50 Harbor Street

by Debbie Macomber

  Grace bit her lip to keep the emotion at bay. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Your turn, Mother.”

  Still holding Cliff’s hand, Grace looked around the table. “I’m grateful for my family and friends and—” she paused, swallowing hard “—for this time with Cliff.” She’d thought the relationship was over and now hope had been revived. Hope that they’d be able to see past their mistakes and move toward a future together.

  Seeming to understand, Cliff squeezed her hand. For a long moment, his eyes held hers.

  “Your turn,” Jon said, gesturing toward Maryellen.

  Maryellen waited until she had everyone’s attention. “Today I’m most grateful for the new life growing inside me.”

  Shocked, Grace dropped her fork. “You’re pregnant?”

  Maryellen’s eyes were glistening. “I found out last week. I can’t tell you how hard it was not to say anything until now.”

  “Maryellen?” Jon whispered hoarsely. “You’re pregnant? But I thought…is it safe so soon?”

  Grace knew he was referring to the fact that she’d so recently miscarried. Another pregnancy this close to the last one clearly worried him. It concerned Grace, too, but she wouldn’t say anything to diminish her daughter’s happiness.

  Maryellen merely nodded. “I feel fine,” she said. “I really do.”

  “Jon?” Cliff said, motioning to her husband at the other end of the table.

  For a moment he seemed incapable of responding. He kept his eyes focused on Maryellen. “I’m most grateful for my wife,” he whispered.

  As if to protest being left out, Katie banged the high chair with her cup, making a loud noise.

  “And Katie,” he added, to the accompaniment of delighted laughter.

  After dinner Jon tracked down Grace, alone in the kitchen as she wrapped leftovers. Cliff and Cal had gone to the barn to take care of some afternoon chores. He didn’t waste time leading up to the subject. “You didn’t know?”

  “You mean that Maryellen’s pregnant? No, and apparently you didn’t, either.”

  His expression was tortured, his face haggard. “Grace, I have to tell you, I’m scared. It’s too soon.”

  “Jon,” she reminded him gently, “it seems to me you know what makes babies as well as I do.”

  “Maryellen seemed so sure nothing would happen….”

  “We don’t have any choice but to leave this in God’s hands,” Grace told him. It was the best reassurance she had to offer. She prayed Maryellen wouldn’t lose this baby, too.

  Seventeen

  The word sale held a special meaning for Corrie McAfee, and that was buy. There was a very good reason the Friday after Thanksgiving was the biggest shopping day of the year. The sales were not to be missed. Corrie liked nothing better than to hit the stores early. The earlier the better, as far as she was concerned.

  The alarm rang at five and she was dressed and out the door half an hour later, on her way to pick up Linnette. Linnette had been assigned duty on Thanksgiving Day, and in exchange, had today off. Corrie had waited until after her daughter’s shift to serve the traditional turkey dinner, although it hadn’t felt right. Putting dinner off until late had been worth it, however, since it meant Linnette could go shopping with her now.

  Thanksgiving Day had been gloomy until their daughter arrived—and not just because of the rain. Predictably, Mack had declined her invitation. He claimed he had other plans, none of which he’d described. Corrie didn’t argue with him. Her son’s so-called plans, she supposed, were to avoid arguing with his father and therefore ruining everyone else’s holiday. Corrie wished she could shake some sense into both of them. Roy had been annoyed that Mack hadn’t come for dinner; he would’ve been equally annoyed if his son had shown up. But at least Linnette’s cheerful presence had rescued his mood…and the evening.

  When she pulled into the apartment parking lot, Corrie saw that Linnette’s lights were blazing. She didn’t have to wait long for her daughter to walk outside and run down the stairs. Opening the passenger door, Linnette slipped into the front seat.

  “Where first?” she asked, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

  “Wal-Mart’s already open,” Corrie said. “The entire store’s probably been bought out by now.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Corrie laughed. “I have much to teach you, my child.”

  This was the first time in years that they’d been able to schedule a Friday-after-Thanksgiving shopping adventure. The last occasion had been when Linnette was still in high school.

  “Let’s go into Silverdale next,” her daughter suggested after a quick sortie through the local Wal-Mart. “The sooner we get to the mall, the better our chances of locating a decent parking spot.”

  “Good idea.” Corrie headed out of town. There was an unusual amount of traffic for six o’clock on a holiday morning, but she knew from experience that lots of people had the same idea—get to the stores early. Hoping to bring Cal into the conversation, she tried to think of a subtle way to introduce him. She wanted to encourage Linnette to confide in her—yet she didn’t want her daughter to feel manipulated. It was a tricky balance. In the end she decided not to mention Cal. She’d see if Linnette brought up the subject herself.

  “Thanksgiving dinner was great, Mom,” Linnette said.

  “Thanks. Speaking of that, where was your doctor friend?”

  Linnette tugged at the seat belt as if it was suddenly too tight. “With his family, I guess. He didn’t say anything to me.” This was stated with disappointment.

  Corrie suspected Chad wasn’t interested in dating Linnette. The one time she’d met him, at the clinic’s official opening, he’d seemed more interested in Gloria, her daughter’s neighbor, than in Linnette.

  “I was worried for a while that he might have spent it with Gloria,” Linnette continued.

  “Does she have family in the area?”

  “Apparently not. I invited her to come over and join us, but she couldn’t. She had to work, too.” Linnette paused. “I like Gloria, but I have to admit the real reason I asked her was to make sure she wasn’t spending the day with Chad.” Linnette heaved a deep sigh. “That was insincere of me and I regret it. I wish Gloria had been able to come. Dinner with you and Dad was great, don’t get me wrong, but I think she would’ve enjoyed having it with us. Gloria and Dad would get along really well. They’re both in police work and all that.”

  “Your father’s not in police work anymore.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t matter. He’s such a cop.”

  Linnette certainly had her father pegged. “It was a cozy family dinner,” Corrie murmured, paying attention to the road. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  She concentrated on her driving, and they didn’t speak for the next few minutes.

  The silence was broken by Linnette. “Any further developments?”

  Her daughter didn’t need to elaborate; Corrie understood what she meant. “Some,” she admitted reluctantly. Perhaps if she shared what was happening, Linnette would feel freer to talk about her own life.

  Linnette waited for her to explain and then nudged her lightly when she didn’t. “You can’t leave it at that, Mom.”

  “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Corrie disliked this subject in the extreme, but talking to Roy about it was impossible. He kept so many of his thoughts and feelings hidden inside. She knew this came from long habit, the natural caution of a cop. And it came from his deep-seated desire to protect her. Still, after all these years of married life, Corrie sometimes found her husband a stranger.

  “Mom,” Linnette whined. “Tell me.”

  “Sorry, I was thinking.” She sighed. “At work during the last few weeks I’ve been getting an inordinate number of hang-ups.”

  “What do you mean?” Linnette asked. “You pick up the phone and the person on the other end slams down the receiver?”

  �
�No. But he or she doesn’t say anything and then disconnects as soon as I start to ask who’s there.”

  “What about caller ID?”

  “That’s interesting. The calls are coming from pay phones in different parts of the county. There was even one from Seattle.”

  “Pay phones,” Linnette repeated slowly.

  “Your father isn’t amused.”

  “I can’t imagine that he is,” her daughter murmured. “Whoever’s doing this certainly gets around.”

  “So it seems. And then—” Corrie stopped abruptly. She hadn’t meant to let this other part slip.

  Linnette was too observant not to notice. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  Hands clenching the steering wheel, Corrie nodded. “Wednesday afternoon, your father and I left the office early. Shortly after we got home, Willows, Weeds and Flowers made a delivery to the house.”

  “The local florist?”

  Corrie nodded. “Someone sent us a gorgeous floral arrangement for our Thanksgiving centerpiece.”

  “Who?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “It wasn’t on the table.”

  “I know…Your father didn’t want anything to do with it. We didn’t have that arrangement one minute before he was on the phone, trying to find out who sent it. Apparently it came as an order from another florist. Your dad was out the door before I could stop him.” He’d left her to worry for nearly two hours while he tried to track down this lead.

  “Did he learn anything?”

  “Not much. But I doubt your father will let it drop that easily.”

  “What did he learn?”

  Corrie had been curious herself and it’d taken a good hour to get the information out of him. In the end, he’d told her. “He said whoever sent the flowers paid cash and apparently used a florist in another town. When he questioned the other shop, the person who’d taken the order had already gone home. No one there remembered anyone not paying with a credit card.” She shook her head. “He’ll probably follow up tomorrow, if he can get hold of that employee.”

  Linnette took a moment to digest this information. “What happened to the flowers?”

  “Your father told me to get rid of them.”

  “Did you?”

  Linnette smiled. “Sort of. I brought them down to the Cedar Cove Convalescent Center that night. They were thrilled to have them.”

  “That was a very considerate thing to do.”

  “It was either that or watch your father have a conniption.”

  As if the thought had just occurred to her, Linnette asked, “Was there a card attached?”

  “Yes…” The gift card had infuriated Roy even more than the delivery itself. The person sending the flowers was taunting them. One look and her husband had torn it in half and tossed it in the garbage. After he’d left, Corrie retrieved the ripped card. “It said Guess Who?”

  Linnette let out a low whistle. “I’ll bet that infuriated Dad.”

  “It sure did,” Corrie said grimly. “I don’t know what to expect next—from our mysterious stalker or your father.”

  Eighteen

  Cecilia had never seen Allison so nervous. She’d been up and down a dozen times in the half hour since she’d arrived at the office after school.

  “Did my dad tell you when he expected to be back?” she asked Cecilia for the third time, jumping up from her chair again.

  “No, I’m sorry, he didn’t.” That, too, was unusual. If Mr. Cox was going to be away for an extended period, he always let Cecilia know. Judging by the way Allison was behaving, Cecilia figured that wherever her employer was, it concerned his teenage daughter. And that probably meant it had something to do with Anson.

  “What time is it, anyway?” Allison glared at her watch. “He should be back by now.” She sat down again.

  “Back from where? Does this involve Anson?” Cecilia asked quietly.

  The color drained from Allison’s face. “What makes you think that?”

  “How long have I known you, Allison? Two years? Three? You haven’t been this anxious about anything in all that time. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” To Cecilia’s shock, the girl covered her face with both hands and burst into tears.

  Cecilia placed an arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go into your father’s office.” She steered Allison inside, then shut the door.

  Allison slumped into the chair in front of her dad’s desk, and Cecilia dragged its twin close. Reaching into her pocket, she handed the girl a clean tissue, which Allison crumpled into a tight ball.

  “You’re right,” Allison admitted. “This does have to do with Anson. He got into—he did something he shouldn’t have. Afterward, he felt really bad about it and didn’t know what to do, so he came to me.”

  Cecilia had suspected trouble the instant she’d seen the boy, and the few things she’d heard had only confirmed that opinion. Everything about Anson screamed attitude, from his street-length gunslinger black coat to the spiked bracelet. She hadn’t liked the idea of Allison hanging around with him, but had kept her opinions to herself.

  “Anson came to you for help?” Cecilia repeated, wanting to be sure she understood. She didn’t press Allison with questions about what Anson had done, for fear she’d stop confiding in her.

  The girl nodded.

  “What could you do?” Cecilia was annoyed that the boy had expected Allison to solve his problems.

  “I took him to talk to my dad,” Allison explained. “I knew Dad would help and he has. Dad’s been really wonderful.”

  “What did your father do?”

  Allison swallowed hard. “Dad said Anson had to turn himself in to the police.” She lifted her gaze to Cecilia’s. “I know you’re probably wondering what Anson did, but…I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Turning himself in was a good start, in Cecilia’s view. Her mother had drilled the concept of personal responsibility into her from a young age. Her father, on the other hand, tried to avoid it whenever he could.

  “Did Anson take your father’s advice and go to the police?”

  Allison raised her chin slightly, as though proud of her juvenile delinquent boyfriend. “It was really hard, but he was willing to own up to what he’d done. Dad called his attorney friend and then he drove Anson to the sheriff’s department.”

  “Barry Creech?” Cecilia asked. She knew the attorney was a client of Mr. Cox’s and that seemed a logical guess.

  “Yes.” Allison twisted the tissue in her fingers. “Dad said Mr. Creech specializes in juvenile offenses and he’d know how to handle this.”

  Cecilia had assumed Anson was already eighteen, but when she mentioned that, Allison shook her head. “Anson turns eighteen next month, and we were afraid the court would want to try him as an adult because he’s close to legal age.” Sighing heavily, she gave Cecilia a weak smile. “I know you don’t like Anson.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t like him…”

  “My mom doesn’t, either—but Cecilia, you’re both wrong about him! Anson is a good person. He hasn’t had an easy life, you know. His mother’s awful…I don’t even want to get into it about his mother. She’s evil.”

  Cecilia didn’t want to get into it, either. Abe Lincoln had a hard life, too, but he didn’t go around committing crimes. “Does Anson have a police record?”

  “No,” Allison said irritably, which suggested this was a question she’d answered more than once. “He’s never done anything like this before.”

  In other words, he’d never gotten caught. “What did Mr. Creech advise him to do?”

  “He said the same thing Dad did, that Anson should turn himself in to the authorities. He met Anson and talked to his mother, and she said he’s on his own.” Allison’s pretty face tightened in a scowl. “Dad met Anson’s mom, too, and after that he said he’d go to court with Anson. The judge has to accept the plea agreement Mr. Cre
ech worked out with the prosecutor. He has to.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “His own mother won’t even be in court with him.”

  “Okay,” Cecilia said in a soothing voice, “so Mr. Creech was able to get a plea agreement with the prosecutor.”

  Allison dabbed at her eyes with the shredded tissue. “Yes, and Dad says it’s a good one. Mr. Creech got the prosecutor to try Anson as a juvenile. That means this won’t be on his permanent record, as long as he maintains all the terms of the plea bargain.”

  Cecilia wasn’t convinced that keeping his record clean was necessarily a good thing. She just hoped Anson appreciated everything Mr. Cox and Allison were doing for him. Somehow she doubted it.

  “The prosecutor agreed to let Anson do community service hours, plus he has to pay restitution, stay in school and graduate on time.”

  “He’ll need a job if he’s going to pay restitution.” She tried to figure out exactly what kind of mischief Anson had gotten into.

  “Dad helped him there, too,” Allison said with such pride her eyes shone. “The Gundersons own The Lighthouse restaurant, and Dad knows Mrs. Gunderson from when she worked at the bank. He called her, and she said they needed a dishwasher and they’d be willing to hire Anson. It’s only minimum wage, but Mr. Gunderson said if Anson worked hard and proved himself, he’d consider training him for other positions when they become available.”

  “Great.”

  “Anson’s really excited. He doesn’t have a car or anything, but he’s willing to take the bus.”

  That sounded like a big concession on Anson’s part, Cecilia thought cynically. Still this was a light sentence; having to get a job and do a few community service hours didn’t seem all that harsh. “Does he have to do anything else?”

  Allison put the sodden tissue in her pocket. “He has to stay out of trouble for a year, comply with everything the court ordered and the fire won’t appear on his record.”

  Fire. The word didn’t escape Cecilia’s notice. So Anson had started a fire. There’d been a piece in The Chronicle recently about the tool shed at the community park burning down. According to the article, it had been the act of an arsonist. Cecilia wondered if that was Anson’s handiwork, and guessed it was.