50 Harbor Street Read online

  Jack sat in front of the television. He found daytime TV asinine. It seemed largely populated by the stupid and the shameless. One more talk show or courtroom program and he was going to leap off a bridge.

  “Hi,” she said, coming through the front door. Studying him for any signs of—what?—she removed her gloves and hung up her coat. “Did you have your nap?”

  Jack clamped his jaw rather than comment.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” she asked next.

  “Yes.” His response was automatic. “I want a kiss. A real kiss.”

  She hesitated for only a moment. “All right.”

  “None of that peck-on-the-cheek stuff, either. I want—no, I need—a kiss from my wife.”

  “Jack…I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I happen to believe it’s a mighty fine one.” Slowly he got up from the chair. If she wouldn’t come to him, he’d go to her.

  Olivia must have recognized the determination in his eyes because she backed away from him until she could go no farther. Pressed against the wall, her eyes wide with alarm, she whispered, “Jack…”

  He didn’t allow her to finish. She stiffened when he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her for all he was worth. Her lips were soft and pliant, and it wasn’t long before he felt her relax. She sighed; soon her arms were around his neck and they were completely caught up in each other.

  Jack was just beginning to wonder how difficult it would be to unfasten her blouse and free her breasts. He loved the feel of Olivia’s breasts; the weight of them in his hands was about as close to heaven as he figured he’d get. Suddenly the oddest thing happened.

  Olivia started to weep.

  These weren’t ordinary tears, either. Her shoulders heaved with sobs as she clung to him, kissing him as though she couldn’t stop. A moment later, she was crying so hard she had to pull away in order to breathe. With her head against his chest, her arms circling his middle, she continued to weep.

  “Olivia?” he asked anxiously. He’d never seen her cry like this, never known her capable of this heart-wrenching kind of grief. His hands were in her hair as he tried to comfort her.

  “I almost lost you,” she managed to say between hiccuping sobs. “Jack, oh Jack, please, please, don’t ever do that to me again.”

  He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on her.

  “All I could think about was losing you…I kept remembering the day Jordan drowned and…don’t leave me, Jack! Don’t leave me, I love you so much.”

  “I would never leave you,” he assured her, still stroking her hair.

  “I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Never,” he promised. “I’ll never leave you, Olivia.” And, God willing, he’d keep his word.

  Thirty-Eight

  “Roy, would you fill the water glasses?” Corrie called from the kitchen. Their company was due any minute, and she was decidedly flustered.

  They were having the Beldons over, and cooking for someone like Peggy Beldon was a challenge. Peggy’s skill in the kitchen was worthy of her own cooking show on the Food Network. What did one serve a culinary virtuoso?

  After days of flipping through cookbooks, Corrie chose baked halibut with wild rice and fresh green beans. Dessert was coconut cake, using Charlotte Jefferson’s recipe. With this cake, Charlotte had apparently won the blue ribbon in the Kitsap County Fair five years running. Corrie didn’t doubt it. If the cake tasted half as divine as it looked and smelled, even Peggy would be impressed.

  “Done,” Roy said, holding an empty water pitcher in his hand. “Anything else you need me to do?”

  Corrie stepped back and surveyed the dining room. The presentation was elegant, if she did say so herself. A fresh flower arrangement sat in the middle of the mahogany table, which was covered with a pale-yellow linen cloth. Matching napkins were folded into the shape of birds about to take flight. Corrie had picked up this neat trick watching a Martha Stewart show a few years back. The simplicity of it had attracted her. Their very best china and silverware were laid out for their guests.

  The doorbell chimed, and Corrie drew in a calming breath. She didn’t know why she’d worried so much. It wasn’t a competition, and Peggy wasn’t critical. She supposed her own perfectionism was the culprit; that and her desire to make sure their friends had a wonderful time.

  Roy welcomed the Beldons. After he’d taken Bob and Peggy’s coats, they all gathered in the living room and Corrie brought out an appetizer. It was an easy recipe she’d gotten off a package of cream cheese. You started with fresh Oregon shrimp mixed with cocktail sauce and heaped it all on a block of the softened cream cheese. Small crisp crackers were arranged around it.

  Roy took a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and poured three glasses. Bob had a soda. It didn’t seem to bother him that wine was served, although Corrie was sensitive to the fact that their friend was a recovering alcoholic. Bob had assured them it wasn’t a problem the last time they’d had the Beldons to dinner, which was—oh, she was embarrassed by how long it’d been. The night of the fruit basket, as she always thought of it now. Last October…

  They toasted one another and made small talk for a while, just catching up on life.

  “Do you ever hear from Hannah Russell?” Roy asked. He sat next to Corrie, his arm draped around her shoulders.

  Hannah was a young woman who’d lived with the Beldons the previous year. Her father had died two years earlier at the Thyme and Tide, and his death had shaken the entire community—especially when it was revealed to be no accident, no natural death. Max Russell had been murdered. No one was more shaken than Bob, who appeared to be a suspect at the beginning.

  Even now Corrie didn’t understand all the connections. She knew Max and Bob had served together in Vietnam; Dan Sherman had been with their unit, too. So was a fourth man, now a colonel. The men had held on to a terrible secret—a massacre in a remote village. They’d all been involved and, needless to say, none of them had ever gotten over it. They’d handled that unbearable memory in different ways. With Bob it had been drinking….

  Dan was the first to die. His death, however, had been a suicide. Then Max was murdered, and there were all sorts of questions and misconceptions regarding his death.

  The shocking truth about Max’s death came later, when it was learned that his own daughter had killed him. No one had been more stunned than Peggy, who’d befriended the girl and welcomed her into their home. The Beldons had let Hannah live with them, helped her find employment, encouraged and supported her.

  “I haven’t talked to Hannah in months,” Peggy said, and her words rang with sadness. “I’ve written her any number of times, but she never answers. The last I heard, she’d been taken to California to await sentencing for her mother’s death.” Hannah had initially tried to engineer her father’s death by having a friend tamper with his car, but it was her mother who’d died.

  “Peggy was in court when Hannah accepted the plea agreement.” Bob shook his head in confusion. “Somehow Hannah blames us for her arrest.”

  Peggy bit her lip. “I still find it hard to believe that Hannah could murder her parents.”

  Roy didn’t respond, and Corrie knew why. Her husband was the one who’d long suspected the girl’s involvement in the murder. The only reason Hannah had come to Cedar Cove was to keep track of the investigation. Meanwhile, she’d fooled people by acting timid and vulnerable, a little girl lost.

  “Max’s death wasn’t the only mystery in this town,” Bob commented, sipping his soda. “As I recall, the last time we were at dinner here, someone left a package at your front door.”

  Peggy brought her hand to her throat. “You frightened us because you thought that fruit basket might contain a bomb or something.”

  Roy’s smile was forced. “I remember.”

  “Did you ever find out who was responsible?”

  Corrie looked at her husband.

  “Not yet,” was all Roy would say.
r />   “I hope this wasn’t confidential, but Corrie told Peggy you’d been receiving anonymous postcards,” Bob said. “Don’t tell me that’s still going on?”

  “The most recent one arrived on Valentine’s Day,” Corrie answered when it seemed that Roy wouldn’t. The subject made them both uncomfortable. The card had actually been a valentine and the message inside had read: ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS ARE BLUE, I KNOW WHO I AM—DON’T YOU?

  Bob frowned and shook his head. “Don’t you have a clue who’s doing this?”

  Roy nodded. “We have an idea.”

  Just then the oven timer buzzed. The timing couldn’t have been better as far as Corrie was concerned. “I believe that’s our cue to move into the dining room.”

  The evening was enjoyable and they lingered over drinks until Bob suggested cards. Roy set up the card table while Corrie got out the deck. They played pinochle, the women against the men. After the first game they paused for coffee and dessert, and Corrie promised to write out the coconut cake recipe for Peggy. They were just finishing when Linnette arrived.

  Their daughter seemed surprised that her parents had guests. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled. “Hi, Peggy, Bob. I didn’t realize Mom and Dad had company.”

  Corrie immediately knew that something had upset her. “Should I call you later?” she asked.

  “No need,” Peggy said, reading the situation perfectly. She carried her empty cake plate and cup to the kitchen. “It’s time Bob and I went home.”

  “It is?” Bob glanced longingly at the card table.

  “Yes,” Peggy said pointedly. “It is.”

  Corrie had to smile. The men were finding it difficult to end the evening with the women having won the first round. They’d soundly beaten her and Peggy last time, so she considered this poetic justice.

  Roy and Corrie walked their guests to the front door while Linnette helped herself to a slice of cake. Whatever was troubling her must be serious if her diet-conscious daughter had resorted to cake.

  After heartfelt farewells, Corrie returned to the kitchen.

  Roy faked a yawn. “I’ll go up to bed and leave you women to talk.”

  “No, Dad, this involves you, too.” Linnette gestured with her fork to the empty chairs across from her.

  Roy pulled one of them out and stretched his long legs. “What’s up?”

  “Gloria Ashton.”

  Roy turned to his wife. “Who’s she?”

  “Linnette’s neighbor,” Corrie reminded him.

  “And friend,” her daughter added. “A good friend, too.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Roy asked, his voice impatient. He was a lot more accommodating with his clients than his children, Corrie thought, and she resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

  “Does it have to do with Chad?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah, the doctor fellow,” Roy muttered.

  Linnette lowered her head and nodded. “He asked me to have coffee with him after work a week ago, and I agreed.” She frowned and then shrugged her shoulders. “Basically, he wanted to tell me he’s dating Gloria.”

  “Your neighbor,” Roy put in, although by this point, he knew darn well who Gloria was. “Why should he have to ask your permission? It’s none of your business.”

  “Which is exactly what I told him.”

  Now Corrie was getting confused. “I must’ve missed something here. Last I heard, you’d decided pining after Chad was a waste of time.”

  “Big waste,” Linnette concurred. “I told Chad if he wanted my permission to date Gloria, he had it. I felt that his asking me was junior-high stuff. Then Chad explained that Gloria’s refused to go out with him because she and I are friends.”

  It sounded like the kind of thing that happened in high school, all right. “Why would she do that?” Roy demanded.

  “I don’t know. I tried to talk to her,” Linnette said, “but she wouldn’t listen. She said men are a dime a dozen.” Their daughter sent her father a tentative glance. “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Continue,” Roy urged, waving off her apology.

  “Gloria said good friends aren’t that easy to come by, and I agree. I told her it doesn’t matter to me that she’s interested in Chad, but she said she didn’t want to risk losing my friendship over a man.”

  “And Chad blames you?”

  Linnette sighed. “I feel guilty about it and yet why should I? I went so far as to tell Gloria that if she didn’t go out with Chad, I would—and that was the worst thing I could’ve said.”

  “Does Chad get a say in this?” Roy murmured.

  “Not really,” Linnette said. “Okay, he does, but I don’t care if he asks me out or not.”

  “Would you care if Cal did?” Corrie inserted triumphantly.

  “Cal?” Roy repeated. “Does every man you date have a name that starts with the letter C?”

  “Cute, Dad, very cute.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Corrie said.

  “Yes,” she admitted with another deep sigh.

  “Have you seen him since he was at the clinic?”

  Linnette shook her head. “I doubt I will, either.”

  “Don’t you need to take out those sutures?” In Corrie’s opinion, this was the perfect excuse.

  She shrugged. “Someone needs to. Either Cal will do it himself or Cliff Harding.”

  “You could always go to him,” Corrie suggested.

  “Is there a reason my presence is necessary here?” Roy asked in a bored voice.

  “Yes, Dad, there is. When I asked you about Cal, you said if I was supposed to see him again, fate would send him back into my life. That’s what happened with you and Mom, right?”

  “Right,” Roy agreed.

  “Fate did bring him back, and this time I refuse to make the same mistake. I don’t know what’ll come of it, but I’m willing to find out. He isn’t a doctor with a lot of degrees, and I doubt he has a large income, but he’s about all the man I can handle.”

  Delighted, Corrie smiled, but when she looked at Roy, she noticed that her husband wasn’t quite as pleased.

  Thirty-Nine

  Maryellen was at her wits’ end. Jon had set up a makeshift bed for her downstairs. Now, what had once been their living room had become the center of her universe—and her prison. The doctor didn’t even want her climbing stairs. Worse, Maryellen couldn’t lift anything that weighed more than a few pounds, which meant she was unable to hold her own daughter.

  Fortunately, her sister was looking after Katie during the day, and Maryellen didn’t know what they’d do without Kelly’s help. Jon handled all the childcare plus most of the housework at night, and that was difficult enough.

  Every morning he drove Katie into town and then he drove back in the afternoons to pick her up. In the meantime, Maryellen was trapped in the house, restless, bored and desperately afraid any unnecessary movement would bring on premature labor.

  Her life assumed an unsettling routine. Jon woke by seven, came downstairs and put on coffee, then went back upstairs to dress Katie. After giving Katie her cereal, he brought Maryellen a cup of herbal tea. They tried to spend a few minutes together with Katie before he took her to Kelly’s. It was early spring, so ferns and early flowers were starting to emerge, and the opportunity for interesting nature shots was at its prime. Jon was often away from the house for hours. He needed to work in order to earn the money they desperately needed.

  Maryellen knew he didn’t want her to worry about finances—as if that could be avoided. Naturally she was concerned. Without her working, they were forced to live on a single income. Jon’s sales increased every year, but he wasn’t yet at the level where he could support himself, let alone a wife and two children. Maryellen had encouraged him to quit as chef for The Lighthouse restaurant and devote himself to his career. Her plan had worked well until now.

  The front door opened and Maryellen set aside the novel she was reading. Her attention had been wandering all morning; the h
ours dragged on endlessly. Jon walked into the house carrying the backpack in which he kept his camera equipment.

  “I’m home.”

  She tried to smile.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked as he slipped off his boots.

  “Cranky,” she moaned. “You can’t imagine how awful it is to stay in bed like this.” Every place she looked, there was something that needed to be cleaned or finished, folded or put away. Jon tried, but he couldn’t manage everything on his own.

  “How about if I make lunch?” he suggested.

  “I’m not hungry.” She appreciated the offer and knew Jon was trying to please her. The fact was, she didn’t have much of an appetite these days. Why would she? The most exercise she got was walking to the downstairs bathroom and Dr. DeGroot had suggested she cut back on those visits as much as possible.

  “You barely touched your breakfast,” Jon reminded her. He sat on the edge of her bed, his eyes revealing tenderness and care. “I’ll make your favorite—a toasted cheese sandwich and tomato soup.”

  She smiled; for his sake she’d try to take a few bites.

  Jon kissed her cheek and moved into the kitchen. “Did anyone phone while I was out?”

  “No.” Maryellen crossed her arms. For the first couple of weeks, she’d received daily calls from Lois, needing advice or guidance. Those calls had stopped. Apparently her assistant, or one-time assistant, was comfortable as manager of the gallery now. Her mother usually tried to call during her lunch hour, and Maryellen was thankful for the distraction. But the library was often hectic around noon and her calls had dwindled down to maybe three a week.

  “Did you hear from your mom?” Jon asked as if reading her thoughts.

  “Not today.” Grace helped Maryellen as much as possible. Her mother, however, had a life of her own. Now that she was engaged to Cliff, Grace spent every spare minute with him. Maryellen wasn’t sure when the wedding was scheduled to take place. Soon, she suspected. It was doubtful she’d be able to attend, which depressed her further.