“I might have.” Davis leaned across his desk, nudging a stack of files that tilted precariously.
Roy was sure Davis couldn’t have heard about the men and had to be bluffing.
Davis riffled through the files until he found the one he wanted and flipped it open. Roy wasn’t surprised that Davis kept the John Doe case file close at hand. The sheriff leafed through it, then raised his eyes to meet Roy’s. “Are you going to tell me where you came up with these names?”
Roy grinned and slid down in his chair, crossing his arms. “No.” He had to protect Bob as much as possible. Even now, he couldn’t be sure of the extent of the other man’s involvement. He wanted to believe Beldon was an innocent bystander, but too many of the dots still didn’t connect.
The sheriff chuckled. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”
Roy didn’t bother to answer.
“Can you tell me why I have the sneaking suspicion either Max Russell or Stewart Samuels is going to be listed as a missing person?”
Making an effort not to look self-righteous, Roy shrugged.
“Help me out a little, if you would,” Troy muttered, turning to face his computer screen. “Can you at least give me a state?”
“I could do that, but I’d hate to see you miss out on the fun of the chase. You might want to start with Russell, though.”
Troy glanced up, frowning darkly.
“California,” Roy said.
“Not Florida?” The dead man’s false ID had given a Florida address. Davis looked surprised as he punched a few keys, stared at the screen and then peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Are you planning to tell me how you got Russell’s name?”
“No.”
Troy exhaled slowly. “This is our John Doe?”
Roy couldn’t be sure of that, but he had his suspicions. “Might be.”
Troy continued to study the screen. “When did you find all this out?”
Roy gave him a halfhearted smile. “A while back. I dug up what I could and now I’ve decided it’s time to bring you into the investigation.”
Davis snorted. “I appreciate that, but I wish you’d come to me sooner.”
Roy still wasn’t a hundred-percent sure he was doing the right thing, as far as Bob or Grace Sherman were concerned, but withholding material information put him at risk of committing a crime himself. In his view, everything revolved around what those four men had done in Vietnam.
Troy tapped his fingers on the desk. “Before I go making an idiot of myself, did you talk to anyone in California?”
“Like who?”
His gaze went back to the computer screen. He did some more typing and glanced at Roy again. “Hannah Russell,” he said. “Says here she’s the one who filed the missing person’s report.” He scrolled down. “Probably the wife.”
“Daughter,” Roy corrected.
“Did you talk to her?” Davis demanded. The friendly pretense was gone now.
“And step into the middle of your investigation, Sheriff?” he asked. “Would I do that?”
“I hope to hell not, but I thought I’d better ask.”
“She’s all yours,” he said. His purpose in making this visit had been achieved. He’d leave the rest in Sheriff Davis’s capable hands. “I don’t suppose you’d like to thank me.”
“No,” Davis barked. “I’d like to know how long you’ve been holding on to this information.”
That wasn’t a question Roy wanted to answer. He’d kept it to himself as long as he dared. If possible, he wanted to keep Dan Sherman’s family out of this.
“Any idea why our John Doe arrived in Cedar Cove carrying false identification?”
“That I can’t tell you,” Roy said. The sheriff would talk to Hannah Russell, and would eventually check out Samuels, too. Roy’s investigation had led him to the other man, who lived in the Washington, D.C., area, but Roy hadn’t contacted him. He’d leave that to Davis, as well.
“What about the reconstructive surgery? I hear some people in town still think it was Dan Sherman. DNA says otherwise.”
“I’d trust what the lab tells you,” Roy said, lost in his thoughts.
“I do, but I’ve heard the rumors.”
Roy had, too. People liked to speculate. It was mighty convenient to believe the dead man could’ve been Dan Sherman, although Roy hadn’t heard much talk of that in recent days.
Roy stood to leave. He’d said everything he intended to and not a word more.
Davis stood, too. “I’ll thank you, then.”
Roy walked out of the office and through the department. He’d thought hard about this visit. He wouldn’t betray Beldon’s trust, but there was certain information he could no longer withhold. Beldon was the one who’d given him Russell’s and Samuels’s names—and given him permission to tell the sheriff.
Four unsuspecting soldiers had been trapped in a Southeast Asian jungle that day and walked straight into hell. What happened next had forever altered the lives of these men, whose sole desire was to come home alive. They’d seen too many of their friends and comrades leave Vietnam in body bags. To them, at that time, it was kill or be killed. War had changed them, changed their world.
Corrie was waiting when Roy returned to the office. “How’d it go?” she asked.
Roy took off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree in the entry. “About as well as could be expected,” he murmured.
“Does Bob know you’ve talked to Troy Davis?” she asked.
Jack had been looking forward to this Friday night for two weeks. Because of some commitment Olivia had at the courthouse, she was working late today and had agreed to meet him for dinner at The Lighthouse. They hadn’t had a real honest-to-goodness date since before Christmas, and he’d missed her company. Oh, there’d been lots of phone calls, a couple of quick cups of coffee, but they were both busy people with complicated lives.
The newspaper conglomerate, which had bought out the once privately owned paper a few years ago, was investigating the possibility of increasing publication from biweekly to five days a week and eventually taking it to a full seven. While the thought of those extra issues and journalistic opportunities excited him, he wasn’t sure this additional responsibility would be worth the toll it would take on his personal life. A daily paper meant hiring and training extra staff, editorial meetings, more administrative duties.
There was no better way to hook a newsman than offering him more column space. His publisher was well aware of that fact and was using it to his advantage—that and a hefty pay raise. Still, Jack hesitated. As it was, he didn’t see nearly as much of Olivia as he wanted to. He hoped that, someday in the near future, she’d become a permanent part of his life.
“Would you like to be seated now, Mr. Griffin?” the hostess at the restaurant asked him. “I can show Judge Lockhart to your table once she arrives.”
“Sure,” Jack said, impressed that the young woman knew him and Olivia. But then he decided it shouldn’t surprise him. Justine Gunderson and her husband, Seth, owned The Lighthouse, and Justine, after all, was Olivia’s daughter. Besides, his picture appeared in the paper next to his weekly column—a rather flattering photograph if he did say so himself.
The table was one of the best, with a view that overlooked the cove. The marina lights dancing across the water’s surface had a festive quality that cheered him. He could see the naval shipyard on the other side of the cove, too. Currently it housed an aircraft carrier, several destroyers and any number of diesel submarines docked there for repairs.
The waiter arrived and Jack ordered coffee, then studied the menu. Only five minutes later, Olivia showed up, breezing into the room with a smile warm enough to melt the iciest heart.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?” she said, slipping into the chair across from him. She looked flustered but happy and excited.
She was so damn pretty it was hard for Jack to take his eyes off her. “Yup. I’ve been waiting for hours
.” Which was true; he just hadn’t been sitting at the restaurant all that time.
Olivia stretched her hand across the table and Jack linked his fingers with hers. “I’ve been anticipating tonight,” she said. “Being with you…”
“Me, too.” This was a minor understatement. “Any update on your mother’s fight with City Hall?” he asked before he made a fool of himself by staring at her.
Olivia looked up from the menu. “You didn’t hear?”
“No, what?” Usually Jack was the first to pick up on local gossip. But he hadn’t seen as much of Charlotte as he used to. For a while she’d written a seniors’ column for The Chronicle, but had given it up when she was diagnosed with cancer. She’d meant to continue now that she’d recovered, but had become engrossed in her current issue, a community health clinic.
“My mother and this newfound friend of hers have decided to stage a demonstration.” Olivia frowned. “I don’t know much about this Ben character, do you?”
Jack didn’t, but he wasn’t going to let her sidetrack him. This was real news. “Demonstration for what? A health clinic?”
Olivia sighed deeply. “You know my mother! Personally I think it’s Ben Rhodes who put the idea in her head. In any event, Mom’s convinced this is what our community needs.”
Jack nodded; he agreed with Charlotte.
“Mom insists she tried to go through the normal channels, but no one wants to hear it, what with all the budget cuts,” Olivia went on. “I’m afraid she’s going to take matters into her own hands.” Olivia shook her head. “In which case, God help us all.”
Jack struggled not to smile. At Charlotte’s urging he’d written several supportive editorials on the need for a health-care clinic.
“Jack Griffin, I swear if you plaster my mother’s picture on the front page of The Chronicle with her holding some ridiculous sign, I may never forgive you.”
Despite himself, Jack chuckled. “I’m not making any promises.”
Olivia set aside her menu. “I’ve tried to talk sense into her, but she refuses to listen. She hasn’t got a clue how potentially embarrassing this could be for me.”
Jack frowned. “She’s not thinking about you, but about the citizens of our community and their needs.”
“You’re right,” Olivia agreed, and then paused and glanced up. “I guess I sound pretty self-absorbed about this whole thing, don’t I? But Mom doesn’t realize how much teasing I get at the courthouse. This afternoon someone asked me what I’d do if my own mother ended up in my court. They suggested I make her sit in the corner for fifteen minutes.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “Cute, really cute.” Then, as if she’d tired of the subject, she leaned toward him. “Enough about my mother. How are you?”
“Great.” That was the way he felt, now that he had Olivia all to himself. He’d planned a romantic evening. Okay, this was about as romantic as he knew how to be. They’d have dinner, and perhaps later, if the weather cooperated, they could walk along the waterfront. If he was lucky, she’d invite him to the house for coffee. It had been far too long since he’d kissed Olivia Lockhart….
“Any more on the paper going to five issues a week?” Olivia asked.
“Nothing that I can report, but I think it’s a distinct possibility.” Olivia was well aware of what that would mean, but he didn’t want to waste time discussing the pros and cons of such a move.
The reason he’d accepted this job was that The Cedar Cove Chronicle was biweekly. The demands of a daily paper had nearly strangled his personal life. For a lot of years, he’d buried himself in his work. It was easy to do, and he’d let it happen.
That had been early in his career. He’d nearly destroyed himself, first by drowning his sorrows and fears in the bottom of a bottle, and later by working himself to a state of near-collapse. That had been Jack’s attempt to deal with his son’s illness. As a young boy, Eric was diagnosed with leukemia. He later recovered, but at the time Jack had believed his only child was dying and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, except drink and work.
During those dark years, when Jack drank, he’d functioned effectively enough at his job—usually hungover—and functioned minimally in society, as a husband, father and friend.
It was when his marriage died that he’d finally gotten the help he needed. Even then, he’d needed years to straighten himself out.
“You won’t leave Cedar Cove, will you?” Olivia asked.
Jack loved the worry he heard in her voice. Another time, he might have let her assume he’d pack up his computer and head out of town, but they were beyond that. He could no more leave Olivia than he could quit being a newsman. And he couldn’t play manipulative games with her, either. But being honest didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her a bit.
“No, I won’t leave,” he assured her. Then, holding her eyes, he added, “I could never walk away now.”
“Oh, Jack,” she sighed, gazing warmly at him.
“Yeah,” he said, “I signed a five-year contract and these people are real sticklers when it comes to contracts.”
“Jack!”
He enjoyed her indignant expression, all the while admitting that he wasn’t the romantic sort. He loved Olivia Lockhart, though. Perhaps he should try harder to say the right things, but he didn’t have much practice in flowery language. If she wanted to hear that kind of nonsense, her ex-husband was probably an expert.
Thinking about Stan Lockhart was a mistake. Jack gritted his teeth. Stan irritated him with his pompous assumption that he could have Olivia back anytime he wanted. He made sure Jack knew it, too.
“Let’s order,” he said in an effort to turn his thoughts to some other subject. As he reached for the menu, he reminded himself that he was the one spending the evening with Olivia, not her ex.
“I’m starving,” Olivia said happily.
Jack glanced over the specials and decided on the T-bone steak. Olivia vacillated between the scallops on the list of specials and the prime rib. In the end she decided on the scallops.
“Mom said you took her to lunch,” Olivia said when their salad with shrimp piled atop Bibb lettuce was delivered by their efficient and unobtrusive waiter.
So Olivia knew about that. Drilling her mother over Olivia’s involvement with Stan hadn’t been one of Jack’s finer moments. His excuse was that not knowing was driving him to distraction.
What he’d learned had depressed him for days. Stan Lockhart was still making a hard play to win back his ex-wife. He had a lot going for him, too. Not only was he financially secure, cultured and sophisticated, but he had a shared history with Olivia and was the father of her children.
The first thing Charlotte had told him was that Stan and Olivia had spent New Year’s Eve together. Charlotte had minimized the fact by explaining that they’d both been watching Leif so Justine and Seth could go to The Lighthouse. Still, it rankled. He could bet that when the clock struck midnight, ol’ Stan was right there with the champagne and the music, ready to give Olivia a lip-lock she wouldn’t soon forget. Jack’s jaw flexed with anger at the thought of Stan so much as touching her.
In addition, Charlotte had let it drop that Stan occasionally stayed the night in Cedar Cove. From personal experience, Jack knew he’d slept at the house on Lighthouse Road at least once. He also knew Stan had spent the night in the guest bedroom, although Stan had let Jack assume otherwise. Now he had to wonder if Stan continued to sleep over at Olivia’s.
The truth was, Jack didn’t want to know. He refused to allow Stan to drive a wedge between him and Olivia. Jack had made the mistake of letting that happen once, and as far as he was concerned, history wouldn’t be repeating itself. He was willing to fight for Olivia, dammit. He wasn’t going to step aside—and he wanted to make that very clear—to Olivia and her ex-husband.
“Jack?” Olivia was giving him an odd look.
“Sorry. Did you say something?” He focused his attention on her and realized Stan had nearly gotten him a second t
ime. Without even trying, Olivia’s ex was ruining this night out.
“Did I tell you how lovely you look?” he asked.
“No, you didn’t,” Olivia told him, and propped her elbows on the table. “But I can’t wait to hear.”
Grace Sherman stared at the computer screen and held her breath. Excitement shot through her. New Orleans! Will wanted to meet her in New Orleans. He was traveling to Louisiana on business and had asked her to join him.
New Orleans was one of the most romantic cities in the world, and the thought of being there with Will sent her heart spinning. She imagined strolling down Bourbon Street, listening to jazz musicians with Will at her side. He’d mentioned a gambling trip down the Mississippi on a riverboat, and touring historic plantations.
“I don’t know,” she typed back. She felt as nervous as she was excited.
“We should talk, and not like this. The things I want to say should be said face-to-face.” His reply was instantaneous. “I need you, Grace. You’re all I think about.”
They no longer hid their feelings from each other. Grace loved Will; it was that simple. She wanted to be with him—not just for a weekend, but forever.
Still, she lived in Cedar Cove and was employed by the town. “It’s hard for me to get time away from the library without several weeks’ notice,” she typed.
“Ask now. I’ll send you a plane ticket.”
Grace closed her eyes. The way she felt about Will, and the way he seemed to feel about her, would make it impossible for them to resist each other sexually. For weeks she’d dreamed of what it would be like. She’d created an entire fantasy about living with Will as husband and wife. For the first time in her adult life, she’d know what it was to be with a man who loved her completely. Who cherished her…
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series Page 82
