311 Pelican Court

by Debbie Macomber

  “Oh, you lived here earlier?”

  Peggy nodded. “Bob and I both graduated from Cedar Cove High School. Bob was in the class of 1966 and I graduated two years later in ’68.”

  “We’re close to the same age,” Corrie said. “I’m forty-seven and Roy is fifty-one.”

  “Do you have a herb garden?” Peggy asked.

  Corrie shook her head. “No, but I’d like one. Any suggestions?”

  Peggy recognized that Corrie was distracting her, but she didn’t mind. The other woman seemed genuinely interested in learning about herbs. “Come visit anytime,” Peggy invited. “I’ll give you a few plants to start off with in the spring.”

  “I’d love that,” Corrie told her.

  “Bob planted the blueberries.” Now that she was talking, Peggy couldn’t seem to stop. “We have our own small patch at the side of the house. They need lots of water and it’s a struggle to keep the deer out of them.”

  They must have talked for twenty minutes about recipes, especially ones with blueberries. Peggy stopped abruptly when the door opened and Roy stuck his head out.

  “Peggy, would you join us?”

  She nodded and walked into the room on shaky legs. Claiming the empty chair next to her husband, she reached for Bob’s hand. His fingers tightened around hers.

  “I told Roy what happened in Nam,” Bob said, his voice low and emotional. “I told him there were four of us, all under twenty-five. We made a pact never to talk about it. I don’t know if our John Doe has anything to do with this, but I’ve asked Roy to find out what he can.”

  On the night twenty years earlier, when Bob had described that day in the jungle, he’d vowed never to speak of it again. Telling her had been a one-time thing, an act of self-preservation. The burden of carrying his secret had nearly destroyed him and their marriage.

  “Dan Sherman was with me.”

  “Dan?” Peggy gasped. He’d never told her his high-school friend had been in that hellish fight until now.

  Peggy turned her attention to Roy. “Do you think what happened in Nam has anything to do with the man who died in our home?”

  Roy leaned forward, his expression serious. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  The festive atmosphere in the halls of Kitsap County Courthouse was contagious. Olivia looked out the window of her chamber office, delighted to see it was snowing. Snow in December was perfect. It made her want to rush home and bake gingerbread cookies and string popcorn. Instead she had to listen while lawyers stated their cases and awaited her decision.

  Finishing her tea, she reluctantly went back to the courtroom. The bailiff announced her arrival and those congregated halfheartedly rose to their feet as she took her place behind the bench.

  The next case was called, and the first attorney stepped forward. Olivia glanced up and to her surprise discovered Jack Griffin sitting in the back of the room, pen and pad in hand. He was already taking notes, and she hadn’t listened to a single case yet. Either he was in court on legitimate business, or he’d come to rile her. She felt her heart pound hard against her ribs.

  But whatever his reason for being there, a few moments into the case, Jack stood and made his way out of the courtroom. Olivia was disappointed; they’d hardly seen each other in weeks. He was busy, she was busy, and despite effort on both their parts, their relationship hadn’t returned to the closeness they used to share. Damn it all, she missed Jack. Missed the fun they’d had together, his merciless teasing, his potent kisses. A woman her age shouldn’t be thinking about such things in the middle of a custody case, but Olivia couldn’t help it.

  She wanted him back in her life, and she longed for their relationship to be what it had once been. She didn’t know who was the guilty party, she or Jack. A year earlier they’d had dinner together at least twice a week. Jack regularly came to the house on Tuesday nights and they’d watch crime shows on the Discovery channel. She hadn’t seen him on a Tuesday night in months.

  All of that was before his son had moved in with him, she remembered. Eric’s presence had certainly turned Jack’s world upside down, but he felt he owed this time to his son, so Olivia had graciously taken a back seat. She didn’t like it, but there’d been no choice.

  Eric was married now—she’d performed the ceremony herself—and the father of twins. Last summer Eric, Shelly and the babies had moved to Reno, Nevada.

  Just when it looked as if life might return to normal, Stan had entered the scene. She’d give him credit; her ex-husband was persistent. He phoned her ten times more often than Jack did. She could have a date with Stan anytime if she was interested. But she wasn’t.

  Oh, she might’ve been, in the beginning. There was something so emotionally satisfying about her ex-husband admitting he’d made a terrible mistake in divorcing her. For a brief period, her ego had been comforted by it and she’d come close to letting those righteous emotions sway her. Luckily, common sense had convinced her otherwise.

  Olivia was sincere in what she told her ex-husband. Stan needed a woman in his life and he wasn’t afraid of a challenge. The problem was, he viewed her as a challenge. Of course, any woman Stan wanted would have to be adoring. Intelligence wasn’t a requirement, although it was a bonus. No question, Stan Lockhart was witty and possessed a high IQ. His emotional IQ, sadly, was far lower.

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as Olivia dealt with a series of family court cases, one after the other until they blurred in her mind. By the time court adjourned for the day, she was ready to go home and read recipes for gingerbread cookies.

  As she peeled off her robe, she checked her phone messages. There was one from Stan—no real surprise—and another from her daughter. Justine was a stay-at-home mother now, although she continued to manage the finances at the restaurant. She paid the bills and took care of the payroll. But when it came to the complicated tax laws, Justine was smart enough to leave those in the hands of Zachary Cox, her capable accountant.

  Olivia returned the calls, and after short conversations with both—” no, thanks” to Stan on the dinner invite, and yes, it’s best to use brandy in Julia Child’s fruitcake recipe with Justine—she prepared to leave the courthouse.

  She pulled on her coat and gloves and stepped out of her office to discover Jack waiting for her, leaning against the wall. He grinned sheepishly when she appeared.

  “Hi,” he said, straightening.

  “Hi, yourself.” Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Jack wasn’t a handsome man at first glance, but he did manage to stir her restless heart.

  “Do you have time for a walk in the snow?”

  “I’d love it.” She’d been in a hurry to get home, but invitations from Jack were scarce and she wasn’t about to refuse one.

  He brightened, smiling that cocky off-center grin of his. “I thought you might.”

  Once outside, she noticed that the snow was coming down in large, soft flakes, the kind that floated slowly to earth.

  “Let’s walk down to the waterfront,” he suggested.

  The hill was steep and the street was often closed when driving conditions were unsafe. The signs had already been set in place not far from the courthouse.

  Jack tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. Olivia turned her face to the sky and opened her mouth to catch the falling snow on her tongue, the way she’d done as a child.

  “I love when it snows,” she told him.

  “I do, too,” Jack said.

  “Do you want to build a snowman on the courthouse lawn?”

  “I’d rather we went somewhere for a cup of coffee.”

  That sounded just as nice to Olivia. The lights from the marina were ablaze, the water catching their reflection as dusk settled over the cove. Boats bobbed gently on the surface, and with the snow drifting down, the scene resembled a Christmas card. The only thing missing was carolers walking by in old-fashioned winter coats or a sleigh gliding past.

  Jack led her to the Potbelly
Deli on Harbor Street. The deli served a big lunch crowd, but stayed open until late afternoon. He went up to the counter while she chose a table by the window. Soon Jack returned with two thick mugs of coffee and a slice of pecan pie with two forks.

  “Jack,” she protested. “I’m watching my weight.”

  “Watch it another time,” he said, and handed her a fork.

  She accepted it, sighing heavily. “You know what this means, don’t you?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I’m going to have to walk on the treadmill tonight.”

  “I thought you did aerobics with Grace.”

  “I do, but that’s Wednesday nights, once a week. Everything I’ve read about exercise says four or five times a week is best.”

  “That often, huh…?” He sliced off a section of pie with the side of his fork.

  “Do you exercise, Jack?” She had helped herself to the tiniest bit of pie, avoiding the whipped cream.

  “Me?” He glanced up and the guilty look he wore was answer enough.

  “Oh, honestly, if you don’t take care of yourself you’re going to keel over from a heart attack. You need to get serious about eating right and exercising.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said, and hacked off another chunk of pie.

  “Okay, I’m finished lecturing.”

  “Good.” He smiled as he said it, taking the sting from his words. He reached inside his coat pocket and removed an envelope. “I thought you might like to see these.”

  Olivia took the envelope and noticed the return address. It was from Eric and Shelly. Inside was a letter wrapped around a set of pictures. Olivia unfolded the letter and studied the snapshots of Tedd and Todd, Eric’s twin sons.

  “Oh, Jack! Look how much they’ve grown.”

  “Shelly wrote and said they’re both walking already.”

  “At nine months?” Olivia could well imagine all the mischief those boys were getting into. She didn’t envy the young couple. Thankfully, Jordan and Justine hadn’t walked until they were a year old. A brief sorrow, a pang of regret, came and went. She didn’t think about Jordan as much anymore. Whole days would pass without her dwelling on the death of her thirteen-year-old son, Justine’s twin brother. For years she’d played a heart-wrenching game of wondering how her life would’ve been different if Jordan had chosen to ride his bike that fateful August afternoon instead of heading to the lake with his friends. It was a question with no answer. Jordan had gone to the lake.

  “I have new pictures of Isabella,” she said, unwilling to be outdone in the grandchild department. She scooped up her purse and removed a small “brag” book Grace had given her for pictures. “Look at Leif, too. You won’t believe how much he’s changed.”

  While she finished studying the snapshots of Tedd and Todd, Jack flipped through the photo book.

  “Isabella and Leif are cute,” Jack agreed, “but Tedd and Todd are cuter.”

  Slowly Olivia lowered the snapshots. “You don’t want to go there, Jack Griffin. My grandchildren are the most perfect, beautiful grandchildren in the entire universe. I’d hate to slap a fine on you for denying the truth.”

  He sat back and arched his eyebrows. “Really? I could always write another article about you in The Chronicle,” he returned.

  Olivia laughed. “Truce, truce. Let’s agree we both have the brightest, most intelligent grandchildren ever to grace the earth. Deal?”

  Jack smiled and reached for his fork. Only this bite was for her.

  She declined with a shake of her head, but Jack was having none of it.

  “I’ll have to work it off later and I hate the treadmill.”

  “We could always go walking.”

  However, by now it’d stopped snowing and a light drizzle had started. “In the rain?”

  Jack frowned. “How about if you take me Christmas shopping? I need to mail off gifts for Eric, Shelly and the boys, and I could use the help.”

  “Deal,” she agreed, and leaned forward to accept the sliver of pie. It really did taste divine and she closed her eyes to savor this small bite.

  “You ready?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

  “Ready.” She stood, picking up her coat, which was draped on the chair behind her.

  It wasn’t until they were on their way out the door that Olivia realized this was the first time in months that Stan’s silent presence hadn’t loomed over them.

  This was a good sign, a very good sign indeed.

  Zach studied the young woman in the chair opposite his desk. This was the part of the job he detested most. Hiring new employees. Cecilia Randall was the last applicant of the day. He’d interviewed four others and had found some reason or other not to hire any of them.

  Cecilia Randall was nervous, eager to make a good impression. She was young, but she’d come with glowing references, although none were from bookkeeping firms. Her work experience so far had been as a restaurant hostess.

  A dozen questions filled his mind, but federal regulations being what they were, Zach couldn’t ask them. He’d learned his lesson on that issue with Janice Lamond.

  “You like accounting work, Ms. Randall?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  She nodded vigorously. “Very much. I had top marks in my class.” She leaned forward and motioned to an entry at the bottom of her résumé. “I recently earned my accounting degree from Olympic Community College in Bremerton.”

  Zach had noticed that. “I see your husband’s in the Navy?”

  “That’s correct. He’s currently out at sea.” She clasped her hands in her lap and squeezed her fingers tightly together. “I miss him very much, but his tour of duty is almost over.” She had the wistful look of a woman in love. That was good.

  Zach glanced over her résumé one final time and mentioned his main objection. “I don’t see any previous employment in this field.”

  Cecilia moved to the edge of her seat. “Yes, I know. Until recently I worked at The Captain’s Galley as a hostess. That was before it was sold. It’s The Lighthouse now.”

  Zach nodded absently; he was certainly familiar with the restaurant, since he did their taxes.

  Cecilia leaned closer. “They offered me a job, but I turned it down. Ian and I felt it was more important for me to finish my degree and get a job in the field I’ve been training in for the last three years.”

  He gave her an A for effort, Zach decided. She’d stuck out three years of classes and here she was.

  “I’m willing to start at the bottom,” she offered. “I’d be grateful for the experience and the chance to prove myself.”

  Zach liked this young Navy wife. Another good thing—she was married and from every indication the marriage was healthy. Although he’d never admit it, he didn’t want to work in close proximity to a single woman again. He hadn’t seen Janice for what she was until the damage was done.

  “Can you start Monday morning?” he asked, making his decision. He was tired of doing interviews, and no other applicant had shown as much desire for the job as Cecilia Randall.

  Her eyes grew huge. “You mean I’ve got the job?”

  Zach smiled. “It’s all yours.” He told her the salary and her eyes grew even bigger. He was afraid it wasn’t enough when she blurted out, “How much?” Embarrassed, she laughed and covered her mouth. “This is just great! You won’t be sorry, Mr. Cox. I’ll work hard and do my very best.” “I know you will, Ms. Randall.”

  After he left the office that evening, Zach stopped at the local grocery and picked up a whole cooked chicken. It had never been one of his favorite dinners, but it was quick and easy and he didn’t feel like fussing with meal preparation.

  Eddie’s face fell when he saw it. “I wanted spaghetti,” he complained.

  “Chicken again?” Allison said. “Mom brought home a chicken two nights ago. Doesn’t anyone in this family know how to cook?”

  “Yes,” Zach said, losing his patience. “You do.”

  “Me?” Allison snarled back at him. �
�What makes you think I can cook?”

  “Didn’t you take home economics this trimester?”

  “Yes, but we’re not—”

  “You get home first in the afternoon—you can put on dinner for Eddie and me.”

  “You want me to cook just because I’m a girl, don’t you?” Her eyes filled with fiery indignation.

  Zach wasn’t about to get caught in the “My Dad is a Chauvinist” trap. “If Eddie was home from school before you, I’d put him in change of dinner, but as it happens, you’re the first one to walk in the door. Congratulations, you’re elected. Your brother and I will wash the dishes.”

  “I’d rather cook,” Eddie piped up.

  “I’m afraid you’re out of luck, sport. Allison’s going to come up with a dinner plan for us.”

  “A dinner plan?” She looked aghast. “What’s that?”

  He wondered if she’d been sleeping through her classes. “Make a list of what we’re going to eat for the next seven days and then compile a grocery list from that.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can cook spaghetti every night if you want to, Allison,” Eddie said enthusiastically.

  “Here, write.” Zach set a notebook on the table in front of her.

  “Can we have tacos one night?” Eddie begged. “Please, please?”

  “I guess.” Allison reluctantly wrote tacos at the top of her list.

  “What do we need for tacos?” Zach asked.

  “Meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce and taco shells,” she said.

  “Great,” Zach said, pointing at her. “Write all that down on a separate shopping list.”

  “We have cheese,” Eddie told him. “Mom bought it for macaroni and cheese on Monday night.”

  “Fine, but we need taco shells, tomatoes and lettuce.” Allison dutifully listed the ingredients. They continued, with Eddie making dinner suggestions and Allison creating the list. Actually it was fun, and by the time they’d finished, the table was set and they were ready for dinner.

  Eddie held a chicken leg with both hands. “Are you really going to cook for us, Allison?” he asked his sister.