311 Pelican Court Page 7

  Jon seemed a bit flustered that she’d noticed the photograph. “That’s one of my favorites,” he said. “Do you mind that I have it here?”

  The odd thing was she didn’t. It gladdened her to see that he kept it in this room, although she didn’t dare analyze the reasons. “I don’t mind,” she said.

  “Good.” With that, he took her down the hallway to Katie’s room.

  Maryellen swallowed a gasp of delight when she saw the charming room. Jon had painted a zoo scene on one wall. Giraffes and elephants, zebras and monkeys appeared in a variety of realistic poses.

  “You did this?” she asked, astonished.

  “I haven’t quite finished.” He pointed to an area that had been drawn but not yet colored.

  All the furniture was new. He’d bought an infant swing and a crib with a canopy. A high chair stood in the corner; presumably he’d move it down to the kitchen when Katie was ready for it. Maryellen’s previous worry seemed even more ridiculous.

  “It’s wonderful,” she told him. “I made a fool of myself coming out here like this.” She couldn’t look at him. “I’ll go now.”

  Jon stopped her by stretching out his arm. “Katie and I want you to stay,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

  The lump in her throat eased as she gave him a smile. She wanted very much to spend this day with Jon and Katie.

  Six

  Tuesday evening, as the setting sun cast golden shadows over the cove, Grace left the library. She’d spent much of the day training a new assistant, so had stayed late to deal with her own paperwork. She was tired to the point of exhaustion. Times like these, she missed Dan the most. It would’ve been good to go home, have a quiet supper with him, maybe relate an anecdote or two. He’d disappeared the year before last, vanished without a word and without a trace. He’d hidden in a trailer deep in the woods, where he’d eventually committed suicide. His experience in Vietnam had never left him—the guilt and the horror of it.

  After his body was found, Grace had been assailed by doubts, wondering if she could’ve known, could’ve helped, could’ve reached him somehow. She suspected it would not have been possible because of the agony that consumed him, an agony he’d never spoken about. To her or anyone….

  Most recently there’d been this sadness, this emptiness she couldn’t shake. Her husband was dead and she’d lived without him for a long while and yet she couldn’t get used to his absence. That confused her. Theirs had never been a vibrant, happy marriage, but they’d made the best of it. They’d loved each other; that much she knew. She’d been wrong to think she’d be ready for another relationship so soon. She’d assumed all the grieving was over. Now she wondered if it would ever end. What she wanted was the life she’d had before Dan disappeared.

  While he’d never been an overly affectionate husband, there was a certain comfort in the routines they shared. He’d bring in the mail and the newspaper every afternoon. She cooked the meals. In the evenings, they’d sit side by side and watch television or talk, whether about their daughters or about inconsequential things—incidents at work, household concerns, local news. Once a week, she’d go off to aerobics class with Olivia. Dan hadn’t liked having her gone, but he’d never asked her to stay home. He understood how important Olivia’s friendship was to her. Now the evenings were silent. Lonely. Now it was Grace who dragged the garbage can out to the curb, Grace who struggled with the lawn mower and edge trimmer, Grace who read the fine print at the bottom of the car insurance policy—and she hated it.

  Walking to the parking lot behind the library, she tried to shake off her depression, reminding herself—as she often did—that she had much for which to be grateful. After years of longing, she was a grandmother twice over. Her daughters were close to her and to each other. She had good friends, especially Olivia. Her finances were in order, and while she was a long way from living a life of luxury, she earned enough to support herself. She had the answer about Dan’s disappearance, even if she didn’t like it.

  Life was good, or it should be.

  Buttercup greeted her happily when she got home. The dog came through the pet door at five-thirty every day to wait for her; she’d been well trained by her previous owner and didn’t budge from her appointed place until Grace arrived, even if she was late, as she was today. She collected the day’s mail and the newspaper, murmuring apologies and endearments to Buttercup. She flipped through the advertisements and bills as she walked back to the house and paused midstep when she came across a letter from Atlanta. The return address told her it was from Will Jefferson, Olivia’s older brother. Grace eagerly ripped open the envelope. She’d always been fond of Will.

  Standing on the sidewalk, she quickly scanned the neatly typed, one-page letter. While in high school, Grace had idolized Olivia’s brother from afar. He’d been a heartthrob way back then, and the years had done little to diminish his appeal. She’d seen him just recently when he’d flown home for Charlotte’s surgery. Grace was amazed at how attractive she found him even now, thirty-seven years after she’d graduated from high school.

  His letter was one of condolence. He told her how sorry he was about Dan, then wrote briefly about the changes he’d noticed in Cedar Cove. He said it had felt good to be home for more than just a brief visit after all these years. He added that he’d enjoyed seeing her. Since his return to Atlanta, he’d been talking to his wife about retiring in a few years and said he’d like to consider moving back to Cedar Cove.

  Grace knew Olivia and Charlotte must be thrilled at the prospect. Then she saw that under his signature, Will had included his e-mail address. He didn’t ask her to write, but there it was, like an open invitation.

  On her way into the house, Grace went through Will’s letter a second time, trying to read between the lines. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, nothing beyond his sincere sympathy and a bit of chatty news about his future plans.

  She replaced the letter inside the envelope, fed Buttercup and then turned on the television. These days her TV was more for companionship than entertainment. The evening was unseasonably warm and she dug around her refrigerator, deciding she’d just have a salad. She found herself humming as she shuffled the milk carton around two small yogurt containers.

  Grace stopped abruptly and straightened. When she’d left the library, she’d been feeling melancholy, but now her spirits were soaring. A feeling of happy anticipation filled her. The only thing she could attribute this change to was Will’s letter. Was she so fickle, she wondered with some dismay, that a letter from an old friend—a high-school crush—could improve her mood so radically?

  She didn’t get the opportunity to consider that. Buttercup barked once and trotted to the front door just seconds before the bell rang.

  Grace walked over to answer it and discovered Olivia standing on the other side of her screen.

  “Do you have a minute?” her friend asked. She looked upset, which shocked Grace, since Olivia was normally so composed.

  “Olivia! Of course. What’s happened?”

  Her friend gestured hopelessly as if she didn’t know where to start. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe what?”

  “First I hear from Stan, and then after weeks of silence, from Jack, too. This was within a few hours of each other—it’s as if those two have radar and know exactly what the other is doing.”

  This was fabulous news as far as Grace was concerned. “Jack? You heard from Jack?” She sat down on the sofa.

  Olivia nodded. “The man is a weasel, that’s what he is.”

  “Jack?” Grace asked, puzzled. “What did he do this time?”

  Olivia flopped down next to Grace. “He had flowers delivered to the house. They’re gorgeous and the colors are incredible. It must’ve cost him a fortune, but that’s not the half of it.”

  “Jack sent you flowers?” Grace cried as though outraged. “Why, that low-down, dirty rat.”

  “I called to thank him.”


  “A mistake for sure,” Grace said. She enjoyed seeing her friend so obviously in love with Jack—and so confused by him—although she wished Olivia could sort out her feelings. Naturally Stan was eager to distract her, eager to have her back, and feeling as unsettled as she did, Olivia might weaken and return to him.

  Grace would say one thing for Olivia’s ex-husband: his timing was impeccable. The minute Olivia got involved in another relationship—up popped a repentant Stan, hoping to lure her back.

  “You won’t believe what he said to me.”

  “Jack or Stan?” Grace was losing track.

  “Both of them,” Olivia cried.

  “Start with Stan.” If Olivia was ready to have Jack arrested for sending her flowers, Grace could only imagine what her ex-husband had done.

  “Stan phoned and wanted to take me to dinner.”

  “He didn’t,” Grace said, feigning a gasp. “Lock him up and throw away the key!”

  Olivia glared at her, eyes glittering with irritation. “You’re making fun of me, Grace Sherman.”

  Grace laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “No one’s sending me flowers and asking me to dinner these days. There’s got to be some other reason you’re so annoyed. Are they trying to outdo each other?” That made sense—but on the other hand, it seemed to be what Olivia wanted, judging by her earlier complaints.

  Olivia unfolded her arms and stroked Buttercup’s silky head. “Actually, Stan started it. He wants me to have dinner with him in Seattle on Friday night.”

  Grace arched her eyebrows. “Why Seattle?”

  “He’s got a corporate dinner he’s required to attend and he didn’t want to go alone. He has a hotel room and—”

  “One room?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “He seems to think I’m too naive to know what he’s got in mind. Oh, sure, the room will have two beds, but I wasn’t born yesterday and I know Stanley Lockhart. He has plans.”

  “What about Jack?”

  “The flowers arrived,” she said dreamily. “Grace, after all these weeks, I have to tell you I was so pleased to get them.”

  Grace was equally thrilled. Although it had taken Jack long enough…. “What did the card say?”

  Olivia dropped her gaze. “He signed his name. That’s all.”

  Smart man. “In other words, he made the first move and the rest is up to you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You phoned him?”

  She nodded. “I did, and he answered on the first ring—almost as if he’d been sitting there waiting for me to call. It felt wonderful to talk to him again. We were getting along famously until—” Her eyes narrowed and she heaved a deep sigh.

  “Until what?”

  “He asked me to dinner on Friday night, and I made the mistake of saying there must be something in the air because I was getting dinner invitations right and left.”

  Not the most brilliant comment, Grace agreed, but Olivia already knew that.

  “It took Jack about two seconds to realize the other invitation came from Stan. Then he got all weird on me and said he was busy on Friday, after all. He wished me a lovely evening with Stan, and before I could say another word, he made some excuse and was off the phone.”

  Grace wanted to groan out loud.

  Olivia’s shoulders sank. “Now you know why I’m upset.”

  “You aren’t going to dinner with Stan, are you?” Grace asked, just to be sure.

  “Not hardly,” Olivia muttered.

  “I’m free Friday night. Want to go to the movies?”

  Olivia laughed. “You’re on, my friend. Who needs men, anyway?”

  Maybe, Grace decided, she’d find a way to get Jack Griffin to the theater on Friday evening. Apparently there were times when romance could use a helping hand.

  Rosie finished writing out the words her second-graders had to copy. She set the worn chalk down on the blackboard ledge and brushed the dust from her hands.

  The bell rang, indicating class was dismissed for the day. “Don’t forget to remind your parents that Open House is tonight,” she told the students. Open House introduced the teacher to the parents, and it usually occurred in the third week of September.

  The children leapt up from their desks, grabbed their bags and backpacks, then dashed out. All except Jolene Peyton. The little girl with the long dark pigtails wore a forlorn look as she walked, head bowed, to the front of the room.

  “Can I help you, Jolene?” Rosie asked gently.

  The little girl kept her eyes lowered. “Only my daddy can come tonight.”

  “That’s wonderful. I look forward to meeting him.”

  Jolene slowly raised her head until her eyes met Rosie’s. “My mommy died in a car accident.”

  “I know, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.” Rosie’s heart went out to the motherless little girl.

  “Every week Daddy and I put flowers by the road where she died.”

  Rosie knew that, too. The flowers and balloons often caught her eye at the busy intersection.

  “Well, I’m glad your father’s coming to the Open House,” Rosie said.

  Jolene nodded. “He said it was one of those things Mommy would do if she was still here.”

  Rosie tucked her arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulder. It was apparent even now, almost two years after the accident, that Jolene missed her mother.

  “I told my daddy that I need a mommy, and he said he’d think about it.” She sighed deeply. “He says that a lot.”

  So did she, Rosie thought with a grin. “I’ll think about it” was in every mother’s repertoire.

  That evening as the classroom started to fill with parents, Rosie made it a point to seek out Jolene’s father. The little girl led him into the classroom, then rushed to bring him juice and cookies from the table set up at the front.

  While he waited for his daughter, Bruce Peyton stood in the background, not mingling with the other parents. He was nice-looking, but he had a somber air about him, a remoteness, which was perfectly understandable. School events such as this evening’s must be a painful reminder that he was alone. He was of average height and on the thin side. His clothes hung loose on him. Rosie could only assume this was due to a recent weight loss. His eyes were an intense blue, compelling her to steal glances in his direction.

  It’d been many years—decades—since Rosie had really looked at another man. Her flirting skills had rusted from lack of use, although she was confident Janice Lamond could teach her a thing or two.

  When Rosie was free she made her way toward Bruce. She smiled and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Rosie Cox, Jolene’s teacher. I just want to say I’m very sorry about your wife.”

  “Thank you.” The widower’s smile was fleeting and he clasped her hand for only a few seconds. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Mrs. Cox is a good teacher, but she’s not my real teacher,” Jolene told him earnestly.

  “I’m taking over until Mrs. Gough recovers from surgery,” Rosie explained. “This is my first time back in the classroom after, uh, several years. I was recently—divorced.” The word nearly choked her. To Rosie’s horror, tears filled her eyes and she had to turn away before she embarrassed them both.

  Through sheer force of will, Rosie managed to hold on to her composure. While she talked to several other parents, Bruce lingered; Jolene showed him her desk and led him to the play area at the back of the room.

  By eight o’clock, just a few parents and children remained. Rosie carried the empty punch bowl and cookie plate to the cafeteria kitchen, and when she returned, Bruce and Jolene were the only two left.

  “If Jolene needs extra help with her reading or spelling, please let me know,” he said.

  “I’ll be happy to,” Rosie assured him. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.” He reached for his little girl’s hand, then hesitated. His gaze briefly sought hers. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”

  Rosie looked down and n
odded. “I…am, too.”

  He left after that, and not a moment too soon. Once again Rosie found herself blinking back tears.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. To all outward appearances, Zach was having the time of his life. When Allison and Eddie were with him they cooked together; the three of them got along famously. It didn’t work that way on the nights Rosie spent with her children. Allison and Eddie bickered incessantly and her teenage daughter challenged Rosie’s authority at every turn. She’d clearly taken Zach’s side in the divorce.

  Feet dragging, Rosie entered the small apartment she shared with Zach. He was with the children this evening, and she doubted Eddie had made a fuss at bedtime. Those bouts of temper were reserved for the nights Rosie spent with the children. Allison had probably volunteered to wash the dinner dishes. Rosie had given up asking her daughter to perform even the most routine household tasks. It just wasn’t worth the argument.

  Oh, yes, she was a real catch, Rosie thought wryly. She was a recent divorcée with two rebellious children. It wouldn’t be long before dozens of eager men lined up at the door, all eager to date her.

  Yeah, sure!

  Seven

  As a Seattle police detective, Roy McAfee had always had a hard time letting go of a case, no matter how cold. That hadn’t changed, although he was now retired and living in Cedar Cove, where he’d become a private investigator. His dogged determination served him well in his new job. He liked his work, liked the diversity of cases that came across his desk. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. Roy had discovered through his years of police work that if he was patient enough and lucky, he eventually discovered what he needed to know. However, things didn’t always turn out exactly the way he expected.