44 Cranberry Point Page 11

  This perked Olivia up. “Exactly what are you suggesting?”

  He was quiet a minute or so. “That benefit for the animal shelter is coming up in July, isn’t it?”

  “The Dog and Bachelor Auction?”

  Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Just remember where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Oh, Jack! What a terrible pun.” She rolled her eyes. “The fact that there’s a Will is exactly what got in the way.” Giggling, she nudged him in the shoulder. Only Jack could make her laugh about something so distressing.

  He nudged her in return and they smiled at each other.

  Then she shook her head. “Cliff isn’t one of the bachelors. Grace said he turned them down.”

  “Did he really? Maybe he needs encouragement. The right kind of encouragement.”

  “Jack? What are you thinking?”

  Eyebrows raised, her husband stayed quiet.

  “Jack?”

  With a move so fast he left her breathless, Jack swept her into his arms and Olivia fell against him. “Have I mentioned lately that you ask far too many questions?”

  “Not lately,” she said and giggled again.

  He kissed her, and soon neither one of them had a single question to ask.

  Chapter Sixteen

  With the television on in the family room, Peggy sat working the counted cross-stitch pattern. Bob was out for the evening; he had his regular AA meeting at six and following that, he was off to the community theater to read for a part in the latest musical production. The theater had decided to put on Chicago.

  Peggy spent almost every Thursday night alone and had grown accustomed to having this time to herself. Two of her favorite television shows aired on Thursdays and she could count on not being interrupted.

  She yawned and covered her mouth with one hand. It’d been one of those days. The rain had started early that morning and hadn’t let up all day. Not a rarity for mid-June, but Peggy had hoped to work in her garden. The rain had been a mixed blessing, though, because she’d been inside when the phone rang that afternoon. It was Hannah Russell.

  Apparently Roy McAfee had called her with a number of questions and she hadn’t heard back from him. Hannah wondered if there was any news. Peggy hadn’t known what to tell her. Unfortunately she didn’t have any information for her, either, but it was unlikely that she would. The investigation into Maxwell Russell’s death was out of her hands.

  Hannah had sounded anxious, and Peggy had tried to reassure her. She wanted to help the young woman, but wasn’t sure how. The motherly part of her longed to gather Hannah in her arms and tell her everything would be all right. The girl was hurting, wandering aimlessly to escape her pain. That wouldn’t help, because wherever Hannah settled, the anguish would follow. Clichéd though it was, Peggy knew from experience that time really was the great healer.

  Determined to finish the cross-stitch pattern of hummingbirds in flight so she could complete another one before Christmas, Peggy glanced down at the page and paused to rub her eyes. Either the manufacturers were making smaller patterns every year or she needed new glasses. She preferred to blame the people who printed the patterns. This cross-stitch was for her daughter and she wanted to complete one for her son, Marc, as well. Although maybe she’d better choose another pattern for Marc’s…The oceanscape she’d bought might be a little too complicated.

  The back door opened and she looked up. It was early for Bob to be home. “Is that you, sweetheart?”

  “Are you expecting some other man?” he teased.

  “Not tonight. The naked dancing men are scheduled to arrive on Friday.”

  “Very funny.” He stayed in the kitchen. “Any of that fried chicken left?”

  “I thought you’d decided not to eat at night anymore.”

  “I did.”

  “Then why are you asking about the chicken?”

  “Because I’m a weak man and I’m hungry.”

  She smiled. “Third shelf down on the left-hand side.”

  “You’re gonna have to do something about this refrigerator,” Bob complained. “I can’t find a thing to eat in here.”

  This was a routine complaint. The refrigerator was stuffed with food, but her husband continually claimed there was nothing to eat. Peggy didn’t bother to respond.

  Munching on a chicken leg, he joined her in the family room off the kitchen.

  “It’s getting nasty out there.”

  Peggy could hear the rain pounding against the bay windows in the breakfast nook. “My garden could use it.”

  “The grass is going to grow and then I’ll have to cut it again,” he muttered. “I swear it’s a vicious cycle.”

  Concentrating on her counted cross-stitch, Peggy smiled. This, too, was one of his regular lamentations.

  A branch struck the window and the wind howled. It reminded her of the night Maxwell Russell had appeared at the door, asking for a room. A chill slithered down her arms. That night was one she’d prefer to forget.

  “How about a cup of coffee?” Bob asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The wind howled again and Peggy’s eyes met Bob’s. He didn’t need to say anything; she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. That rainy night…

  “Decaf?” Bob called from the kitchen.

  “Please.” She set her cross-stitch aside and stood, raising her arms in a stretch. “How was the meeting?”

  “Good. Jack was there.”

  Her husband wasn’t supposed to tell her who was or wasn’t at his AA meetings, but there was little in life they didn’t share.

  “Olivia and Jack are still in the honeymoon phase,” he said, sounding like a serious student of the stages of marriage. “All he could talk about was Olivia.”

  “It’s refreshing to find a man who’s madly in love with his wife, don’t you think?”

  Bob laughed. “That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one.”

  “I like Olivia.”

  “So do I, but those two are about as different as two people can be.”

  “Yes, but they’re well-suited, too. Jack makes her laugh. And Olivia brings balance into his life.”

  “He cleaned out his car for her.”

  “Jack?” This was a noteworthy event. Jack’s car was notoriously cluttered with fast-food cartons, old newspapers and what-have-you. For years Peggy had made a joke of it.

  “Apparently Olivia’s something of a neat freak. Everything in its place and a place for everything.”

  Peggy frowned. Jack was a born slob. The only thing he’d ever organized in his life was the front page of the newspaper.

  “It won’t be long before Jack starts complaining,” Bob said knowledgeably.

  “About what?”

  Bob sighed as if the answer should be obvious. “Olivia, of course. Mark my words, Peggy. Jack will give this marriage his best shot, but I don’t think he’ll be able to maintain Olivia’s high standards.”

  Peggy was not amused. “That’s the most negative thing I’ve heard you say in months.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I think the world of Jack-and of Olivia-but I can see the writing on the wall with those two.”

  Peggy was annoyed by his attitude. But before she could chastise Bob, he continued his discussion of the differences between Jack and Olivia.

  “She’s even got him eating healthy meals. She actually made grilled tofu and eggplant-eggplant-last week. I burst out laughing when Jack told me. Can you imagine a meat-and-potatoes man like Jack eating tofu and eggplant?”

  “I’ll bet it was fabulous.” Peggy was a big fan of both and had cooked tofu a number of times. Bob had eaten it, not realizing what it was, and complimented her on dinner. She’d pass along a couple of her recipes to Olivia and explain that the secret was not to say a word.

  “He made some excuse as soon as he could and drove to Burger King for a Double Whopper with cheese.”

  “Shame on him,” Peggy murmured, although she smiled at th
e thought of Jack rushing out the back door, desperate for a fast-food fix.

  Bob brought her the coffee in a mug. No sooner had he handed it to her than the lights flickered. “This is turning into some storm. What did the weatherman have to say?”

  “I switched channels before the weather came on.”

  Bob scowled up at the light fixtures. “I’d better find a flashlight before we lose electricity altogether.”

  Peggy sipped her coffee and set the mug on the counter. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  She followed her husband into the mudroom, where he opened a cupboard door and peered inside. “Have you heard anything on the Russell investigation?” she asked.

  Bob glanced over his shoulder as if her question had startled him. “No. What makes you ask?”

  “No reason. I was just thinking about everything this afternoon. Doesn’t it seem mighty convenient that Dan Sherman killed himself when he did?”

  Her husband didn’t answer.

  “I can’t help wondering about that.”

  The lights flickered again, and this time went out. The room was pitch-black and silent without the background noise of the TV and the hum of the fridge.

  “Bob?”

  “I’m here.”

  He reached for her, his hand clasping her elbow.

  There was a pounding in the distance. “What’s that?” Peggy asked, jolted by the unexpectedness of it.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I do.”

  Her husband switched on the flashlight and led the way back into the kitchen. The pounding was unmistakable now. Someone was at their front door.

  “I hear it,” Bob said in a husky whisper.

  Panic swelled in Peggy’s throat. This was like history repeating itself. “Don’t answer it,” she whispered fearfully.

  Bob ignored her. With the flashlight guiding him, he left her and walked into the other room.

  Peggy wanted to cry out, to remind him that it’d been a night like this when Maxwell Russell had come to their door. Their lives hadn’t been the same since.

  “Bob! No!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Peggy.”

  She moved behind him, trembling as he released the dead bolt. Her breath seemed to catch in her lungs as he opened the door and flashed the light on their unforeseen guest.

  Hannah Russell stood drenched and shivering on the other side of the screen door.

  “Hannah,” Peggy cried and stepped around her husband to open the screen and let the woman in. “Are you all right?”

  “I got lost,” she whispered. “I thought I could find your place again on my own, but I was lost, and the rain was coming down so hard and I was sure I was going to drive off the road.”

  Peggy couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t phoned. “Come in,” she urged. Bob took Hannah’s coat and hung it on the hall tree to dry.

  It was all Peggy could do to hide her distress when she saw how thin and pale the young woman was. “Come inside where it’s warm,” she insisted, taking Hannah’s arm. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

  “This morning-I think. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

  The lights flickered and came back on, and Peggy sighed with relief.

  Bob clicked off the flashlight.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Hannah mumbled. “I told myself I wouldn’t, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “You made the right decision. Bob, bring in her suitcase. I’ll put on some soup. Hannah, you go take a hot shower and get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

  “I can stay?”

  “Of course you can stay with us.”

  Tears spilled from the young woman’s eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “There’s no need to thank us,” Peggy said, escorting Hannah to the bathroom down the hall, where there were plenty of thick, fresh towels.

  When she returned it was to find her husband studying her. He didn’t look nearly as certain about this as Peggy did.

  “We’ll settle everything in the morning,” she promised.

  Bob’s eyes burned into hers. “That’s what you said the night Max Russell arrived.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel Pendergast checked her afternoon appointment schedule at Get Nailed as she ate her Weight Watchers frozen entrée. Jolene Peyton was down for a haircut. Rachel remembered the young girl from previous appointments. She recalled Jolene’s father, too, and his uneasiness about being in an establishment frequented by females. She found his attitude fairly typical of single fathers.

  Jolene was a motherless child and she’d made it clear that she was eager to have her father remarry. Bruce Peyton’s wife had been killed in a car accident two years ago while driving to pick up Jolene from her kindergarten class. From what Rachel had heard, several hours had passed before anyone remembered that Jolene was still at the school. Not surprisingly, the seven-year-old was terrified of being left behind.

  Despite Jolene’s effort to push Rachel and her father together, Bruce Peyton amused Rachel more than he attracted her. While she enjoyed the child’s company, Rachel felt that getting involved with a man so obviously in love with his dead wife had virtually no chance of developing into a healthy relationship.

  Just after four, Jolene skipped into the salon, as relaxed in Get Nailed as her own bedroom. “Hi, Rachel,” she said, pigtails bouncing.

  The child must be going into third grade this year; to Rachel, she seemed younger than her age-again, not surprising. “Are you ready to get your hair cut?” she asked, taking out a miniature version of the plastic cape.

  Bruce followed his daughter into the salon but didn’t show any of her enthusiasm. He nodded briefly in Rachel’s direction, then glanced nervously around as if he suspected someone would wrestle him to the ground and dye his hair blue.

  “Here you go,” Rachel said, turning the chair for Jolene to climb into. She adjusted the cape and secured the clasp.

  With practiced ease Jolene flipped her pigtails over her shoulder. “I want you to cut it just like you did before.”

  “Ah, a woman who knows her own mind,” Rachel murmured. She released the bands holding Jolene’s hair and carefully ran a brush through it. To her surprise Bruce didn’t take a seat or wander into the mall the way he had on previous visits. Instead he stood about two feet behind Rachel, watching every move.

  “Do you want to sit down, Bruce?” she asked. He was making her uncomfortable, standing there like that. After cutting Jolene’s hair for the last few months, she would’ve thought he’d trust her with his daughter.

  “Dad’s afraid I’m going to talk,” Jolene piped up.

  “Jolene!” Bruce growled out a warning.

  “He told me I’m not supposed to say anything about you marrying him.”

  Rachel jerked around in time to see Bruce throw back his head and groan aloud.

  “I don’t think we need to concern ourselves with that,” Rachel said, hoping to reassure him.

  “You already met someone?” Jolene sounded horrified. Her big dark eyes widened with dismay.

  “No, but-”

  “She’s going to the auction, though,” Terri called out from the nail station on the far side of the salon. “We all are.”

  “What auction?”

  “The Dog and Bachelor Auction being put on by the animal shelter.” Terri pointed to the poster on the wall near the front door. “Everyone in town is talking about it.”

  “I’m saving every penny of my tip money,” Jeannie, another nail tech, chimed in. “This could be my last chance.”

  “I’m more interested in the dogs myself,” Rachel said for Bruce’s benefit. She could just imagine what he thought of all this chatter about men.

  As if the conversation had suddenly made Bruce feel awkward, he walked over to the waiting area and claimed a chair. From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw him reach for a magazine and pretend to read.


  “What’s a Dog and Bachelor Auction?” Jolene asked, cocking her head to one side. Her gaze met Rachel’s in the big mirror.

  “It’s a fun event where women make bids to adopt a special pet and a date with a bachelor.”

  “What’s a bachelor?”

  “A man who isn’t married,” Rachel explained.

  “My dad’s not married anymore.”

  “Hey, Bruce,” Terri shouted. “Have you signed up for the auction?”

  Bruce lowered the magazine and shook his head. “Not on your life.”

  “Why not?” Terri pressed. “It’s for charity, you know.”

  “I’m not interested in dating again, thank you very much.” His steely-eyed look dared his daughter to comment.

  “You said I could have a new mommy,” Jolene reminded him, yelling it across the salon.

  “Someday,” he muttered.

  “But that’s what you say when you really mean no.” Jolene’s face fell. “You promised.” The child seemed about to break into tears. “I’m the only girl in my class without a mommy and you said, you promised…”

  Every eye in the salon turned to glare at Bruce Peyton.

  Feeling sorry for him, Rachel helped the girl out of the chair and led her to the shampoo sink. She hoped that with a bit of distraction, Jolene would forget about her father’s promises, as well as the Dog and Bachelor Auction.

  When Rachel finished shampooing Jolene’s hair, she noticed that Bruce had left the salon. She guessed he’d decided to wander around the shopping center, after all. That was probably for the best, considering the grilling he’d gotten earlier.

  “Who else is going to be in the Back-lor auction?” Jolene asked once Rachel had her back in the chair.

  “Navy men,” Terri supplied gleefully. “An entire aircraft carrier full of sailors arrived last month and I hear several of the crew have volunteered.”

  “For the sake of charity,” Rachel reminded her friends.

  “I don’t care why they signed up,” Jeannie said, filing her customer’s nails. “They’re fair game.”

  Her friends’ enthusiasm for this auction astonished Rachel. Frankly, she didn’t hold out much hope of meeting anyone through a charity function. Yes, it was a clever way to raise funds, but as for meeting men, she’d been disappointed so many times she’d given up hope. Her thirtieth birthday had come and gone with barely a ripple of the calendar page. Her desire to settle into a comfortable married life was still unfulfilled, and Rachel had given up looking. If she was meant to find a husband, then it would happen. In the meantime she was content.