16 Lighthouse Road

by Debbie Macomber

  “I haven’t decided that yet, either.” She was fond of Warren, but compared to the fire that surfaced whenever she was with Seth, fond was a bland emotion.

  “Are you waiting for me to make your decision for you?” Seth asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That’s what it sounds like to me.”

  She sighed loudly. “I only mentioned it because I thought you should know.”

  He snickered, irritating her even more.

  “What was that about?” she demanded.

  “Did you tell your boyfriend how you practically dragged me into your bed?”

  That was a low blow, and Justine had no intention of responding.

  “Warren knows about you.” She wasn’t absolutely sure if that was true, but she had her suspicions. Most likely, her being seen with Seth was what had prompted the marriage proposal.

  “I’ll bet he does.” Seth’s anger had vanished as soon as it appeared. “Well,” he said, apparently bored with the subject, “I guess you have an important decision to make.”

  “You’re right, I do.”

  “Call me when you’ve made it.”

  Justine sensed that he was about to hang up, and perversely, she didn’t want their conversation to end, not like this. And yet, she was helpless to do anything but agree. “I will,” she whispered, miserable and furious at the same time.

  “On second thought,” he said, and she could practically hear his scorn, “don’t bother. We both know what you’re going to do.” Having said that, he broke the connection. Justine was left holding the telephone receiver, which buzzed insistently in her ear.

  The sun reflected off the bright green water of Puget Sound as the ferry pulled away from the Bremerton dock and moved smoothly through Rich Passage on the hour-long journey to Seattle. Standing at the railing, with the wind ruffling her dark hair, and breathing in the salty tang of the sea, Olivia turned to smile at Jack.

  “It’s just so beautiful this afternoon.”

  “Hey,” he joked, “I ordered it just for today.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “This is no joke,” he insisted, with a look so serious she was tempted to laugh outright. “I said, ‘God, I’ve got this important date Sunday afternoon and I’d appreciate a little cooperation from you in the weather department.’”

  “You said that, did you?”

  “I did.”

  Olivia turned back to the railing, leaning her elbows on it, and waited impatiently for a glimpse of the Seattle skyline. Jack’s son, Eric, was picking them up at the ferry terminal and the three of them would have dinner on the waterfront. This would be the first time Olivia had met Eric, and Jack seemed more nervous about it than she did.

  “I’ve taken several vacations in the past few years,” Olivia told him, “and traveled in a number of different countries, but I’ve never found any place more beautiful than Seattle when the sun is shining.”

  “It’s lush and green, all right,” Jack said, grumbling, “as it should be after three months of drizzle and rain.”

  “Is it time for you to sit under a happy light?” she asked, posing the question to him that she’d once asked her children. Whenever the day was especially gloomy and they’d argued and complained about being unable to play outside, Olivia had made them sit under a lamp and read. James had dubbed it the happy light because he’d figured out that until he smiled, she wouldn’t let him leave the chair.

  “Happy light?”

  Olivia explained, and they joked for several minutes. When they fell silent, she noticed how tense he seemed. He left her at the rail and paced the length of the ferry, drank three cups of coffee to her one and fidgeted during the entire ride from the Kitsap Peninsula into Elliot Bay.

  Olivia recognized Eric as Jack’s son the instant she saw him. He was as tall as his father, with an athletic build, and other than his choice of clothing, they looked very much alike.

  “Hello, Eric,” Olivia said, extending her hand.

  “This is Olivia Lockhart.” Jack introduced her, sweeping his arm in her general direction.

  Father and son didn’t hug or exchange handshakes. Since Stan was quite demonstrative, it struck her as odd.

  “How was the ferry ride?” Eric asked as they started walking along the waterfront.

  “Great,” Jack said enthusiastically, as though they’d just stepped off a cruise ship instead of a one-hour Puget Sound crossing.

  “Are you hungry?” Eric asked next.

  “Famished.”

  Olivia glanced at father and son, surprised by the awkwardness she continued to sense.

  Eric told them he’d chosen a restaurant before their arrival and made reservations. “I hope you like crab,” he said, leading the way.

  “Love it,” Olivia assured him.

  Eric turned to his father. “I’m game,” Jack muttered.

  Apparently Eric wasn’t acquainted with his father’s tastes. That, too, seemed odd. The restaurant Eric had chosen specialized in freshly cooked crab, served on newspaper-lined table-tops. Each patron was supplied with a wooden mallet and a bib. By the time they finished cracking the steaming Dungeness crab and dipping the pieces in melted butter, they were talking with ease, bursts of conversation punctuated by laughter.

  Everything about the meal was wonderful. When they’d washed up, Eric walked them back to the ferry. Once more he appeared rather formal, and the conversation, which had flowed so comfortably throughout the meal, suddenly seemed stilted. Jack’s hands were buried inside his raincoat pockets.

  “I had a good time,” Eric announced. Was it Olivia’s imagination or did he sound a little shocked by that revelation?

  “I did, too,” Jack said.

  Eric didn’t say anything for a moment. “Would you like to meet again sometime?”

  “I’d like that very much,” Jack said solemnly.

  “Me, too.”

  Eric smiled charmingly at Olivia. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too, Eric.”

  The cars started to leave the Bremerton ferry and it was time to walk onboard.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Jack said, steering Olivia toward the terminal and the ticket booth for walk-on customers.

  Eric raised his hand in farewell and eased away, taking small steps backward.

  Jack purchased their tickets, and as they boarded the ferry, he said, “That went well, didn’t it?”

  “Very well.”

  She could feel his relief and found his reaction—his entire attitude toward his son—a bit puzzling. Still thinking about it, she followed him up the steps to the main deck. Jack hurried ahead of her toward the back railing and stood there, the wind in his face as he looked out over the Seattle waterfront.

  “There he is,” Jack called. He placed his finger between his lips and let out a piercing whistle.

  Eric jerked around, saw them and waved once more.

  “He’s a well-adjusted young man,” Olivia murmured.

  “The credit for that goes to his mother.”

  “You weren’t part of his life while he was young?” That would explain the awkwardness between them.

  “I was around but…I wasn’t much of a father.”

  Olivia understood what he was saying. Between law school and everything else that’d been crammed into the early years of her own children’s lives, Olivia suffered her share of regrets. She’d longed to be a good mother, still did, but there were only so many hours in a day.

  “I’m proud to be his father.”

  It was probably the best compliment a father could give his son, but unfortunately Eric hadn’t been there to hear it.

  “Do you see him often?” she asked, attempting to gauge the relationship.

  “We try,” was all Jack would admit. “However, we have a lot of issues—” he grimaced at the word “—that we need to work through.”

  She smiled at his distaste for what he called psychobabble. He’d told her more than
once that he preferred plain speaking.

  “But you and Eric are both making the effort,” she said quietly.

  Jack nodded. “Yes, we are.” Then, as though searching for a way to turn the subject from himself, he asked, “Any word from Justine?”

  Olivia wanted to groan aloud. Her daughter was her main source of concern just now. Although Justine hadn’t said anything to Olivia, word had filtered through town about her and Seth Gunderson. Olivia felt like cheering. Seth was exactly the kind of man she pictured for her headstrong daughter.

  Then Seth had left for Alaska, and all of a sudden the gossip was about Warren Saget ordering a huge diamond ring from Berghoff Jewelers. Warren had purposely chosen a local jeweler, and the whys of it didn’t escape Olivia. He wanted her to know. Coward that he was, Warren Saget didn’t have the courage to confront Olivia face-to-face. He left the broadcasting of his intentions to the gossipmongers of Cedar Cove.

  “You heard?” Olivia asked.

  Jack gave a nonchalant shrug. “Did she say yes?”

  “I have no idea.” It hurt to admit that her only daughter hadn’t even discussed a marriage proposal with her mother.

  “If she says yes, what will you do?” Jack asked, watching her closely.

  “Do?” As if Olivia had a choice. “What can I do? I’ll grin and bear it, but I’ll have a hell of a time calling Warren my son-in-law, especially since we’re almost the same age.”

  “Is Seth Gunderson aware of the…proposal?”

  That was the mystery of the hour. “I wish I knew.”

  “Are you worried?” Jack asked.

  “Damn straight,” she said grimly.

  Jack threw his arm around her shoulder. “Everything’s going to work out, just wait and see.”

  Olivia tried to think positive thoughts, but she wondered if Jack was referring to her situation, or his own.

  Twelve

  Charlotte believed with all her heart that Tom Harding had entrusted her with his most precious keepsakes for a reason. She was to find an heir or, failing that, make sure these things were properly displayed in a museum. It was a task she took seriously. Seriously enough to flirt with breaking the law.

  For days she mulled over what to do. Because Tom had been a ward of the state, her biggest fear was that the saddle, guns, poster and television scripts would be confiscated and sold at auction in order to recoup the money spent on his care. According to Washington State law, Tom was only allowed two-thousand dollars’ worth of property. At least, that was how Olivia had explained it.

  “Can the state take all this away?” she’d asked her daughter the day of their discovery.

  “Well…”

  Charlotte knew what that “well” signified and, despite the risk, took action behind her daughter’s back. And the state’s… If it meant she was about to be hauled off to the clinker, then so be it.

  Since then, Olivia had been preoccupied with court issues, but Charlotte’s innate honesty made it impossible not to tell her daughter what she’d done. She decided to pay a visit to the judge’s chambers one Monday at noon. It wasn’t likely that Olivia would have her own mother arrested.

  Charlotte peeked inside and was instantly welcomed by the smell of old books and lemon oil. Looking up from her desk, Olivia frowned. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  Deep in thought, Olivia took a moment to focus before answering.

  “In case another time would be better, I want you to know I’ve been back to Tom’s storage unit and have taken some of his things. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Janet wanted that key.”

  “Mother,” Olivia cried, covering her ears. Her daughter always did have a certain dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me that.”

  “I have them in my safekeeping. We both know what’ll happen once Social Service discovers Tom had anything of value.” Charlotte simply couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Olivia stood, stared at her, then promptly sat down. She sighed. “Well…there’s a case, weak though it is, for claiming that the items weren’t of any real value until after his death.”

  That sounded like an argument an attorney would make, but still…an excellent justification, Charlotte thought with a satisfied nod. Anyway, it wasn’t as though Charlotte had cleared out the storage unit. She’d left the furniture, shabby and worn but still usable. She’d taken only what she felt Tom wanted her to save from obscurity. Only the things that should go to his family—if she could find anyone.

  “Don’t worry,” Charlotte said. “I have everything under control.” It worried her that Olivia had so little to say. Perhaps there were more legal ramifications than she understood, whole laws she didn’t even know she’d broken.

  “Your having control is what frightens me,” Olivia said acerbically. Charlotte let that pass. “Have you tracked down any family members?”

  “No…not yet, but I will. I—”

  “Oh, Mother, this is a huge responsibility.”

  As though Charlotte needed reminding. “I feel it’s my duty.” Straightening, she decided she might as well confess everything. “I want you to know I’ve hired Roy McAfee to search out any heirs Tom might have.”

  “You did what?”

  Olivia didn’t have a problem with her hearing, so Charlotte left the question unanswered.

  Olivia sighed again. “What did Roy tell you?”

  Charlotte’s fingers tightened around her purse, which was balanced on her knees. “I haven’t actually spoken to him yet. When I phoned for the appointment, Corrie and I spoke. I explained why I need Roy’s help. I’m seeing him this afternoon.”

  “Mother, please don’t tell anyone else what you’ve done.”

  “Oh, not to worry. I won’t mention how you went with me that first time, either.”

  Olivia groaned. “That would be appreciated.”

  “Do you want me to let you know what Roy finds out?” She had the impression Olivia would rather not be kept informed. The way her mind was all caught up with legalities, that was probably for the best. Charlotte often felt astonished by how frequently the courts abandoned common sense. “Never mind,” Charlotte said, getting to her feet. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  Olivia seemed decidedly relieved. “Okay, thanks.”

  The course of her action already determined, Charlotte walked out of the courthouse. Troy Davis nodded at her, and Charlotte quickly looked away, certain the sheriff would guess she was a felon on the run. Thankfully he didn’t and merely strolled past. Really, it was a wonder that guilty people didn’t give themselves away.

  Later that same afternoon, Charlotte arrived at Roy McAfee’s office a full thirty minutes before her scheduled appointment. She had her knitting with her and sat in his waiting room, her needles clicking at a furious pace. Illegal activities were one thing, but confessing them to a former policeman—well, that really tried her nerves.

  Corrie was busy on the phone and apologized when she’d finished. “Roy won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I’m early,” Charlotte returned. Olivia would protect her from the long arm of the law—or so she assumed—but she had no such guarantee with Roy. Well, so be it. Her resolve bolstered her spirits, although she didn’t exactly savor the possibility of jail.

  “Fiddlesticks,” Charlotte muttered. It was a chance she had to take.

  Corrie glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing,” Charlotte said with a sigh. Roy arrived five minutes before her appointment time, and by then Charlotte had worked herself into a frenzy of worry. Corrie was aware of the reason for the visit, but Charlotte eluded her questions, preferring to speak to Roy alone.

  Perhaps a minute later, Corrie announced that he was ready to see her. Stuffing her knitting needles and yarn back into her quilted bag, Charlotte stood up.

  Roy sat behind a large oak desk littered with files. His computer was off to one side, and what files weren’t on his desk
were stacked around him on the floor. Charlotte had no idea a private investigator would have this much business, especially in a town the size of Cedar Cove.

  “What can I do for you?” Roy asked in a crisp, professional tone.

  Now that she was here, Charlotte wasn’t sure where to start—probably not by confessing she’d recently committed a felony, if indeed that was what she’d done. “Did you ever watch Saturday cowboy shows as a boy?”

  Roy grinned. “You bet.” He held up his index finger and blew on it as though it were a smoking gun barrel.

  “Do you remember Tom Houston?” she asked next.

  “The Yodeling Cowboy?”

  Charlotte brightened. “Yes. Well, you’re going to be surprised to learn that until his death last month, Tom lived right here in Cedar Cove.”

  Roy leaned forward and his eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

  “It’s true,” she said, beaming with pride that she knew this fact before anyone else. “We were good friends.”

  “You and Tom Houston?” Roy looked impressed.

  “Well…” She released a deep sigh. “I didn’t know he was Tom Houston at the time. He went by the name of Tom Harding.” She explained the circumstances that had led up to their meeting and everything that had happened since his death. Including her raid on the storage unit.

  “You have all the memorabilia at your home now?”

  “I do.” She’d avoided mentioning Olivia’s name, but she could see that Roy had several questions. “I realize that what I did is flirting with civil disobedience,” she began.

  “Not quite.”

  Charlotte had trouble remembering all those fancy legal terms. “But…” Then she decided that if he wasn’t worrying about the illegality of her activities, she wouldn’t, either.

  “What would you like me to do?” Roy asked.

  Charlotte had thought that should be obvious. “I need to find out if Tom has any living heirs. Can you do that for me?”

  Roy didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure I can. Did you see anything in Tom’s things that gave his Social Security number?”

  “No, but I can get it.” Janet Lester was sure to have it in the accumulated paperwork she had for Tom. She frowned, wondering exactly how to ask. As much as she liked and trusted the social worker, Charlotte hadn’t told Janet any of this, including the fact that she’d taken things from the storage unit. No sense dragging her friends to jail with her, if it came to that.