Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 50

Nineteen

Maryellen felt about as pregnant as she could get. It was hard to believe that she had another six weeks to go before her baby was due. She hadn’t heard from Jon since mid-June, the afternoon she’d buried her father. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d relented and wouldn’t follow through with legal action. In the three weeks since, she’d been constantly alert, waiting for him to make good on his threats.

With summer in full swing, Maryellen had been busy with the steady stream of tourists. The gallery was doing well, but several of her summer customers were disappointed to find she no longer carried Jon’s work. She’d heard, via the grapevine, that he was selling exceptionally well at the Bernard Gallery in Seattle. Word had it that his prints sold out almost as soon as he delivered them. The problem was the same as when she’d carried his work; his deliveries were sporadic and demand far outweighed supply. She appreciated the reasons in a way she hadn’t before. He used to cook at André’s and now worked five long days a week at The Lighthouse, which was quickly gaining a reputation as one of the area’s finest restaurants. Seth and Justine’s new venture appeared to be thriving with Jon at the helm.

Maryellen was pleased for the couple’s success. What bothered her, what downright irritated her, was Jon’s golden touch. He was too perfect, too good. Talent spilled out of him like water from an overfilled glass. He designed and built his own home, took brilliant photographs and was a talented chef. Other than his lack of minor social skills—which could, in fact, be seen as evidence of his sincerity and therefore a plus—the man had no flaws. If he did take her to court over shared custody of their child, there was every likelihood he’d win. Unless she was able to dig up some dirt in his past… She’d sensed secrets about him and he’d as much as admitted there was something to use against him.

The thought unsettled her. Battling for custody in a courtroom wasn’t the way she wanted it. The plan had been to raise her child alone. She’d assumed that when and if Jon ever learned of the baby, he’d be relieved she hadn’t involved him. But—as with so much else in her life—she’d been wrong.

By closing time, Maryellen was tired and out of sorts. Her feet hurt, she felt fat and ungainly, and the last thing she felt like doing was fixing dinner. Fish and chips appealed to her, so she stopped at a small café near Colchester Park that served some of the best.

She sat at an outside table, across the street from the water, with the Seattle skyline in the distance. Elevating her feet on the opposite bench, she set the cardboard container on the table and then licked her fingers, savoring the salty taste of hot chips. A pickup pulled into the lot, one she instantly recognized, and Maryellen froze. No, please, no. Jon should be at The Lighthouse, he should be taking photographs or working on his house. He should be anywhere except here.

Jon seemed equally surprised to see her. He climbed out and stood beside his truck for a moment, appearing uncertain as to whether he should acknowledge her.

“I didn’t follow you if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said in an expressionless voice.

“I know.” She refused to allow him to ruin her meal and reached for the saltshaker.

“Justine’s having all kinds of water retention problems because of salt,” he said, frowning. “Should you be using it?”

“I’m completely healthy.” How like a man to try to tell her what to do. Her irritation flared up and just as quickly died.

“And the baby?” He focused on her stomach.

“She’s developing nicely.”

“She?”

Maryellen nodded. “I’ve had periodic ultrasounds because of my age.”

“You knew all along?”

“No—I had them tell me just recently.”

“A girl.” He said it as if in absolute awe. “Have you picked out names yet?”

“I was thinking of Catherine Grace.”

His face softened. “My mother’s name was Katie. She’d be very pleased if she knew.”

“You can tell her.” She didn’t think he intended to keep the baby a secret. Perhaps this small concession on her part would convince him of her good faith.

“My mother’s been dead fifteen years.”

“I’m sorry.” Maryellen instantly regretted saying anything.

“I want my daughter in my life,” Jon said, his voice firm.

“Perhaps we could reach a compromise.” It hadn’t been part of her plan, but she didn’t want to drag this through the courts, either.

“Such as?”

“Weekends?” she suggested.

His face as void of emotion as he considered her offer.

“I don’t want to shuffle the baby back and forth—days with you, nights with me,” she explained nervously. “I want her life to be stable and full of love. Please try to understand.”

His reluctant nod followed. “All right. But my weekends sometimes aren’t the same as yours.”

“We can work around that.”

“Then we’re in agreement about the baby and me?” he asked, as though he wanted to be sure there was no misunderstanding. “She’ll be with me two nights a week.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He seemed relieved and perhaps even moved by her compromise. “I plan on being a good father.” He turned toward his truck, his reason for stopping at the café apparently forgotten. “Go easy on the salt, you hear.”

“Yes, sir.” Maryellen gave a mock salute and smiled, and to her astonishment, Jon smiled back. He got into his truck and drove off, but as his vehicle disappeared from view she realized that she’d done Jon Bowman a disservice. He genuinely cared for their unborn child—and for her. Throughout this ordeal he’d been honorable and kind. She was the one who’d mistreated him.

Maryellen’s appetite vanished, and she pushed her meal away. The baby fidgeted inside her, stretching and kicking as if to remind her that every child deserved a mother and a father.

“All in due course, Catherine Grace,” she murmured, rubbing her abdomen, “all in due course.”

For five months Roy McAfee had searched for information on the John Doe who’d died at the Beldons’ bed-and-breakfast. So far, he’d learned that the airline ticket had come from a small town in southern Florida. This same town was where “James Whitcomb” had lived, according to his counterfeit ID. Roy had traveled there, showed the man’s picture to authorities in the area and come back with nothing.

His next angle had been to contact plastic surgeons in Florida, but none recognized the work or knew of the case. One physician suggested it seemed to have been done twenty or thirty years ago, as techniques had changed over time. While that was interesting, it wasn’t especially helpful.

Six months after his death, the John Doe had yet to be identified. And despite the days and nights he’d logged on this case, Roy was no further ahead. The toxicology report had revealed nothing to unravel the mystery. Because of budget restraints, Troy Davis hadn’t ordered more extensive tests.

Roy knew the county didn’t have a lot of extra cash—and curiosity was definitely not an item in their budget. With no clear evidence of foul play, there was nothing to investigate.

Corrie came into the office carrying a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “You’re thinking about the dead guy again.” Because they still didn’t have a name for him, his wife referred to him as “the dead guy.”

Roy growled something unintelligible under his breath. “I’m not dropping it.”

“Troy doesn’t have the money to continue funding the investigation.”

“You don’t need to remind me of that.” After his last report, in which he had little information to add, Davis had said to let it go. Roy didn’t like hearing that, but there were plenty of other cases that needed his attention. Still, this one nagged at him, much the same way Dan Sherman’s disappearance had.

“We’ve already put out more money than we’ve taken in.”

Roy had heard that before, as well. From the beginning, Corrie hadn’t been keen on his delving into this investigation. He didn’t think she could explain her reasoning any more than he could rationalize the time and expense he’d poured into the case.

“I can’t stop thinking the dead guy came to Cedar Cove for a specific reason,” Roy murmured, turning the puzzle around in his mind. He didn’t believe for a moment that this was a random visit. Something else that had bothered him was how the man knew about Thyme and Tide. The bed-and-breakfast wasn’t on a main road. He had to go off the freeway and down several side roads in order to find it.

Either the John Doe had gotten completely lost in the storm, or he’d specifically chosen the Beldons’ place. If so, why?

“Maybe he’s a hit man,” Corrie suggested, then shook her head. “I’ve been reading too many mysteries.”

Roy had thought of that possibility himself. “In which case, he would’ve been carrying a weapon and he wasn’t.”

“Unless it was being planted for him.” Corrie shrugged. “It happens that way in the movies.”

“Hit men carry their own pieces.”

Corrie leaned against the edge of his desk. “When’s the last time you spoke to Bob Beldon?”

Roy had to think about that. “A couple of months ago, I think.” His wife had a gift for asking the right questions. “He swears he’d never seen the man before that night,” he said slowly.

“Yes, but I remember you telling me that something about his reaction was slightly off.”

That niggling feeling came every now and then. Roy didn’t suspect Bob of anything underhanded, nor did he believe the other man was withholding information, but often people weren’t even aware of what they knew. Bob most likely had some vague sense of recognition—so vague he didn’t consider it worth mentioning. Maybe he’d met the dead guy in his previous job or on a vacation.

“I think I’ll pay Bob and Peggy a visit,” Roy said.

Corrie grinned knowingly. “I figured you might think that was a good idea.”

Peggy was working in her herb garden when he pulled into the driveway. He could see her with her straw hat and a large basket, snipping and gathering. Getting out of the car, he waved to her; she waved cheerfully back. Although the couple was around the same age as Corrie and him, they hadn’t socialized. He wasn’t sure why.

Roy saw another car parked in the driveway, one he didn’t recognize. Probably belonged to a guest. The front door opened before he could ring the bell and Pastor Dave Flemming stepped onto the porch. Dave served as a Methodist minister and was a likable guy; Roy had met him on a number of occasions. He knew that Pastor Dave had officiated at Dan Sherman’s funeral, which had been small and private, and had met with Grace a couple of times since, helping her deal with the tragedy.

“Roy, how are you?” Pastor Dave said, extending his hand. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.”

“You’re popular today, Bob,” Dave said on his way out the door.

“You here to see me?” Bob asked.

“If you’ve got a minute.”

“Sure thing.” He held the screen door open and invited Roy inside. “Pastor Dave asked me to coach a church basketball team.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in sports.”

“I haven’t played in years,” Bob said as he led Roy into the kitchen. He offered him a glass of iced tea, which Roy declined with a shake of his head.

They sat across the table from each other. “Apparently Grace mentioned to him that Dan and I were local sports heroes a hundred years ago,” Bob murmured.

“You and Dan went to school together?”

Bob nodded. “We were good friends at one time. In fact, we enrolled in the Army on the buddy plan and took our training together.”

As long as Roy had lived in Cedar Cove, he couldn’t remember the two men having more than a nodding acquaintance.

“I don’t think you came by to ask me about Dan, now did you?” Bob said.

“No. I’m still trying to find out who your visitor was.”

“You learn anything?” Bob leaned forward slightly.

Roy shook his head. “I know you’ve gone over the details of that night a number of times.”

“With you and with Troy.” Bob sounded bored.

“I appreciate your cooperation.”

Bob nodded. “No problem.”

“Tell me your impressions again.”

“Let me think.” Bob leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “It was late. The news was over and Leno was just coming on. I saw the car’s headlights from the window and asked Peggy if we had any guests down on the books. She said we didn’t.”

“What was your first reaction when you saw him?” Roy asked.

His eyes remained closed. “Hey—you know what? I thought he seemed familiar, which is odd because I didn’t get a good look at his face. I’d kind of forgotten about that, with all the commotion the next morning.”

“Familiar?” Roy pressed. “In what way?”

Bob frowned. “I don’t know. Nothing definite.”

“His walk? The way he carried himself?”

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

Bob opened his eyes and shook his head. “I had…an uneasy feeling.”

“Define uneasy,” Roy probed.

Bob thought a moment and then shrugged. “It was like a gut reaction—that this man meant trouble.”

“Trouble,” Roy repeated.

“I guess I was partially right, seeing that he turned up dead in the morning.” Bob sighed loudly and shook his head. “Sorry I can’t help you more.”

“You have,” Roy said, which seemed to surprise Bob.

“How?”

“I’m beginning to think you did know this man. I want you to sleep on it. Let it work in your mind and get back to me if something else occurs to you.”

“You think he was here because of me?” Bob sounded shocked.

“Yes, Bob, I do.”

Finally Rosie was to have her day in court. She’d waited almost six months for this. Sharon Castor, her attorney, walked next to her as they approached the front of the courtroom and sat down.

“We have Judge Lockhart,” Sharon whispered.

Having a female judge reassured Rosie, since another woman would understand her position more clearly than a man. Although he continued to deny it, Zach was involved with Janice Lamond. If he’d been honest about the affair, the divorce would have been over months ago. She blamed him for the delays, blamed him for everything. He, of course, blamed her. He accused Rosie of dragging things out and being unreasonable. She accused him of lying. On and on it went.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Rosie whispered, leaning her head close to Sharon’s.

“Lockhart’s fair, if a bit unorthodox.”

That wasn’t what Rosie wanted to hear. She wanted this procedure to be quick and straightforward. After six months of haggling over every detail, she was ready for the divorce to be done. Ready to make a new life for herself and put the bitterness and ill will behind her.

Zach approached the table, his attorney at his side.

Rosie didn’t look at Zach, but she felt his gaze burn through her. She stiffened her spine and refused to acknowledge him. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep. Her head throbbed with the worst headache in ten years and she felt she might be physically ill. Zach would never know any of this, however. She’d keel over in a dead faint before she’d let him know what his affair had done to her sense of worth, her dignity and her heart. This divorce had just about destroyed her emotionally.

The judge was announced and all the people in the courtroom briefly rose and then immediately reclaimed their seats.

“Good morning, Your Honor,” Sharon Castor said, rising to her feet once more.

“Good morning.” Judge Lockhart flipped through the pages of the brief, scanning the details. “I see you’ve reached a settlement in the matter of alimony.”

“We have, Your Honor.”

“I’ve read through the parenting plan.”

Rosie caught her breath. She’d held out as long as she could on the issue of joint custody. It wasn’t what she wanted. She assumed, from the amount of time Janice and Chris spent with Zach, that he intended to make them part of his life and thus part of her children’s lives. Knowing that, she fought him with everything she could. Their fights had grown ugly and vengeful. Rosie regretted the things they’d said and done, but in the heat of her anger, the venom had flowed out of her. She hadn’t known she was capable of behaving this way. Hadn’t known Zach was capable of treating her with such contempt.

“It appears that you’ve agreed to joint custody.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Lockhart gestured at the document. “It states here that the children, ages fifteen and nine, are to live with their father three days a week in the first and third week of each month and four days a week in the second and fourth week. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“They are to pack up their belongings and transfer from their house to his apartment—and back—every three or four days. Isn’t that a lot of moving about for these children?” the judge asked, frowning.

“Your Honor.” Zach’s attorney stood. “It’s important to my client that he share custody of his children.”

“I have no squabbles with his motivation or the concept of shared custody,” Judge Lockhart said, “but to my way of thinking, it isn’t the parents who need a stable home life, it’s the children.”

“My client couldn’t agree with you more,” Otto Benson said, and Zach nodded.

“Ms. Castor, is your client in agreement as well?”

Sharon looked at Rosie, who stood. She spoke directly to the judge. “I want what’s best for my children.”

Judge Lockhart studied both Zach and Rosie. “The family home is at 311 Pelican Court. How long have you lived at this address?”

“Three years, Your Honor.”

“You intend to keep the home?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Sharon answered on Rosie’s behalf.

The judge set aside the paperwork and sighed heavily. “That being the case, I’m going to put your word to the test. Both of you have stated that your main concern in this divorce is your two children. That’s what I want to hear. Both of you seem determined to stay in their lives and I commend you for that. I hope you mean it. I agree to accept all conditions and terms as submitted to this court with one exception: joint custody.”

“Your Honor!” Zach roared to his feet.

“Hear me out, Mr. Cox,” the judge ordered and Zach sat back down.

Smugly Rosie crossed her arms, pleased that this insightful judge had seen through her husband.

“As I stated earlier, it’s important for the children to have a stable home. You two—not the children—are the ones who’ve decided to end this marriage. Therefore, the children are to remain in the house and the parents are the ones who’ll be moving in and out every few days.”

“But, Your Honor—”

“These are my terms. Either accept them now or delay the divorce.”

Horrified, Rosie looked at Zach. How could they go along with this after they’d struggled over every single detail?

“Have you made a decision?” the judge asked.

Zach and his attorney were whispering. Soon afterward Otto stood. “Your Honor, my client agrees.”

Sharon glanced at Rosie and she, too, nodded. “My client agrees also.”

“Very well,” Judge Lockhart said, “the marriage is dissolved. I hope you can make this work, for the sake of your children.”

Rosie hoped so, too.

“Call him,” Charlotte urged Olivia. “He’s miserable and so are you.”

“No, Mother.” Olivia put her teacup down. “Not this time.” She was still furious with Jack, and she refused to approach him. If he could so easily give up on her, then she considered herself better off without him. But she asked, “How do you know he’s miserable?”

Her mother set aside her knitting and reached for the teapot in the middle of the kitchen table. She replenished her cup and then Olivia’s. “He asks about you every week when I drop off my column.”

That was encouraging. Still, Olivia had seen no actual evidence of his concern. If Jack cared for her as much as he said he did, then he should take her advice and fight for her.

The phone rang, and Olivia absently reached for it. “Hello.”

“It’s Seth.” Her son-in-law didn’t sound like himself. “Justine’s water just broke and her labor’s started. We’re leaving for the hospital now.”

“But it’s early,” Olivia cried. Three and a half weeks early, and that couldn’t be good for Justine or the baby.

“No one bothered to tell the baby that.”

What she heard in Seth’s voice was a sense of panic. “I’m leaving now,” she assured him. “Everything’s going to be fine. Babies are born early every day.”

“Yes, I know. This just caught me off guard. Can you call Stan for me?”

“Of course. Take a deep breath and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

As soon as Seth was gone, Olivia punched out Stan’s work number and was put through immediately. “Stan Lockhart.”

“Hello, Grandpa,” she said, bubbling over with mingled excitement and concern. “Justine’s in labor and on her way to the hospital. Do you want to meet us there?”

Stan laughed, sounding delighted and equally thrilled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Tell her I’ll see her soon, Grandma.”

“No need to rush,” her mother said as Olivia set the portable phone in its base. “These things take time.”

So spoke the wisdom of age, but Olivia knew she’d be hopeless anyplace but at the hospital. A baby was about to be born into their family, and she felt too much joy to hold inside. She couldn’t sit still, and began pacing compulsively through the house.

“Go,” Charlotte advised a few minutes later. “I’ll take care of everything here. Call me later.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Olivia kissed her mother’s cheek, grabbed her purse and car keys and was out the door.

For nearly an hour she sat alone in the waiting area. Seth came out to give her bits of information every now and then; so far, everything was going smoothly. Stan arrived, looking frazzled, two hours later. They sat and drank coffee and chatted.

“Remember the night James was born?”

“I don’t think I could forget that.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “We barely made it to the hospital.”

Soon they were laughing, caught up in memories of the early years of their marriage.

“Remember the Christmas Eve you decided to assemble Jordan’s bicycle?” she asked.

“Don’t remind me,” Stan groaned. “As I recall, the instructions were in Japanese and you were the one who said assembling a bike couldn’t possibly be that difficult.”

“My mistake.”

“What about the time you decided to teach Justine how to bake bread?”

Olivia rolled her eyes at the memory. In an effort to be helpful, Justine had picked up—and dropped—a ten-pound bag of flour that exploded on impact. For years afterward, Olivia found traces of the powdery substance all over the kitchen—beneath the sink, behind the refrigerator, in the backs of drawers.

The hours passed with barely a notice as they immersed themselves in laughter and memories.

At close to nine, Seth appeared, wearing the biggest grin Olivia had ever seen. She’d almost forgotten the reason they were at the hospital. She leapt to her feet, ready for the news.

“We have a son,” Seth announced. “Leif Jordan Gunderson. He’s a big boy for arriving early. Six pounds, two ounces. The doctor said he’s a mite premature, but his lungs sound like they’re working just fine.”

Olivia promptly burst into tears.

By the time Olivia got home, she was happy but exhausted. Her mother had left a note on the kitchen table.

Think about what I said.

Jack misses you.

Call him.

Mom

Jack. Olivia hadn’t give him a thought since she’d left for the hospital. In fact, she’d had a perfectly wonderful time reminiscing with Stan. All of a sudden she wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. All of a sudden there was more to think about than she’d realized. If her ex-husband wanted back in her life, then maybe she should let him. Maybe she should consider all her options. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her and Stan….

Getting ready for bed, Olivia thought about her divorce, and the couple she’d seen earlier that morning came to mind. Her decision to take them at their word and force them to put their children first had been a bold one. The kids were to stay in the home, and the parents would move in and out. Everyone who lived at 311 Pelican Court would be going through a big adjustment and for the sake of their children, she sincerely hoped they could make it work.

As for her…well, Olivia would watch and wait. She’d see how things went at 311 Pelican Court—and she’d be keeping an eye on events at 204 Rosewood Lane, too. Just making sure that Grace continued to regain her confidence, her emotional equilibrium.

And with two men in her own life, who could tell what might happen at 16 Lighthouse Road?