Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

by Debbie Macomber

  Bob fixed himself a ham sandwich and resumed his tinkering around the garage. A few minutes later, Peggy sought him out.

  “I think we’re going to have to go in there,” his wife said. “I knocked on his door, but there wasn’t any answer.”

  Bob decided Peggy was right. Following her into the house, he pounded on the bedroom door.

  “Are you awake?” he called loudly.

  “There’s no need to yell,” Peggy whispered. She looked nervous, and frankly Bob was starting to feel the same way. Although they’d been in business for more than ten years, it was the first time they’d had an experience—or a guest—like this.

  “I have the key,” Peggy told him when there was no response.

  “Okay.”

  “Should I call Troy Davis?” she asked.

  The sheriff was a good friend, but Bob didn’t want to waste Troy’s time if there was a logical explanation. “Not yet.”

  “But something must be wrong.”

  “Don’t leap to conclusions, Peg.” He wished now that he’d gone with his instincts and told the stranger to seek some other place for the night.

  Peggy handed him the key and Bob reluctantly inserted it in the lock. Slowly, he turned the knob and swung open the door. Their guest was sleeping in the middle of the bed. His coat hung in the closet, with his hat resting on the shelf directly above. The suitcase was open, but it looked as though a surgeon had packed it. Everything was crisply folded and compact. The suitcase appeared to be undisturbed.

  “He could just be sick,” Peggy said, clinging to Bob’s arm.

  Bob doubted it. He recognized that smell, and his skin crawled with memories of jungle warfare almost forty years earlier. The scent of death was one a man didn’t quickly forget.

  Whatever the stranger’s purpose for being in Cedar Cove, it would likely remain a mystery now.

  Bob moved to the bed and stared down at him. The night before, his face had been shadowed by his hat, which was pulled low over his face. He looked younger now that Bob could see him clearly. Younger and completely at peace.

  “Is he…dead?” Peggy asked, her dread palpable.

  Although he already knew the answer, Bob felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. There was nothing. “I think it’s time we phoned Troy,” he said.

  Fifteen minutes later, the yard was filled with emergency vehicles. EMTs, several officers and the medical examiner tramped through the house. Bob answered question after question, but he wasn’t able to provide Troy or Joe Mitchell, the medical examiner, with much information.

  “There’ll have to be an autopsy,” Troy said.

  “Are you going to take him out of here soon?” Peggy asked. Bob could tell that she was shaken by all of this. Truth be known, so was he.

  The medical examiner came out of the room and peeled off his plastic gloves.

  “Do you have any idea what killed him?” Bob asked.

  “Not yet,” Joe said, frowning. “He’s driver’s license says his name’s Whitcomb. James Whitcomb, and he’s from Florida. Mean anything to you?”

  “No.” Bob could say that with certainty, despite the hint of familiarity last night. “I’ve never seen the man in my life.”

  Joe continued to frown. “He’s had extensive cosmetic surgery.”

  Bob hardly knew what to make of that information.

  “There’s something unusual going on here,” Joe said, following the body as it was wheeled out of the room and down the hall.

  Maryellen’s popularity at Get Nailed had fallen considerably after the Halloween party. Rachel, her nail tech, had met Terri’s discarded male friend who enjoyed working on cars. Things had looked promising for a while.

  All through November and December, Rachel had been full of praise for Larry and everything he was doing for her car. First, he replaced her failing brakes, and at a fraction of the cost a shop would have charged. Then he got her interior lights working. He even managed to fix her tape deck. Rachel was grateful and managed to convince herself that she was falling madly in love. How could she not love a man who was saving her hundreds of dollars?

  Then her transmission went out. This was a major repair, but Rachel’s hero was confident he could fix it. All she had to do was buy the new transmission. Unfortunately Larry had overestimated his skills. Not only had he bungled the job, but Rachel had to take her vehicle into the shop and pay for the repairs a second time. To add insult to injury, Larry had presented her with a bill for all the labor and parts he’d put into her car. Needless to say, the relationship had taken a sharp turn south.

  Jane’s experience wasn’t much better. She’d been looking for a man with money sense. Jeannie had once dated a very nice but very boring financial advisor whom she’d introduced to Jane at the Halloween party. Jane and Geoff had instantly hit it off. Jane insisted Geoff wasn’t nearly as boring as Jeannie had said. But then he’d given her a hot stock tip that was close to being insider information. Sure enough, Jane had invested her entire savings and almost immediately, the stock fell eight percent.

  “What I learned from all this,” Rachel said, as she finished the polish job on Maryellen’s nails, “is that if one of us dumps a man, it’s for a damn good reason.”

  “You can say that again,” Jane echoed.

  “What about the guy you met?” Jeannie asked Maryellen.

  She blinked, pretending not to understand the question. “I didn’t meet anyone.”

  “That guy you brought stuck to you like glue,” Terri called from the other side of the shop, where she was working on an older woman. “I had my eye on him big-time, but he wasn’t having anything to do with me.”

  “I’m sure you’re imagining it.” The last person she wanted to discuss with her friends was Jon Bowman.

  “Not likely,” Terri muttered, standing in front of the display of fingernail polish. She picked up a bottle and read the name on the bottom. “How about ‘More Than a Waitress’?” she asked her customer.

  Thankfully, attention was turned away from Maryellen.

  “Are you going out with him?” Rachel asked, ambushing her with the question. “You might not have noticed how hot that guy was for you, but the rest of us sure did.”

  “I haven’t seen him since before Christmas, but if I do, would you like me to give him your number?” This was the only way she could think of to convince Rachel that she wasn’t interested in dating Jon.

  “No way. I’ve been with guys who’re hung up on someone else. It’s a real downer, if you know what I mean.” Coloring the last fingernail, Rachel set the timer and lowered the light over Maryellen’s perfect pink nails.

  Once they were dry, Maryellen hurried out of the shop. She was meeting her mother for dinner at the Pancake Palace. Her entire schedule was off, due to a meeting with the gallery owners, who’d flown in unexpectedly. Luckily, Rachel could fit her in for a late-afternoon appointment.

  Fearing questions, Maryellen had been avoiding her family. Kelly, busy as she was with Tyler, had readily accepted her excuses, but Grace was having none of it. Given no other option, Maryellen agreed to meet her at the Palace, where the food was plentiful and cheap.

  Grace already had a booth by the time Maryellen arrived. She slipped into the seat across from her and reached for the menu.

  “How are you feeling?” her mother asked immediately.

  “Wonderful.” That was a lie, but Maryellen didn’t want Grace to overreact to her situation. At this point, only her mother knew about the pregnancy; she hadn’t been ready to divulge the news to Kelly or any of her friends, especially while she felt ill. Every day for the last month, Maryellen had awakened with a queasy stomach. Invariably, a short time later, she was hanging her head over the toilet. She didn’t recall Kelly having these symptoms when she was pregnant. In any event, if her sister had suffered from morning sickness, Paul was there to love and encourage her and then hand her a washcloth. Maryellen had rarely felt more alone.

  Grace set aside t
he menu. “So you’re in perfect health? Ha! I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  “Mother,” Maryellen said, doing her best to remain cordial. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Grace demanded and then seemed to have a change of heart. “Let’s start again, shall we?”

  “Please. Tell me what’s going on with you. Please, Mom, just this once don’t drill me with questions I don’t want to answer.” She bit her lip and prayed her mother was listening.

  Grace stared at her, obviously unhappy about her daughter’s request. “All right,” she said slowly. “There’s plenty of other news for us to discuss.”

  “Like what?” Maryellen asked gratefully.

  “Well, for one thing,” Grace said, cradling her water glass in both hands. “I went out to dinner with Cliff Harding last Saturday night.”

  Now, this was news Maryellen had been waiting to hear. “Cliff called you?” In her opinion, he’d been patient for far too long.

  Her mother blushed and looked down at the menu. “Actually, I phoned him.” She said this as if she’d committed some terrible breach of etiquette.

  “Mom, that’s great!”

  “I’ve never called a man in my life.” Even now Grace sounded unsure that she’d done the right thing.

  “What convinced you?”

  “Olivia,” her mother said without hesitation. “And two glasses of wine. She persuaded me Cliff was going to lose interest—and oh, I’ve been so lonely and miserable.”

  Maryellen raised one eyebrow. “Wine can certainly loosen one’s inhibitions.” She was in a position to know.

  “Olivia and I were celebrating,” her mother went on to explain. “Seth and Justine are expecting. And did you know they bought a restaurant? It’s all so exciting for them.”

  “Yes, I’d heard about The Captain’s Galley. I’m sure they’ll do well and I—”

  A flustered teenage waitress came for their order.

  Maryellen waited until the girl was out of earshot. “You didn’t mention anything about me, did you?”

  “No,” Grace murmured. “But I was tempted.”

  “No one can know, Mom.”

  “But why—”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “I want to talk to you about this, Maryellen, but every time I try, you clam up and get defensive. I’m your mother. Do you think I don’t realize you’re avoiding me? I want to know why.”

  That should be obvious. “I wish I’d never told you…I knew I’d regret it and I do.”

  “It’s more than the pregnancy,” Grace whispered. “It’s what you said at lunch that day.”

  “Mom, don’t.” The lump in her throat was growing thicker. “Please don’t. I can’t discuss that.”

  “You said you’d been pregnant before. Fifteen years ago, you said. Was it before you were married or—”

  Maryellen shook her head, refusing to discuss the most painful time in her life. “So what about your dinner date,” she said instead.

  Her mother gazed at her, eyes dimmed with sadness. “Will you tell me one day?”

  Not if Maryellen could find a way to avoid it. Her entire life had changed because of that pregnancy. The woman she was today, and would always be, was a result of having conceived Clint Jorstad’s baby. She might never have married him otherwise, never have taken a path she now knew had been so wrong. But as much as she wanted to lay the blame at her ex-husband’s feet, Maryellen was well aware of her own failings. It was easy to create excuses, to rationalize what she’d done. She’d been young and vulnerable and so incredibly naive.

  “Will you tell me one day?” her mother repeated.

  “Perhaps.” This pregnancy was a second chance—an opportunity she’d never expected. This time she’d follow the dictates of her heart.

  “Have you told Kelly?” Her mother insisted on asking questions Maryellen didn’t want to answer.

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  “When?”

  “Mom…I’ll tell Kelly when I’m ready to let other people know.” Maryellen loved her sister, but Kelly simply couldn’t keep a secret. The moment she learned the news, it would be all over town.

  “Tell me about your dinner with Cliff,” Maryellen said again, eager to hear the details of her mother’s first official date after her divorce.

  “We ate at a wonderful Italian place in Tacoma.”

  “Away from prying eyes.” Maryellen nodded. “That was thoughtful. Did he kiss you?”

  The warm color that invaded her mother’s cheeks was answer enough. “Yes.” She picked up her fork and examined it carefully.

  “Mom, you’re blushing.”

  “The only man who’s kissed me in the last thirty-seven years was your father. Until Saturday, of course.”

  “How was it?” Maryellen knew it was wrong to enjoy seeing her mother this flustered. She resisted the urge to laugh outright, but she was genuinely delighted by the fact that Cliff had planned such a romantic evening, and by her mother’s innocent reaction to it.

  “The kiss was nice. Very nice.”

  “Are you seeing him again?” Maryellen asked next.

  “You’re as bad as Olivia.”

  “Well, are you?” she pressed.

  “Probably, although he hasn’t asked.”

  The waitress arrived with two Cobb salads. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked and put down their bill before they could even respond.

  Maryellen watched the girl leave. “I guess not.”

  “I’m afraid you and Olivia are making more of this evening with Cliff than you should.” She plucked a napkin from the dispenser. “It was only one dinner and we haven’t arranged another.”

  “But you’d go out again if he asked.”

  “Yes—Oh, I don’t know—dating frightens me. Everyone seems to think it’s the right thing to do, but if that’s true, then why do I feel so damn guilty?”

  “You shouldn’t. You’re divorced.”

  Grace sighed. “Both you and Olivia have encouraged me to see Cliff, but I’m not sure I should….”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, honey, don’t you know?” Her mother’s face was drawn with anxiety. “I need to know what happened to your father. There’s this knot in my stomach that’s been there since he disappeared.” She began to shred the paper napkin. “After I went to dinner with Cliff, I felt good. Kind of…liberated. Free. But it didn’t last. I could hardly sleep that night.”

  “Mom, you’re divorced. You are free.”

  “Perhaps legally, but I still feel married. Despite everything, I feel I belong with your father. I don’t know if that’ll change until I find out where he is and what drove him away.”

  “Mom.” Maryellen’s hand covered her mother’s. “We might never know.”

  “I realize that, but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

  Charlotte sat in Dr. Fred Stevens’s waiting room, knitting furiously as the minutes ticked slowly by. She’d been seeing Dr. Fred for the past twenty years and she had complete faith in him. He’d been Clyde’s physician, and her husband, too, had trusted him implicitly.

  “The doctor can see you now, Charlotte,” Pamela Johnson said, standing in the doorway that led to the examination rooms.

  Charlotte tucked her knitting into her bag and followed the nurse. When they stopped at the scale, Charlotte slipped off her shoes and stepped on, eyes closed and breath held. Some information it was better not to know.

  “You’re down five pounds,” Pamela announced.

  “Really?” That made sense, though, seeing that her appetite had been nil for weeks. In the beginning, she’d assumed it was all the stress surrounding the holidays. Then Charlotte had noticed how drained she felt at the end of the day. Lately, climbing stairs seemed to strain her heart and there were all those problems with needing to get to a rest room quickly.

  Pamela led the way into the first exam room. She asked a few preliminary questions and took Charlotte
’s blood pressure. After making a notation in the chart, she placed it in a slot on the outside of the door.

  “Go ahead and remove your clothes and put on the gown,” the nurse instructed before she left.

  Charlotte examined the soft blue paper top. It was ridiculous to think such a thing could cover her. She so seldom needed an appointment other than her yearly exam that she couldn’t remember from visit to visit if the gown was supposed to open in the front or the back.

  “Hello, Lottie,” Dr. Fred said, entering the room about five minutes later.

  So few people called Charlotte by that name, it shook her for a moment. Naturally Dr. Fred used it because that was what Clyde had always called her.

  “Hello, Dr. Fred.”

  The physician sat on the stool as he read her chart, while she sat higher up on the examination table with her bare feet dangling. Looking down at her toenails, she was embarrassed to see that they needed a fresh coat of polish. Oh my, this was embarrassing. She tried to cover one foot with the other.

  “What’s the problem?” Dr. Fred asked. He apparently hadn’t noticed her toes.

  Charlotte described her symptoms. Tiredness, she explained, a lack of appetite and energy and that pesky problem with her bowels. The more she spoke, the more alarmed she became. “It sounds like I should’ve come in weeks ago.”

  “I agree,” Dr. Fred said sternly.

  “I’ve been so busy and then there was Christmas….” Her voice trailed off. Her excuses all rang false, even to her own ears.

  After a routine exam, Dr. Fred had Pamela take several vials of blood. When she’d finished, he returned to the exam room. Thankfully Charlotte was dressed and prepared for the verdict.

  “Well?” she murmured, not sure what to think. Perhaps all he had to do was prescribe iron tablets and she could go back to her regular life.