch on Monday afternoon. On the spur of the moment, they’d decided to take in a show on “Tightwad Tuesday,” when all movies were three dollars. Popcorn and soda, however, stayed the same
price. Rosie was the one who enjoyed popcorn, especially the buttered variety.

The movie, a romantic comedy, had been given rave reviews. While Zach paid for their tickets, Rosie stood in line for popcorn. This was a rare night out for Zach during tax season; most evenings he was in the office until seven or eight.

They chose seats in the back of the theater and toward the middle. He noticed several people glancing in their direction and a few heads moving together in hushed whispers.

“People are talking about us,” Rosie said.

“Well, we
are
divorced,” Zach reminded her with a grin. “Divorced people generally don’t go out on dates.”

“True,” she said. “Sad commentary, isn’t it? We get along better now that we’re divorced than while we were married.”

“Yeah.” Zach couldn’t deny it. “At least during the last few years of our marriage.”

“Why did that happen, do you think?”

Zach was saved from having to answer because the lights dimmed and music blared from the sound system. Soon the previews began, about fifteen minutes’ worth, with lots of noise and frantic action.

The movie itself was delightful. More than once, Zach laughed out loud. Although he claimed he wasn’t interested in popcorn, he ate more than half of Rosie’s small bag, which she willingly shared. About halfway through the show, Zach realized they were holding hands, just like they had while they’d dated during college.

When the lights came back on, they remained seated for a few minutes, enjoying the lingering effects of the movie and the music. People started to leave the theater; several nodded at Zach and Rosie. She was right—they’d caused something of a stir. Well, good. Let people talk all they wanted. He didn’t object.

“It’s been ages since I laughed that hard,” Rosie said, standing.

“Me, too!”

“And even longer since we laughed together.”

Zach could only agree.

Because he was so busy at the office and because it was spring break and the kids were home, they’d decided it would be best if Rosie stayed at the house the entire week. Zach drove her back there.

As he headed toward Pelican Court, they chatted about the movie, laughing again at the antics of the characters and the cleverness of the plot. All too soon, he’d reached the house. Zach wasn’t ready for the evening to end, but he didn’t know if Rosie felt the same.

When he pulled into the driveway, they sat silently in the car, as if each was waiting for the other to speak first.

“It’s still early,” Rosie said. She glanced tentatively in his direction.

It was after ten, and Zach had been in the office since before six. Yet he didn’t feel tired at all.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked in a neutral voice, implying that it didn’t matter to her one way or the other.

Zach checked his watch, although he already knew the precise time from the digital clock on the car’s dashboard. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

“The kids will probably still be up,” Rosie told him when he came around and opened the door for her. “Allison stays up till all hours of the night whenever she gets the chance.”

Zach knew that and struggled with it, too. He and Allison had discussed this volatile subject on a number of occasions. His final conclusion was that if his daughter got too tired, she’d learn to adjust. He was saving his big guns for when she started driving.

Zach unlocked the front door and Rosie entered the foyer ahead of him. Two steps into the house, she stopped abruptly. “What’s this?” she gasped.

“What?” Zach moved around her to find rose petals strewn about. The red petals seemed to take a path away from the door, down the hallway that led to the master bedroom. Talk about blatant manipulation! His children had set up a romantic interlude for him and Rosie. This, no doubt, was primarily Allison’s doing, since Eddie, as a nine-year-old boy, didn’t have much of a clue about love and romance.

“Everything is suspiciously quiet,” Rosie murmured.

That was when a soft waltz started to play.

“Music, too?” Zach asked in a whisper.

“Romantic music,” Rosie elaborated. “It’s from
Swan Lake
.” She moved into the kitchen and turned on the light. There, in the middle of the kitchen table, was another surprise.

“Wine?” Zach asked, following her.

“Looks that way.”

Sure enough, their children had strategically placed two wineglasses on the kitchen table with one long-stem rose lying between them. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice. Unfortunately, it was a red wine, but Zach wasn’t about to complain.

“I believe our children have planned a bit of romance for us,” Rosie said sheepishly. “In case you’re wondering, I didn’t put them up to this.”

“I didn’t, either, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea, do you?” He held out his hand to her. “How long since we last danced?” He had no recollection of their doing so in the past half-dozen years.

Rosie laughed. “I don’t think we ever waltzed.”

“Then it’s definitely time to rectify that.” Hand in hand, Zach and Rosie hurried into the family room. He brought her
into his embrace and they moved to the classic rhythms of the waltz. Amazing, Zach thought. This seemed so natural.

When the music ended, Rosie flashed him a radiant smile.

Zach could never resist one of Rosie’s smiles. Their eyes met in the dim light, and all at once he knew he had to kiss her. He prayed she felt the same way, because waiting a moment longer was entirely out of the question.

They nearly collided in their eagerness. Rosie had her arms around his neck and his were around her waist. Their kisses were wild and wet and urgent, as though it was necessary to feel and taste as much of each other as possible.

With the kissing came something else Zach had forgotten, something that had been buried deep in the mud they’d slung at each other during the divorce. He loved Rosie. He’d loved her as a young man and, despite everything, he loved her now.

Loved her and wanted her, desperately wanted her.

It was the little things that Bruce Peyton missed most about his wife. Stephanie had died in a car accident almost two years ago, and he’d thought, he’d hoped, he’d be able to adjust with time. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. His friends insisted he date again, and several had set him up with blind dates, but he’d always come away feeling guilty and uneasy. He’d read that a year was long enough to heal substantially from a loss like his. It wasn’t true, not for him. He didn’t think he’d ever get over her death.

Stephanie had been his only love. Bruce felt lost without her, and so lonely. Jolene, their daughter, kept Stephanie’s picture on her nightstand because she was afraid she’d forget what her mother had looked like. That tore at Bruce’s heart, but he had no such problem. He carried the memory
of her face in his heart. She was with him every minute of every day.

Although he tried, Bruce just wasn’t good at little-girl stuff. Right now, for instance, Jolene needed a haircut. Her pigtails fell halfway down her back. Her hair had been cut only once in the two years since Stephanie’s death. Not thinking it mattered, Bruce had taken his daughter to the barbershop with him. Seven-year-old Jolene had primly informed him he’d done the wrong thing.

“Girls don’t get their hair cut in the same places boys do,” she told him afterward.

Now Jolene was saying she wanted her hair short.

“You’re supposed to take me to a beauty shop,” his daughter said when he picked her up at the after-school child-care facility.

“I’ll make an appointment,” Bruce promised her. He chose a name out of the yellow pages, a place that promised great cuts, phoned and wrote down the day and time. Monday at four. Then he dutifully arrived at the mall with Jolene in tow.

“Get Nai-led,” Jolene said, sounding out the second word. They stood in front of the shop. His daughter nodded approvingly, and he was relieved he’d apparently made the right choice this time.

Taking her by the hand, Bruce walked into the salon. It was like stepping into an alien world. Women draped with plastic sheets and huge looped curlers twisted about their heads sat in chairs and stared at him as if
he
was the odd-looking one. The smell was none too pleasant, either. He didn’t know what these women did to themselves or why, but they had his pity.

Tentatively Bruce walked over to the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Bruce Peyton,” he managed to get out. “I have an appointment
for my daughter.” He leaned against the counter. “She needs a haircut.”

The woman, who must’ve been about eighteen, ran her index finger down the appointment schedule. Her fingernail had to be a good two inches long and had something painted on it. He stared hard and realized it was some psychedelic print. Very sixties. But why? He shook his head slightly.

“Here you are,” she said in a chirpy voice. “She’s booked with Rachel.” Looking past him, she shouted, “Rachel, your four o’clock is here.”

Bruce stepped away from the counter.

“Rachel will just be a moment. Would you like to take a seat over here and wait?” The receptionist gestured to a row of chairs against the wall, all of which were empty.

“Ah, sure.” Bruce sat down on one of the chairs and Jolene sat next to him. He reached for a magazine and quickly replaced it when he saw the lead article was “Ten Ways to Achieve an Orgasm.” In case Jolene tried to sound out the word
orgasm,
he turned the magazine facedown. Luckily, the latest issue of
The Cedar Cove Chronicle
was available. He grabbed that and hid his face behind the newspaper before anyone could recognize him.

Jolene sat patiently at his side, her ankles crossed, gazing avidly at the ultrafeminine world before her.

Less than five minutes later, a dark-haired woman who didn’t seem to be much older than the receptionist approached him and Jolene.

“I’m Rachel.”

Jolene scooted off the chair and stood. “I need my hair cut.”

Rachel smiled and held out her hand. “I can do that.”

Feeling even more awkward, Bruce stood, too, wondering what was expected of him now.

“You wait here, Daddy,” Jolene instructed him.

Rachel’s eyes met his and they shared a brief smile. He had his orders, Bruce figured.

“This won’t take more than thirty minutes,” the beautician told him.

“Sure…great.” Bruce sat down with the newspaper, but he soon grew restless. He got up and walked outside the salon and over to the food court. It’d been a while since his last visit to the mall.

He walked around for a bit and then noticed an electronics store. With at least twenty minutes to kill, he decided to ask about MP3 players. Even if he couldn’t afford one, it didn’t hurt to look.

Before he went into the store, Bruce checked his watch to be sure he didn’t inadvertently stay longer than Jolene’s appointment lasted. Stephanie had died on her way to pick up Jolene from kindergarten class and his daughter had been left waiting at the school for hours until someone could come for her. She’d been traumatized and, ever since, had reacted to any lateness, any deviation from a promised schedule, with extreme anxiety.

A salesman arrived, eager to show him the latest technology. Bruce had a few questions and they were soon involved in a discussion of the pros and cons of different brands. When he checked his watch a second time, a full thirty minutes had passed. Panic rushed through him as he quickly made his excuses and bolted out of the store. He sprinted across the mall, past the food court and toward the salon.