“That’s all I know. Maybe her reaction was because of that.”
“Margaux didn’t tell you?”
“Nope.”
“Do you think Margaux knows?”
“I’m sure she does.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No.”
Jake put down his menu and frowned at Nick. “I thought there weren’t supposed to be secrets between a man and his wife.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t know.”
“There’s a difference between secrets and confidences that have nothing to do with me or our marriage.”
Jake guffawed. “For a man who’s been married for all of three weeks, you sure act like an expert.”
Nick smiled. The kind of smile that showed how happy he was, an expression Jake had never seen on his friend until Margaux came into his life. He felt just a pang of envy.
The waitress brought their food, and Jake moved the newspaper to the seat beside him. But as he cut into his steak and eggs, he couldn’t help but ponder Grace’s sudden departure.
He didn’t get her. He liked her. Hell, she was smart and funny and pretty in a lawyer kind of way. Not over the top gorgeous like Bri or Margaux, but more to Jake’s taste, not that he was thinking about getting involved or anything.
Still, with Nick married, Jake felt like time was running out. His father had accused him of becoming an old confirmed bachelor; he knew a couple of guys who even thought he wasn’t interested in women at all.
He just never seemed to have the time to look around for someone special, and he wasn’t interested in the few women who seemed interested in him.
Nick was taking turns eating and wiping syrup off Connor’s hands and face, cutting his pancakes, eating his own eggs, and looking at Jake as if he expected him to say something.
He didn’t know what to say. He felt deflated, in a way. He’d been looking forward to breakfast with everyone, especially with Grace. He’d hardly seen her since the petition had been approved, and when he did see her, she always seemed too busy to talk.
Maybe she was behind in her own work because of the time she’d spent on getting the boardwalk historical status. Or maybe he had just been handy for research on the history of the buildings and was no longer needed.
Not that it mattered. They were just friends.
“Are you still worrying about Grace?”
Jake looked up to see Nick watching him.
“No . . . Kind of. It just seems weird. The way she reacted. Running out of here.”
“You were looking forward to having breakfast with her, weren’t you?”
Nick’s concerned expression was slowly changing to one of speculation. You couldn’t put much past Nick. At least he couldn’t. Maybe because they’d been friends for about thirty of their thirty-eight, soon to be thirty-nine years.
Jake picked up his coffee mug while he thought of something to say that didn’t bust him.
“Margaux says you two are perfect for each other.”
Jake choked on his coffee. He quickly grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and wiped his mouth. “What the hell? You sound like a girl.”
“And you sound like a guy that’s just been found out. So . . . is she right?”
“A girly girl.”
“Kevin Foster called Emmet Jalowski a girl on the playground the other day and Emmet punched him,” said Connor, seriously. “Emmet got sent to the principal’s office. And his dad had to come pick him up early.”
“Well, I’m not going to punch Jake. Smart guys don’t punch other people. We were just fooling around.”
Connor bit his lip and frowned.
“Nick’s right,” Jake said. “No punching. So what exactly did Margaux say?” He pointed a finger at Connor. “And no telling Margaux I asked.”
Connor looked at Nick.
“It’s a guy thing. Not a secret.”
Jake sighed, tossed his napkin on the table. “Women stuff, kid stuff. It’s just too complicated. I never know where I am with either.”
“You, from the largest family on the east side of Crescent Cove?”
“You forget I was the youngest. The, um, surprise baby.” He saw Connor straighten up. Please don’t let him ask what a surprise baby was. “Anyway,” he hurried on. “They all were socially acclimated by the time they left home. My next sister left home when I was nine. Then there was just me and dad and my mother, and dad pretty much had his hands full taking care of both of us.”
“Okay so what you didn’t learn about women at home, you made up for in high school. What’s the problem?”
“There is no problem. Could we just forget it?”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“And don’t tell Margaux we talked about any of this.”
Nick shook his head.
“And Connor, don’t you tell either.”
Connor glanced at Nick then shook his head solemnly.
Nick grinned. “At least he didn’t ask us to pinky swear.” He burst out laughing.
Jake threw his napkin at him and reached for the check.
GRACE DIDN’T EVEN sit down when she reached her apartment, but spread the Hartford Courier out on her dining table. She stood, hands propping her weight, and read the article in full.
Then she read it again.
A 24-year-old pregnant woman was killed as she left her doctor’s office on Friday around 5:30 P.M.
Beth Curtis was pronounced dead at the scene. Eyewitnesses said that two cars ran a red light at high speeds. The first car slammed into Ms. Curtis, throwing her into the air, as her husband watched . . .
Grace forced herself to skim down the page to the part she saw first and dreaded most.
The hit and run vehicle is registered to Harrison “Sonny” Cavanaugh, son of a prominent local businessman.
When officers arrived at the Cavanaugh residence, the family attorney, Vincent Holcombe, of the law firm Holcombe, Lacey, Danforth and Estes, was already in attendance.
Cavanaugh was taken into custody and released on $500,000 bail pending arraignment.
There was no mistake. Her father’s firm was representing that scumbag again. What was wrong with them? Harrison “Sonny” Cavanaugh was guilty of every crime he’d ever been arraigned for and gotten off. Because he got off every time. Thanks to Holcombe, Lacey, Danforth and Estes. And the first time because of her.
That case had catapulted Grace from daughter of one of the partners to legal wunderkind in the span of a few days. She, the youngest member of the team, had picked out a loophole, an arcane piece of historical jurisprudence flummery that no one else had thought about. It got the sleaze bag off, when they should have helped put him behind bars.
At least in jail he would not have been available for the joyride and robbery that left a convenience store clerk, a husband and the father of five, dead from gunshot wounds.
They had expected her to be on his defense team again. There was talk about her being leading defense counsel. She’d refused. Her father gave her an ultimatum.
She refused again. And then she quit. She’d grabbed a few things from her desk, left her briefs and law books behind, and walked out the door, her father’s words echoing down the hallway behind her.
“You walk out that door, I’ll make sure you won’t practice in this state again.” An empty threat. “I wash my hands of you.”
Then the coup de grace. “You’re no daughter of mine.”
She walked out the door. That was the last time she had spoken to her father or seen him. And that was four years ago.
And now Sonny-boy Cavanaugh was back in court, and her father’s firm was defending him again. A man Grace had put back on the streets. A man who had killed and who her father’s firm had put back on the streets to kill again.<
br />
Chapter Three
GRACE HEARD THE knock on the door. She knew it would be Margaux, coming to see why she freaked out. She appreciated the friendship, the loyalty, but she was too angry to talk coherently. She was so angry that she was afraid she might take it out on her friend. And that would be so unfair.
Another knock. “Grace, are you in there?”
Grace stood, indecisive.
“I’m not going away.”
Grace felt some of her anger slip away. She was really lucky to have friends who cared.
“Do I have to call Bri to come break this door down?”
Grace felt her mouth pull up into a smile. She knew Margaux would do it. And Bri was completely capable of breaking down her door if she wanted to. The childhood friend whose main activities had been tossing her long blond hair at the boys and never doing anything that might break a nail, the ex-model who never ate and went everywhere by limo had developed some serious survival skills since returning to Crescent Cove.
“Grace-ieee.”
Grace opened the door.
Margaux stepped inside and the two women stood looking at each other.
“I guess this is about that guy in the newspaper.”
“Harrison ‘Sonny’ Cavanaugh.” Grace turned and stalked back to the table and the newspaper whose pages were crumpled from where she had gripped them. She picked it up and shook it in Margaux’s direction.
“What is wrong with these people? He killed a man and he’s already out of jail? And he didn’t even go to a real jail. One of those white collar golf-course places. Justice isn’t just.”
She saw Margaux smile.
“What?”
“You remind me of those days when we were kids and dreaming about what we were going to be when we grew up. You were always about justice.”
Grace dropped her hand. “That’s when I believed in justice for all.”
“And you don’t now?”
Grace sighed, her rage threatening to turn to tears. “I do. I’m just not sure that it exists.”
“I guess we just have to take the bad with the good?” Margaux walked past her and into the small kitchen off the living room. “I’m making coffee,” she said, her words muffled as she looked in the freezer for the espresso beans.
“It’s not just that.” Grace said, watching her pull out the coffeemaker and fill the carafe with filtered water.
Margaux looked up. Stopped what she was doing. “I’m listening.”
Grace’s throat seized up. She couldn’t even bring herself to say it. “My fa—my father.” Her mouth twisted; she willed her emotions into submission. Lawyers, especially courtroom lawyers, had to always be in control. Use emotions as persuasion, not a betrayal of weakness. “How could he do it?”
Margaux stepped toward her, her arms open, and Grace walked into a hug.
“God, sometimes I hate him.”
Margaux gave her a squeeze. “I know, but maybe he thinks he’s doing the right thing. Innocent until proven guilty and all that?”
Grace pulled away. “That’s all fine and good. But this guy is guilty, was guilty twice before. Nobody can believe in his innocence. He isn’t innocent.”
“He deserves a trial, though, right?”
“Sometimes I wonder.” Grace pulled away, walked over to the window and looked down onto the street and the row of quaint shops that lined the sidewalk. “I didn’t mean that. Everyone deserves a trial. And I know all the arguments for defending an obviously guilty person. Letter of the law. Fair trial. I’ve heard it all before. My father is a great one for rationalizing, excusing, looking the other way.”
Grace turned from the window, nearly knocking a glass vase off the end table. It wobbled but didn’t fall. Like me, Grace thought.
“I got him off the first time. Me, stupid me. And he went out and killed a man. And was back on the streets in less than four years later to kill again. Three innocent people and one of them wasn’t even born yet. A baby. God. How can I live with myself?”
“Grace! Cut it out. You did what you thought was right. You refused to represent him the second time. Hell, you gave up your career with the firm and estranged yourself from your family. You’re not the one responsible for what that horrible man did.”
“But I’m the one who gave him the opportunity to do it again.”
“No, the jury did that. And they did it again.” Margaux went back into the kitchen and poured coffee, brought out two cups and set them down on the table. Then she scooped up the newspaper and crammed it into her oversized purse.
“Hey,” Grace protested, but without much heart for it.
“You’re not going to sit here all day rereading this and beating yourself up for things beyond your control.”
They drank their coffee. Margaux stood up. “You want to come back to the beach house with me? Jude’s coming over and we’re going over the menu for Thanksgiving day. You are coming, aren’t you?”
Grace shrugged. The Sullivan home had always been the gathering place for friends, family, and people who had no place to go.
“Well, I’m counting on you. Unless . . . Seamus said Jake was going to invite you to their house for Thanksgiving. They’ll eat early because of all the grandchildren, so you can do both. We won’t eat until after four.”
“Jake is going to ask me to have Thanksgiving with his family? Why?”
Margaux let out an exasperated groan. “Maybe because he enjoys your company. Maybe because he would like to see more of you.” She waited. “See, as in let’s go out sometimes. As in, gee, maybe we have a lot in common and we’d make a really good couple, or at least have some fun.”
“The only thing Jake McGuire and I have in common is the boardwalk historic designation and that’s a done deal.”
“For a lawyer, you can be pretty dumb sometimes. He likes you.” Margaux rolled her eyes. “Listen to me, I sound like we’re in high school. Check yes if you like Jake McGuire.”
Grace chuckled. “You do. And I do like him. He’s very nice, but—”
“Do I have to call Bri and plan an intervention?”
Grace shook her head. ”Besides, Bri is much too busy with her new family.”
“They are awfully cute, aren’t they,” Margaux said. “But she’d come in a New York minute, especially if she thought it would help get Jake in the door . . . metaphorically speaking.”
“If I know our Bri, it would be more than metaphorically.”
“Well, yeah. She likes Jake, too. In a totally platonic way. Plus he’s helped her with some renovation projects.”
“Have you guys been discussing me?”
Margaux shrugged, tried to look innocent. “In a totally—”
“If you say ‘hypothetical way’ I may have to call the cops.”
“Speaking of cops, I left them at the diner without a word of explanation.”
“Well, you’d better get back to them before Nick puts out an APB on you. But thanks. I’m really glad we’re still friends.”
“Selkies forever,” Margaux said, and held up two fingers, the loyalty oath of their secret club where three young girls spent each summer playing and dreaming, and grew into best friends.
“Selkies forever,” Grace echoed. “Now you better get back to the diner before they think I kidnapped you.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep. I think I’ll take out my contacts, take a shower, and try to remember why I became a lawyer. Just kidding. Not about the shower, but I’m fine, really.”
When Margaux had gone, Grace washed the cups and put them away. Margaux had taken the paper with her and already the details were becoming a little blurred. Grace knew it wasn’t her fault that Sonny Cavanaugh had killed those people. At least her head knew. But her heart hurt when she thought of those victims and the familie
s who would have to go through life without them.
JAKE HAD A good mind to go over to Grace’s and see what was what. Margaux had met them when they were leaving the diner. All she had said was that Grace was okay. But he had this idiotic urge to see for himself.
Which was so not him. He didn’t do sensitive. Actually, he was very adept at inept. Nick had kidded him about his randy high school days. It was easy then, there was basketball and football, both were “chick magnets.”
Jake chuckled at the absurdity. Here he was almost forty and still unattached. Why? All of their friends were married years ago. Except Nick, and that was because, Jake suspected, he’d been waiting for his soul mate.
But Nick had known all along who his soul mate was, even if she’d been out of reach for a few decades. Jake didn’t have a clue. And his dad was beginning to drive him crazy. His father was feeling his age. Having to close down the carousel the year before had taken it out of him. Even though he’d recovered some of his former energy since Grace saved their bacon, Jake was afraid there would be no going back. His dad was failing. He wanted to see his youngest son “settled down with a good wife and a brood of kids.”
Well, he’d just have to be content with his other eight kids and his grandchildren and his soon to be great-grandchild. That was a big enough brood for any family. Unfortunately it had been too much for his mother.
So instead of turning right and showing up at Grace’s apartment on the flimsiest of excuses, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the boardwalk to pick up his dad and drive home for an afternoon of television athletics.
But by the time he reached the parking lot, he realized his dad wasn’t there, and had probably allowed one or several of his many female admirers to drive him home. The more tenacious ones would invariably still be there. Prolonging the conversation, stretching out their time, asking advice about gardening, even though everything was already mulched over for winter. Or offering to make him dinner, since no one believed a single man could cook. But mainly because they were lonely.
Jake didn’t think anyone had ever questioned if Seamus was still a married man. They just assumed he was a widower. And they assumed wrong. Technically.
Holidays at Crescent Cove Page 2
