Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 67

Fourteen

Thick, 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.

“Hi,” he said, straightening.

“Hi, yourself.” Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Jack wasn’t a handsome man at first glance, but he did manage to stir her restless heart.

“Do you have time for a walk in the snow?”

“I’d love it.” She’d been in a hurry to get home, but invitations from Jack were scarce and she wasn’t about to refuse one.

He brightened, smiling that cocky off-center grin of his. “I thought you might.”

Once outside, she noticed that the snow was coming down in large, soft flakes, the kind that floated slowly to earth.

“Let’s walk down to the waterfront,” he suggested.

The hill was steep and the street was often closed when driving conditions were unsafe. The signs had already been set in place not far from the courthouse.

Jack tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. Olivia turned her face to the sky and opened her mouth to catch the falling snow on her tongue, the way she’d done as a child.

“I love when it snows,” she told him.

“I do, too,” Jack said.

“Do you want to build a snowman on the courthouse lawn?”

“I’d rather we went somewhere for a cup of coffee.”

That sounded just as nice to Olivia. The lights from the marina were ablaze, the water catching their reflection as dusk settled over the cove. Boats bobbed gently on the surface, and with the snow drifting down, the scene resembled a Christmas card. The only thing missing was carolers walking by in old-fashioned winter coats or a sleigh gliding past.

Jack led her to the Potbelly Deli on Harbor Street. The deli served a big lunch crowd, but stayed open until late afternoon. He went up to the counter while she chose a table by the window. Soon Jack returned with two thick mugs of coffee and a slice of pecan pie with two forks.

“Jack,” she protested. “I’m watching my weight.”

“Watch it another time,” he said, and handed her a fork.

She accepted it, sighing heavily. “You know what this means, don’t you?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I’m going to have to walk on the treadmill tonight.”

“I thought you did aerobics with Grace.”

“I do, but that’s Wednesday nights, once a week. Everything I’ve read about exercise says four or five times a week is best.”

“That often, huh…?” He sliced off a section of pie with the side of his fork.

“Do you exercise, Jack?” She had helped herself to the tiniest bit of pie, avoiding the whipped cream.

“Me?” He glanced up and the guilty look he wore was answer enough.

“Oh, honestly, if you don’t take care of yourself you’re going to keel over from a heart attack. You need to get serious about eating right and exercising.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said, and hacked off another chunk of pie.

“Okay, I’m finished lecturing.”

“Good.” He smiled as he said it, taking the sting from his words. He reached inside his coat pocket and removed an envelope. “I thought you might like to see these.”

Olivia took the envelope and noticed the return address. It was from Eric and Shelly. Inside was a letter wrapped around a set of pictures. Olivia unfolded the letter and studied the snapshots of Tedd and Todd, Eric’s twin sons.

“Oh, Jack! Look how much they’ve grown.”

“Shelly wrote and said they’re both walking already.”

“At nine months?” Olivia could well imagine all the mischief those boys were getting into. She didn’t envy the young couple. Thankfully, Jordan and Justine hadn’t walked until they were a year old. A brief sorrow, a pang of regret, came and went. She didn’t think about Jordan as much anymore. Whole days would pass without her dwelling on the death of her thirteen-year-old son, Justine’s twin brother. For years she’d played a heart-wrenching game of wondering how her life would’ve been different if Jordan had chosen to ride his bike that fateful August afternoon instead of heading to the lake with his friends. It was a question with no answer. Jordan had gone to the lake.

“I have new pictures of Isabella,” she said, unwilling to be outdone in the grandchild department. She scooped up her purse and removed a small “brag” book Grace had given her for pictures. “Look at Leif, too. You won’t believe how much he’s changed.”

While she finished studying the snapshots of Tedd and Todd, Jack flipped through the photo book.

“Isabella and Leif are cute,” Jack agreed, “but Tedd and Todd are cuter.”

Slowly Olivia lowered the snapshots. “You don’t want to go there, Jack Griffin. My grandchildren are the most perfect, beautiful grandchildren in the entire universe. I’d hate to slap a fine on you for denying the truth.”

He sat back and arched his eyebrows. “Really? I could always write another article about you in The Chronicle,” he returned.

Olivia laughed. “Truce, truce. Let’s agree we both have the brightest, most intelligent grandchildren ever to grace the earth. Deal?”

Jack smiled and reached for his fork. Only this bite was for her.

She declined with a shake of her head, but Jack was having none of it.

“I’ll have to work it off later and I hate the treadmill.”

“We could always go walking.”

However, by now it’d stopped snowing and a light drizzle had started. “In the rain?”

Jack frowned. “How about if you take me Christmas shopping? I need to mail off gifts for Eric, Shelly and the boys, and I could use the help.”

“Deal,” she agreed, and leaned forward to accept the sliver of pie. It really did taste divine and she closed her eyes to savor this small bite.

“You ready?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“Ready.” She stood, picking up her coat, which was draped on the chair behind her.

It wasn’t until they were on their way out the door that Olivia realized this was the first time in months that Stan’s silent presence hadn’t loomed over them.

This was a good sign, a very good sign indeed.

Zach studied the young woman in the chair opposite his desk. This was the part of the job he detested most. Hiring new employees. Cecilia Randall was the last applicant of the day. He’d interviewed four others and had found some reason or other not to hire any of them.

Cecilia Randall was nervous, eager to make a good impression. She was young, but she’d come with glowing references, although none were from bookkeeping firms. Her work experience so far had been as a restaurant hostess.

A dozen questions filled his mind, but federal regulations being what they were, Zach couldn’t ask them. He’d learned his lesson on that issue with Janice Lamond.

“You like accounting work, Ms. Randall?” he asked, clearing his throat.

She nodded vigorously. “Very much. I had top marks in my class.” She leaned forward and motioned to an entry at the bottom of her résumé. “I recently earned my accounting degree from Olympic Community College in Bremerton.”

Zach had noticed that. “I see your husband’s in the Navy?”

“That’s correct. He’s currently out at sea.” She clasped her hands in her lap and squeezed her fingers tightly together. “I miss him very much, but his tour of duty is almost over.” She had the wistful look of a woman in love. That was good.

Zach glanced over her résumé one final time and mentioned his main objection. “I don’t see any previous employment in this field.”

Cecilia moved to the edge of her seat. “Yes, I know. Until recently I worked at The Captain’s Galley as a hostess. That was before it was sold. It’s The Lighthouse now.”

Zach nodded absently; he was certainly familiar with the restaurant, since he did their taxes.

Cecilia leaned closer. “They offered me a job, but I turned it down. Ian and I felt it was more important for me to finish my degree and get a job in the field I’ve been training in for the last three years.”

He gave her an A for effort, Zach decided. She’d stuck out three years of classes and here she was.

“I’m willing to start at the bottom,” she offered. “I’d be grateful for the experience and the chance to prove myself.”

Zach liked this young Navy wife. Another good thing—she was married and from every indication the marriage was healthy. Although he’d never admit it, he didn’t want to work in close proximity to a single woman again. He hadn’t seen Janice for what she was until the damage was done.

“Can you start Monday morning?” he asked, making his decision. He was tired of doing interviews, and no other applicant had shown as much desire for the job as Cecilia Randall.

Her eyes grew huge. “You mean I’ve got the job?”

Zach smiled. “It’s all yours.” He told her the salary and her eyes grew even bigger. He was afraid it wasn’t enough when she blurted out, “How much?” Embarrassed, she laughed and covered her mouth. “This is just great! You won’t be sorry, Mr. Cox. I’ll work hard and do my very best.” “I know you will, Ms. Randall.”

After he left the office that evening, Zach stopped at the local grocery and picked up a whole cooked chicken. It had never been one of his favorite dinners, but it was quick and easy and he didn’t feel like fussing with meal preparation.

Eddie’s face fell when he saw it. “I wanted spaghetti,” he complained.

“Chicken again?” Allison said. “Mom brought home a chicken two nights ago. Doesn’t anyone in this family know how to cook?”

“Yes,” Zach said, losing his patience. “You do.”

“Me?” Allison snarled back at him. “What makes you think I can cook?”

“Didn’t you take home economics this trimester?”

“Yes, but we’re not—”

“You get home first in the afternoon—you can put on dinner for Eddie and me.”

“You want me to cook just because I’m a girl, don’t you?” Her eyes filled with fiery indignation.

Zach wasn’t about to get caught in the “My Dad is a Chauvinist” trap. “If Eddie was home from school before you, I’d put him in change of dinner, but as it happens, you’re the first one to walk in the door. Congratulations, you’re elected. Your brother and I will wash the dishes.”

“I’d rather cook,” Eddie piped up.

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck, sport. Allison’s going to come up with a dinner plan for us.”

“A dinner plan?” She looked aghast. “What’s that?”

He wondered if she’d been sleeping through her classes. “Make a list of what we’re going to eat for the next seven days and then compile a grocery list from that.”

“Oh.”

“You can cook spaghetti every night if you want to, Allison,” Eddie said enthusiastically.

“Here, write.” Zach set a notebook on the table in front of her.

“Can we have tacos one night?” Eddie begged. “Please, please?”

“I guess.” Allison reluctantly wrote tacos at the top of her list.

“What do we need for tacos?” Zach asked.

“Meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce and taco shells,” she said.

“Great,” Zach said, pointing at her. “Write all that down on a separate shopping list.”

“We have cheese,” Eddie told him. “Mom bought it for macaroni and cheese on Monday night.”

“Fine, but we need taco shells, tomatoes and lettuce.” Allison dutifully listed the ingredients. They continued, with Eddie making dinner suggestions and Allison creating the list. Actually it was fun, and by the time they’d finished, the table was set and they were ready for dinner.

Eddie held a chicken leg with both hands. “Are you really going to cook for us, Allison?” he asked his sister.

Allison shrugged. “Only because Dad’s making me.”

In an effort to bring family discussions back to the dinner table, Zach asked his two children about their days.

In typical Allison fashion, she rolled her eyes. “All right, I guess.”

“I had a great day,” Eddie said, describing in detail every aspect of his fifth-grade life.

“What about you?” Allison asked when Eddie had finished.

“Me?” Zach replied, and then realized he didn’t have anything to hide. “I hired a new assistant this afternoon.”

“Is she pretty?” Eddie asked.

Before he could answer, the phone rang, and like a comicstrip hero in a mask and cape, Allison dove for the phone. Her enthusiasm died when she discovered it was her mother.

Although Zach could only hear one side of the conversation, it was obvious from Allison’s answer that Rosie had asked what they were doing.

His daughter gave a long, beleaguered sigh. “We’re just sitting around the dinner table and Dad’s telling us about hiring a new assistant.”

Zach wanted to groan aloud. He’d rather Rosie didn’t know that Janice had quit and left him high and dry. The fact that she’d handed in her notice was embarrassing enough. But to own up to the poor choice he’d made when he’d hired her—to Rosie of all people—would be mortifying. It’d been hard enough to admit it to himself.

His appetite gone, Zach stood and carried his plate to the kitchen. He scraped it off and set it inside the dishwasher.

Eddie talked to his mother, too, and after a few minutes, his son called him. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Okay, sure.” He knew she wasn’t going to let the information slide, and he was right.

The moment he was on the phone, Rosie asked the question he’d been expecting. “You’re hiring a new assistant?”

“Oh, I guess Allison told you,” he muttered. “I’m trying to get back to family discussions over the dinner table—all of us sharing part of our day.”

“What happened to Janice Lamond?”

She was certainly persistent. “Nothing’s happened to her.”

“If that’s the case, then why are you hiring another assistant?”

“Why?” he repeated as if the answer should be obvious. “I need one.”

“Janice got a promotion, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Zach could say that in all honesty. Janice had gotten a promotion—only it hadn’t been with his firm. He knew very well that he should admit Janice had been everything Rosie believed. She’d had an agenda that had nothing to do with the job.

“I guess congratulations are in order, then—for Janice, that is.” Rosie sounded deflated.

“Yes…I suppose they are,” he said.

A few moments later, Zach hung up the phone. An uneasy sensation settled over him. He had an inkling that he was going to end up paying for this lie—and soon.