Cedar Cove Collection (7-12)

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

1022 Evergreen

Place

1105 Yakima

Street

1225 Christmas Tree Lane

Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

74 Seaside Avenue

Debbie Macomber

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family court judge in cedar cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. They live at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, ,who has sons David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. The Gundersons owned The Lighthouse restaurant, recently destroyed by fire. They live at 6 Rainier Drive.

James Lockhart: Olivia’s son and Justine’s younger brother. In the Navy. Lives in San Diego with his wife, Selina, and daughter, Isabella, and son, Adam.

Stanley Lockhart: Olivia’s ex-husband and father of James and Justine. Now lives in Seattle.

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Now divorced, retired and moving back to Cedar Cove.

Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a retired engineer who is now a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Grace’s previous address: 204 Rosewood Lane (now a rental property).

Cal Washburn: Horse trainer, employed by Cliff Harding.

Vicki Newman: Local veterinarian, romantically involved with Cal.

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.

Joseph and Ellen Bowman: father and stepmother of Jon, grandparents of Katie and Drake. They live in Oregon.

Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox. The family lives at 311 Pelican Court. Allison is attending university in Seattle, while her boyfriend, Anson Butler, has joined the military.

Cecilia Randall: Navy wife, married to Ian Randall. Parents of Aaron. Lived in Cedar Cove until recently. Now transferred to San Diego.

Rachel Pendergast: Works at the Get Nailed salon. Friends with widower Bruce Peyton and his daughter, Jolene. Romantically involved with sailor Nate Olsen.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own a bed and breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.

Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children, Mack and Linnette. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Lived in Cedar Cove and worked as a physician assistant in the new medical clinic. Leaving for North Dakota. Her brother, Mack, a fireman in training, is moving to Cedar Cove.

Gloria Ashton: Sheriff’s deputy in Cedar Cove. Biological daughter of Roy and Corrie McAfee.

Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff. Married to Sandy. Father of Megan.

Faith Beckwith: Troy Davis’s high-school girlfriend, now a widow.

Bobby Polgar and Teri Miller Polgar: He is an international chess champion; she’s a hair stylist at Get Nailed. Their home is at 74 Seaside Avenue.

Pastor Flemming: Local Methodist minister.

Dear Friends,

It’s time for another visit to Cedar Cove. (And if this is your first visit, let me reassure you that it won’t take long to catch up.) Come and spend a few hours with Grace, Olivia and their families, plus Rachel (and Nate and Bruce) and Bobby and Teri Polgar and … a cast of hundreds. Well, maybe not hundreds, although it sometimes feels that way.

I created Cedar Cove because of the popularity of my earlier series, particularly MIDNIGHT SONS and HEART OF TEXAS. Every day I received reader mail that asked what happened to such and such a character. It occurred to me that I should write an ongoing series, one without a predetermined end. Each book would be an update on the characters, with multiple plotlines. The fact that you’ve stuck with me into the seventh book validates what all those early reader letters told me. You wanted to go back, or in this case forward.

Because Cedar Cove is based on the very real town of Port Orchard, Washington, some of you have come to visit us here. Welcome! A number of the businesses and streets are loosely based on those in Port Orchard, and I’ve put together a Cedar Cove map. You can either download it from my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com or stop by our Chamber of Commerce for a free copy. If you aren’t online just send me an SASE at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA and I’ll be happy to mail you one.

By the way, I also love to hear from readers. You can reach me via my website or at the address mentioned above. I hope you enjoy 74 Seaside Avenue.

To

Susan Plunkett, Krysteen Seelen,

Linda Nichols

and

Lois Dyer

All gifted authors

All treasured friends

One

Late Thursday afternoon, Teri Polgar went to the grocery store. Roaming the air-conditioned aisles, she decided to make her specialty—a macaroni-and-cheese casserole—for dinner that night. Some might consider it more of a winter meal, not really suitable for the middle of July, but Teri liked it any time of year. And Bobby—well, Bobby was hardly aware of what season it was, or for that matter, what time of day.

When she got home, she found her husband in front of a chessboard, deep in concentration. That in itself wasn’t unusual. But the board was set up on the kitchen table and her younger brother was sitting across from him. Two out-of-the-ordinary occurrences.

Johnny grinned sheepishly when she walked in with her bag of groceries. “I came by for a quick visit and Bobby insisted on teaching me,” he explained.

Bobby mumbled something, probably an acknowledgment of her presence. He often muttered to himself, lost in his own world of chess moves and strategies. To say her husband was a bit unconventional would be an understatement Bobby Polgar was an international chess sensation, one of the top-ranked players in the world.

“How’s it going?” Teri asked as she set the groceries on the counter.

Johnny answered with a good-natured shrug. “Haven’t got a clue. Ask Bobby.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, moving to her husband’s side of the table. Slipping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek.

Bobby’s hand squeezed hers and he looked across at Johnny. “Always protect your queen,” he advised her brother, who nodded patiently.

“Can you stay for dinner?” she asked Johnny. A visit from him, especially on a weekday, was a pleasant surprise. Teri was proud of Johnny, but she also felt protective of him. That was only natural, she supposed, because she’d practically raised him herself. Her family—like Bobby, was unconventional—but in a completely different way. At last count, her mother had been married six times. Or was it seven? Teri had lost count.

Her sister was more like her mother than Teri had ever been, but at least Christie was smart enough not to marry the losers who walked in and out of her life. Not that Teri was exempt from some of life’s painful lessons herself. Particularly those that fell into the category of men-who-use-and-abuse.

Teri still had a hard time believing Bobby Polgar could love her. She worked in a hair and nail salon and considered herself the farthest thing from an intellectual. Bobby always said she had a real-world intelligence, practical and intuitive rather than cerebral, like his. She loved him for saying that and was even starting to believe it. In fact, she loved everything about him. The happiness she felt was still new to her and it actually frightened her a little.

She had reasons to be concerned, real-world reasons, she thought wryly, although she made light of them. Recently two men had approached her, bodyguard-types who looked like they belonged in an episode of The Sopranos. They had gangster written all over them. They hadn’t really done anything, though, other than scare her for a few minutes.

Teri wasn’t sure what that was all about. Apparently these goons had been sent as a warning to Bobby. The message seemed to be that their boss, whoever he was, could get to her at any time. Fat chance of that! Teri was street-smart and she’d learned how to take care of herself, although she had to admit those two had given her pause.

If Bobby knew who was responsible for the threat against her, he wasn’t saying. But she’d noticed that her husband hadn’t played in a single tournament since she’d been approached by those men.

“I gotta get back,” Johnny said in answer to her question about dinner.

“Just stay for another couple of hours,” she wheedled. “I’m making my special macaroni-and-cheese casserole.” That would entice her brother like nothing else. It was his favorite dish.

“Checkmate,” Bobby said triumphantly, apparently unaware of the conversation around him.

“Is there a way out of this?” Johnny asked, returning his attention to the chessboard.

Bobby shook his head. “Nope. You’re in the Black Hole.”

“The what?” Teri and Johnny said simultaneously.

“The Black Hole,” Bobby told them. “Once a player finds him or herself in this set of circumstances, it’s impossible to win.”

Johnny shrugged. “Then there’s nothing left to do but concede.” He laid down his king and sighed. “Really, there was never any doubt as to the outcome of this game.”

“You play well for a beginner,” Bobby told him.

Teri ruffled her younger brother’s hair, despite knowing how much he hated it. “Consider that a compliment.”

Johnny smiled. “I will.” He pushed back his chair and looked at Teri. “Ter, don’t you think it’s time you introduced Bobby to Mom and Christie?”

Bobby turned from Johnny to Teri and innocently said, “I would like to meet your family.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She immediately busied herself unpacking the groceries. She set the cottage cheese—an essential ingredient in her macaroni recipe—on the counter, along with a box of Velveeta cheese.

“Mom asked me about you and Bobby,” her brother informed her.

“Is she still with Donald?” This was the latest husband. Teri had purposely avoided any discussion of her family with Bobby. They hadn’t been married long and she hated to disillusion him so soon. Once he met the family, he might well have serious doubts about her, and the truth was, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Things are shaky.” Johnny glanced over at Bobby. “Donald has sort of a drinking problem.”

“Donald!” Teri cried. “What about Mom?”

“She’s cutting back.” Johnny had always been quick to defend their mother.

Donald had showed promise in the beginning. Apparently he and her mother had met at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Unfortunately, they’d quickly gone from supporting each other in sobriety to becoming drinking buddies. Neither of them could hold a job for long. How they survived financially, Teri didn’t know. She had no intention of assisting them the way she did Johnny. It went without saying that any money she gave them would immediately go toward another bottle of booze or another night at their local bar.

Crossing her arms, Teri leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mom’s cutting back? Yeah, right.”

“Even so, you should have Christie over to meet Bobby.” He turned toward him. “Christie’s our sister.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a sister?” Bobby asked. He seemed perplexed that Teri had never mentioned Christie. He knew about her, of course, because he’d had Teri’s background checked—a fact he’d revealed in his usual dispassionate way.

She had her reasons for not mentioning her younger sister and Johnny knew it. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t talk to me about Christie, okay?”

“What is it with you and her?” Johnny grumbled.

“You’re too young to understand all the details,” she said, brushing aside his question. She and Christie were, for all intents and purposes, estranged, although Teri maintained a superficial civility on public occasions.

“Come on, Ter, you and Bobby are married. He should meet the family.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t want me to meet your family?” Bobby gazed up at her with a hurt expression. He didn’t realize that this conversation had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her mother and sister.

“Yes, I do … someday.” She gently patted Bobby’s arm. “I thought we’d get settled in the house before I invited them.”

“We are settled.” Bobby gestured around him at the gleaming appliances and polished oak floors.

“Not that settled. We’ll have them over in a while.” She was thinking four or five years—longer if she could get away with it.

“Mom and Christie would really like to meet Bobby,” Johnny said again.

Now Teri understood why her younger brother had shown up at the house unannounced. He’d been sent as an emissary by their mother and Christie. His mission was to pave the way for an introduction to the rich and famous Bobby Polgar, who’d been foolish enough to marry her.

“They’ll have to meet him sooner or later,” Johnny said with perfect logic. “You can’t avoid it forever, you know.”

“I know.” Teri released a slow sigh.

“Might as well be now.”

Teri could see that she wasn’t going to escape the dreaded family gathering, so she’d simply take Johnny’s advice. “Okay, okay, I’ll have everyone over for dinner.”

“Great.” Johnny gave her a wide grin.

“I’ll regret it afterward,” she muttered under her breath.

“Why?” Bobby asked, obviously still perplexed by her reaction.

She hardly knew how to explain.

“Are your mother and sister like you?”

“No way!” Teri had done everything possible to make choices that didn’t resemble theirs—with only partial success. While it was true that she never drank to excess, she’d made more than one mistake in the relationship department. Until she met Bobby … “I’ll like them, won’t I?” Bobby asked next, smiling at her with childlike faith.

She responded with a noncommital shrug. Her mother and sister were similar to each other in their behavior and their loser attitudes, although Teri didn’t think Christie had a drinking problem so much as a man problem. Put a man in front of her, any man, and she couldn’t resist.

“Is Christie still with …” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the last man her sister had been living with.

“Charlie,” Johnny supplied.

“I thought it was Toby.”

“He’s the one before Charlie,” her brother said. “And no, Charlie dumped her last month.”

Oh, great. That meant her sister was on the prowl. This scenario couldn’t get much worse.

“Christie will make a play for Bobby,” she said.

Johnny shook his head firmly. “No, she won’t. You two are married.”

“Why would that stop her? It hasn’t before. Trust me, she’ll make a play—”

“Christie likes chess?” Bobby interrupted excitedly.

Clearly he didn’t grasp the exchange going on between Teri and her brother. “No, Bobby. But my sister will think you’re the most brilliant, handsomest man in the world.”

Bobby grinned. “Like you do.”

Despite her agitation, Teri nodded. “Only more so,” she said grimly.

“You’re jealous,” Johnny accused her.

“Not Teri,” Bobby said, getting up from the table. “She knows I love her.”

Teri wrapped her arms around Bobby and hugged him close. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“That’s easy,” Bobby assured her.

“Listen, you two lovebirds, I wish I could stay but I’ve got to get back. I have a research paper that’s due tomorrow.” With Teri’s encouragement, Johnny was taking a summer course to get a head start on the next school year. He pushed back his chair and stood. “So you’ll get in touch with Mom?”

“I suppose.” Teri sighed, already resigned to the inevitable.

“Christie, too,” her brother insisted. “She is our sister.”

“Mark my words. Bobby won’t be safe with her around.” And neither will my marriage, she thought darkly.

Teri hated to disparage their sister. But experience told her exactly what to expect. Sure as anything, Christie would throw herself at Bobby. The fact that he was married wouldn’t matter. Not to Christie. Every boyfriend Teri’d ever had, her sister had attempted to seduce. Bobby wouldn’t be the exception, and because he was her husband, Christie would probably consider him an especially worthwhile challenge.

Poor Bobby. He had no idea. He’d certainly never encountered a family like hers.

“Next weekend?” Johnny asked hopefully.

“No,” Teri said. She needed time to prepare herself for this. “Give me a week to get organized. Two weeks from Saturday.”

If Johnny was disappointed by the delay, it didn’t show. “See you then,” he said and kissed her cheek on his way out the door.

Bobby slid his arm around her shoulders. Teri reminded herself yet again that she loved her husband and he loved her. Despite that, she couldn’t entirely quell her fears.

While Bobby Polgar was unlike any man she’d ever known, he was still a man. He’d be just as susceptible to Christie’s beauty and her undeniable charm as every other boyfriend she’d had.

“I’m happy to be meeting your family,” Bobby said after Johnny had left.

Smiling proved difficult. Poor Bobby, she thought again. He didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.

Two

Troy Davis had been the duly elected sheriff of Cedar Cove for nearly seventeen years. He’d been raised in this town, graduating from the local high school. Afterward, like many of his friends, he’d enlisted in the army, where he’d served as an MP. He’d trained at the Presidio in San Francisco, and just before shipping out to a base in Germany, he’d spent a three-day leave touring the city. That was where, on a foggy June morning in 1965, he’d met Sandy Wilcox.

After spending the day together, they’d exchanged addresses and corresponded during his tour of duty. When he was discharged, Troy had asked Sandy to marry him. By then she was in college and he’d joined her at SFU in San Francisco. In 1970, they were married and settled in his hometown of Cedar Cove, where Troy had accepted a job in law enforcement. He’d worked as a deputy until he ran for sheriff and won. Life had been good to him, to both of them. And then Sandy had gotten sick….

“Dad?”

Troy looked up from where he was seated in the living room, staring down at the carpeted floor. “Pastor Flemming’s here,” Megan said quietly. She’d come over to help him organize Sandy’s things—figure out what should go where.

Deep in thought, Troy hadn’t even heard the doorbell. He stood as the other man walked into the room.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” the pastor from Cedar Cove Methodist church said. He was a soft-spoken, caring man who’d officiated at Sandy’s funeral services with compassion and sincerity. Many an afternoon, Troy had found Dave Flemming sitting with his wife, reading from the Bible or praying with her or sometimes just chatting. He’d been touched by the sympathy the pastor had extended, first to Sandy and now to Megan and him.

Troy wasn’t sure how to respond to the pastor’s concern. “We’re coping as well as we can,” Troy said.

No death was easy and although Troy had felt he was prepared to lose Sandy, he wasn’t. As sheriff, he’d certainly seen his share of death, and it wasn’t something he’d ever get used to. But this one struck at the very foundations of his life. Nobody was ever truly ready to lose a wife or mother, he supposed, and Sandy’s death had hit both him and Megan hard.

“If you need anything, just say the word.”

“I will.” Troy gestured toward the sofa. “Would you care to sit down?” he asked.

“I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee,” his daughter added. “Will you have some?”

Troy was proud of what a good hostess Megan had become. Ever since Sandy’s multiple sclerosis had become so much worse, his daughter often filled that role for him, something she’d continued to do after her marriage. Troy appreciated the way she’d willingly stepped in for her mother. She’d accompanied him to various functions in Sandy’s place, and occasionally held dinners for family friends. They’d grown especially close since Sandy had gone into the nursing home two years before.

“Thank you, no,” Dave told them. “I can’t stay. But I’d like to help in any way I can. If it’s too painful for you to sort through Sandy’s things, for instance, I’d be happy to ask some of the ladies at church to lend a hand.”

“No, no, we’re fine,” Troy assured him.

“Everything’s under control,” Megan said. She’d already begun packing up her mother’s clothes and personal effects.

“I’ll leave you two, then,” Dave said and after shaking Troy’s hand, the pastor let himself out.

“We’re going to be all right, aren’t we, Dad?” his daughter asked him in a tentative voice that reminded him of how she’d sounded as a child.

Draping his arm around her thin shoulders, Troy nodded. He usually managed to hide his pain. And for Megan’s sake he even tried to smile. She had enough grief of her own to carry.

“Of course we’re going to be fine.” With his daughter at his side he walked into the bedroom he’d shared with his wife for more than thirty years. Boxes crammed with Sandy’s clothes were scattered across the carpet. Half the closet was spread on the queen-size bed—dresses, sweaters, skirts and blouses, most of which had hung there for years without being touched.

Sandy had been in the nursing home for two years. He’d understood, when they settled her into the care facility, that she wouldn’t be coming home again. Still, he’d had difficulty reconciling himself to the knowledge that MS would eventually take her life.

It didn’t. Not exactly. As with most people suffering from this disease, her immune system was so compromised that she died of pneumonia. Although it could’ve been almost any virus or infection.

For her sake, Troy had made the pretense of believing she’d move home one day, but in reality he’d always known. He brought her whatever she asked for. As the months dragged on, Sandy stopped asking. She had everything she needed at the nursing home. Her large-print Bible, a few precious photographs and a lap robe Charlotte Jefferson had knit before she married Ben Rhodes. Sandy’s needs were simple and her demands few. As the weeks and months passed, she needed less and less.

Troy had left everything in the house exactly the way it was the day he’d taken her to the nursing home. In the beginning that seemed important to Sandy. It was to him, too. It helped perpetuate the pretense that she’d recover. She’d needed to believe it, until she no longer could, and he’d wanted to hold on to the slightest shred of hope.

“I’m not sure what to do with all of Mom’s clothes.” Megan stood in the middle of the bedroom, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Sandy’s half of the walk-in closet was bare.

“I had no idea Mom had so many clothes,” Megan said helplessly. “Should we donate them to charity?”

Troy wished now that he’d asked Pastor Flemming about that. Perhaps the church had a program that collected items for the poor.

“We should.” Still, if it was up to him, he wouldn’t change a thing. Or at least not for a while … He didn’t understand why Megan thought it was important to pack up the remnants of her mother’s life so soon. When she’d arrived with the cardboard boxes, Troy hadn’t argued, but frankly, he didn’t see the necessity of rushing into this.

“Most of them are outdated now.” Megan held up a pink sweater, one Sandy had always loved.

“Leave everything here for now,” he suggested.

“No.” The vehemence with which his daughter responded surprised Troy.

“Megan, let’s not do something we might regret later.”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head. “Mom’s gone. She’ll never hold her grandchildren. She’ll never go shopping with me again. She’ll never share a recipe with me. She’ll … she’ll …” Tears rained down her pale cheeks.

Troy felt utterly incapable of easing her grief. He’d never been good at dealing with emotions and was at an even greater loss now. Megan was an only child and she’d been close to her mother. Both Sandy and Troy had wanted more children. For years, they’d tried for a second child, until after the third miscarriage, when Troy had said enough. They should be grateful they had a beautiful daughter, he’d told her, instead of yearning for a larger family.

“It’s only been two months,” he reminded Megan as gently as possible.

“No, Dad,” she said. “It’s been a lot longer than that.”

Troy understood this far better than Megan seemed to realize. In the end, Sandy barely resembled the woman he’d married. Her death, while tragic, was a release from the physical nightmare that had become her reality. Sandy had lived with MS for at least thirty years. Not until after she miscarried the third pregnancy had she been tested. Then, and only then, were the physicians able to put a name to the seemingly random symptoms she’d been experiencing for years. Multiple sclerosis.

“Let’s not donate anything just yet,” Troy said.

“Mom’s gone,” Megan repeated in the same emotionally charged tone. “We both have to accept it.”

Troy didn’t have any choice but to accept the fact that his wife was dead. He wanted to tell Megan that he was well aware Sandy was gone. He was the one who walked into an empty house every night, the one who slept alone in a big bed.

Ninety per cent of his free time had been spent at the nursing home with Sandy. Now he was bereft and at loose ends. He knew he’d never be the same. Like him, Megan was hurting and she needed to vent her grief, so he said nothing.

“I’ll help you pack everything up and I’ll put the boxes in the basement,” he murmured. “When you’re ready … when we both are, I’ll bring them upstairs again. Then, and only then, should we think about donating your mother’s things to charity. If we decide to do it, I’ll ask Pastor Flemming to suggest an agency. There might even be one at the church.” If not, he’d go to St. Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army, both organizations Sandy had supported.

For a moment it looked as if Megan wanted to argue with him.

“Agreed?” he pressed.

His daughter reluctantly nodded. Glancing at her watch, she gnawed on her lower lip. That told him how close she was to breaking down. “Craig will be home any minute. I should leave.”

“Go.” He gestured toward the door.

His daughter hesitated. “But the bedroom’s a mess.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head. “That’s unfair, Dad. I … I didn’t mean for you to have to deal with all this.”

“All I’m going to do is fold everything, put it inside these boxes and haul them downstairs.”

“You’re sure?” she asked uncertainly.

He nodded. The truth was, Troy would rather be alone right now.

She edged her way into the living room and toward the front door. “I hate leaving you with this….”

“Don’t worry about it.” He was more than capable of packing away a few boxes of clothes.

Megan reached slowly for her purse. “You’ve thought about dinner?”

So far he hadn’t. “I’ll open a can of chili.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.” Not that skipping dinner would do him any harm. Troy figured he could easily afford to lose twenty pounds. Most of that extra weight had snuck up on him after he’d moved Sandy to the nursing home. Meals became haphazard after that. He’d fallen victim to the fast-food chains; there weren’t many in Cedar Cove, but the few that had opened in town he knew well. Because of his job and its demands on his time, he often missed breakfast and sometimes even lunch. Then he’d arrive home ravenous late in the evening and he’d eat whatever was quick and easy, which usually meant high-calorie processed food. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually made a green salad or eaten fresh fruit.

With Sandy gone, he’d lost his emotional balance. Troy felt a sense of emptiness, a gap where his love for Sandy used to be. He still loved her, of course, but the duties and responsibilities attached to that love had disappeared. They’d represented a big part of his life in the last few years.

Sandy dead at fifty-seven—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He should’ve been the one to die first; he was the one in a dangerous profession. Practically every day someone in law enforcement was killed in the line of duty. He should’ve died before his wife did. That was what all the statistics predicted. Then Sandy would’ve been able to live comfortably on his pension for another ten or twenty years. Instead, his wife was gone and he was floundering.

“I’ll give you a call later,” his daughter said as she walked to the front door.

“Okay.” Troy stood on the porch and watched her pull out of the driveway. He felt so drained, it took an inordinate amount of energy to step back and close the door.

The house had never seemed quieter. Standing by the threshold, he was astonished by the total lack of sound. Silence reverberated around him. Generally he turned on the radio for company, or if he was desperate, the television. But tonight, even that seemed to require more ambition than he could muster.

As he went back into the bedroom with Sandy’s clothes strewn about, Grace Sherman drifted into his mind. Grace Harding now, since she’d married Cliff.

Funny that he’d think about one of his high-school friends at a time like this. And yet, it made sense. What came to mind was an incident shortly after Dan’s disappearance. Hard to believe that had been six years ago. Dan Sherman was found dead a year later.

Troy never knew exactly what had driven the other man into his own private hell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either, although he suspected it had something to do with Dan’s experience in Vietnam. The war had left Dan permanently damaged in some way. Not in body but in mind, in spirit. He’d become reclusive, unfriendly, refusing to share his memories and fears even with other Vietnam vets like Bob Beldon.

When Dan disappeared, Troy had taken the missing-persons report. Several months later, he’d been called by a neighbor, who was concerned about Grace. In her pain and anger, she’d tossed Dan’s clothing onto the front yard of their home on Rosewood Lane.

Now, standing in his own room surrounded by Sandy’s things, Troy remembered the sight of Dan’s clothes scattered on the grass—and he understood the powerful emotions that had led Grace to explode in such an uncharacteristic display. A part of him didn’t want to deal with the residual effects of Sandy’s life. Just limping from one day to the next was painful enough.

His gaze fell on the pink sweater Megan had so recently shown him. He picked it up and buried his nose in the soft wool. There was still a hint of his wife’s favorite perfume and he breathed it in, deeply, greedily. She’d worn this sweater at Easter last year. Troy had pushed her wheelchair to the open-air church services overlooking the cove. Sandy had always been a morning person, even toward the end. He used to tease her that she’d been born with a happy gene.

Her smile was one of the things he’d loved most about her. No matter how much he growled or muttered in the mornings, she’d respond cheerfully, often making him laugh. He closed his eyes as the pain cut through him. Never again would he see Sandy’s smile or hear her joyful voice.

With a heavy heart, he carefully folded the pink sweater and placed it inside the box. He wasn’t ready to see someone else wearing his wife’s clothes. Since they lived in a small town, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Most likely when he was least expecting it or least prepared to deal with it. Troy would turn a corner and run into another woman wearing Sandy’s favorite dress. He didn’t know how he’d react to that. The mere thought twisted his gut.

The phone rang in the distance, and for half a second he was tempted just to let the caller leave a message—or not. But too many years as a cop had made it impossible to ignore a ringing phone.

To Troy’s surprise it was his daughter.

“Dad,” she said, “you’re right. Keep Mom’s things for now. Keep everything.”

Troy could tell Megan had been crying.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, Meggie.”

“If you want, I’ll come back tomorrow and finish packing it all up.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. Hard as that would be, he was better able to deal with this one last task than his daughter. Megan’s composure had shattered, while he moved through his days in a state of numbness that masked the pain.

Three

Barbecued chicken, a green salad, garlic bread—a perfect dinner for a perfect summer day. With mixed berries and ice cream for dessert. Justine Gunderson enjoyed making her leisurely preparations for tonight’s meal.

She pulled the covered bowl of chicken breasts out of the refrigerator. She flipped them in their soy-and-honey marinade, then set the container back inside. Like many of her favorite recipes, this one had come from her grandmother, Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes.

Leif, her almost-five-year-old son, was playing in the backyard with his dog. Penny, a cocker spaniel-poodle mix, chased after the boy, barking excitedly. The pure joy of the moment made Justine smile as she stepped through the patio doors. Seth would be home soon and he’d barbecue the chicken while she put the finishing touches on the salad. Leif would start setting the outdoor table, since he loved arranging the napkins and colorful place mats.

As this little domestic scene played out in her mind, she felt a sense of tranquility. Even now, all these months after the fire that had destroyed their restaurant, Justine was unaccustomed to the three of them having an uninterrupted evening together.

So much of her life—their lives—had been consumed by The Lighthouse. The restaurant had completely absorbed their time and energy. Until the fire, Justine and Seth rarely saw each other. Everything was always done in a rush as they divided the duties involved in running the restaurant, taking care of the house and, most important of all, raising their son. Thankfully, they’d reached a compromise concerning the new restaurant they planned to open.

“Mommy, look!” Leif shouted, throwing a stick for Penny.

The dog instantly leaped forward, racing after the stick. She picked it up, then crouched a few feet away, tail wagging frantically, and challenged the boy to grab the stick.

“Penny, bring it to Leif,” Justine called out.

“She’s as stubborn as every other female in this house,” Seth said from behind Justine. “Well, the only other female.” He slid his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. Leaning into her husband, Justine tucked her hands around his and closed her eyes, reveling in the moment.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Leif shouted, dashing across the freshly cut lawn.

Seth scooped his son into his arms and lifted him high over his head. “I see you’re training Penny to play catch.”

“She won’t give me the stick.”

“She’ll learn,” Seth told him. “Come on, we’ll both work with her.”

While Seth and Leif played with Penny, Justine went into the house to pour her husband a cold drink. The doorbell rang; abandoning the glass of iced tea, Justine hurried to answer it.

Her grandmother stood there, clutching the huge purse Leif called her “granny bag.” Among other things, it contained her current knitting project, a roll of mints, a comb and a notebook—but no cellphone or credit cards. Delighted to see her, Justine threw both arms around Charlotte in a tight hug.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming by like this,” Charlotte said as Justine led her into the house. “I was in the neighborhood—well, relatively speaking. Olivia said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Grandma, you’re welcome anytime, you know that!”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t stop in without warning, but I was chatting with your mother this afternoon and she said you wanted to ask me about recipes.”

“I do.” Justine slipped her hand in Charlotte’s and they moved into the kitchen.

“I was just getting Seth a glass of iced tea,” Justine said. “Can I get one for you, too?”

“Please.” Charlotte set her large bag on an empty chair and sat down. These days, it was unusual to find her without Ben, her husband of three years.

As if reading her thoughts, Charlotte explained. “An old friend of Ben’s is visiting from out of town. I stayed long enough to meet Ralph, then made my excuses. All that talk about navy life is too much for me.” She pulled her knitting out of the bag and resumed the sweater she was working on. Her grandmother didn’t believe in idle hands.

Justine brought two glasses of tea and sat across from her.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Charlotte asked. “You need recipes for the tearoom?”

“Yes.” Justine rested both elbows on the table. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it,” she said. Although the building process hadn’t yet begun, she had a clear vision of the kind of restaurant she wanted. The menu had to be exactly right, and Justine couldn’t think of anyone better to consult than her own grandmother.

“It’s a good idea to plan ahead.” Charlotte paused in her knitting to look at Justine. “Olivia told me you’re going to serve breakfast, lunch and a high tea, then close in the evenings.”

Justine nodded. “Seth and I decided we’d rather have our evenings together. Leif’s flourished in the last few months with both of us home.” The arson that had destroyed The Lighthouse had eventually—and unexpectedly—turned out to be a blessing in a very nasty disguise. She was grateful no one had been hurt or worse. And grateful that this crime had changed their lives in a positive way.

“You’re wise to put your family first.”

Justine suspected her marriage wouldn’t have survived another year at the rate they’d been going. She glanced out at the yard, where Seth frolicked with their son and Penny.

“You said you talked to Mom. Were you at the courthouse today?” Her grandmother liked to watch Justine’s mother at work. Charlotte sat proudly in Olivia’s courtroom and knitted away, although her visits had become less frequent now that she’d married Ben.

“Actually I ran into her this morning while I was in town. She was on her way to a doctor’s appointment.”

Justine tensed. She didn’t remember her mother mentioning that, and they spoke nearly every day. “Oh.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Charlotte said quickly. “Just a routine visit, she told me. For her mammogram.”

“Oh, good.” Justine relaxed in her chair, crossed her legs and picked up her own glass of iced tea. “I’d like some of your recipes, Grandma,” she began.

“Any in particular?” Charlotte’s fingers manipulated the needles and yarn with familiar ease.

“I was hoping to get the recipe you have for scones.” They were a long-time family favorite and Charlotte baked them for nearly every family function.

Charlotte seemed pleased. “The herb-and-cheese scones are the ones I like best.”

“Me, too.”

Her grandmother paused reflectively. “My mother used to make those scones, so that recipe actually came from her. I have a couple of other scone recipes I’ll write out for you, as well,” she added. “Clyde’s favorite was a walnut-and-butter scone. Ben prefers the herb-and-cheese.”

“Thanks,” Justine said. “But I’d be happy to copy them out myself if—” It suddenly occurred to her that her grandmother might have all these family recipes in her head, that she might never have written them down before.

“I’ll bring them to you tomorrow morning,” Charlotte went on. “In fact, you’re welcome to all my recipes, dear. Just tell me which ones you want.”

“Grandma,” Justine said, broaching the subject carefully. “You do have your recipes written down somewhere, don’t you?”

Charlotte laughed. “Good grief, no.”

“No!”

“I’ve been cooking for over seventy years. The recipes were taught to me by my mother and, well, I never thought it was necessary. I certainly wasn’t going to forget them.”

“What about the raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing?”

“Oh, that one,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “I got it from a newspaper article around 1959. I’ve changed it through the years.”

“Grandma, would you write them out for me? All of them?”

“Of course.” Her knitting needles made soft clicking sounds as she continued to knit. “Actually, that’s an excellent suggestion, Justine. I’m sure Ben will approve, too. He always says I should publish a cookbook, you know. He loves my peanut butter cookies.” She preened just a little.

“And your cinnamon rolls.”

“I think that man married me for my baking.”

Justine laughed at the absurdity of her comment. One look at Ben Rhodes, and anyone could see that he was crazy about Charlotte.

“Now tell me more about the tearoom,” Charlotte said conversationally.

Justine smiled. “Well, there’s been a change in plans.”

“Oh?” Her grandmother stopped knitting for a moment.

Justine uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Seth and I couldn’t tell anyone until all the details were settled. The builder, Al Finch, contacted us a few weeks ago and asked if we’d be willing to sell the property. He said he might have a buyer.”

Silence followed her statement. “I thought you and Seth weren’t interested in doing that.”

“We weren’t, especially if it meant that a fast-food franchise would be built on the waterfront. But this is the best part, Grandma. The man who inquired about the land, Brian Johnson, is a friend of Al’s. He’s owned a number of restaurants through the years. He retired but got bored. Seth and I met with him and we were both impressed. Brian said he’d like to rebuild The Lighthouse the way it was. He even wants to keep the name.”

“But that was your restaurant,” her grandmother protested.

“True, but he’s willing to pay us for the name and everything.”

Her grandmother paused again, as if she needed time to absorb the news. “Are you going to do it? And what about the tearoom? Where will you build that?”

Justine explained that Al Finch had shown them a piece of commercial property off Heron that he owned and was planning to sell. The location was perfect for The Victorian Tea Room. “We signed the papers earlier this week.”

There was another moment of silence.

“You aren’t disappointed in us, are you, Grandma?”

“No,” her grandmother assured her. “I think this is wonderful news.”

So did Justine. All the hard work they’d put into The Lighthouse wouldn’t go to waste now. Seth had given the new owner his suggestions on how to rebuild the restaurant, and now that she was no longer involved, she looked forward to seeing it emerge from the ashes.

“It’s happened so fast.”

“It has,” Justine agreed, “but it feels right. This new location is much better for the tearoom and there’s more parking. I can’t believe how all of this practically fell into our laps.”

“I’m pleased for both of you,” her grandmother said.

“I am, too.” Justine gazed longingly into the backyard. Seeing Seth with Leif brought her a feeling of contentment, of satisfaction. This was what she’d always wanted, what she’d hoped for in her marriage.

“I should get home,” Charlotte said. “Ben’s probably wondering what’s keeping me.” She finished her iced tea, put her knitting back in her bag and stood up.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Grandma.”

“You, too, sweetheart.” She kissed Justine’s cheek. “I’ll start writing down those recipes. I’ll do my best to remember them all, so if I forget any, let me know.” She frowned. “I’d better go through the ones I cut out from magazines, too. And the ones I was given at wakes.”

“Isn’t that where you got your fabulous coconut cake recipe? At a wake?”

“Yes—Mabel Austin’s. Back in ’84.”

Justine grinned at this, but she supposed that a great recipe wasn’t the worst memorial someone could have.

“I’ll just step outside and say hello to Seth and Leif,” Charlotte murmured as she carried her empty glass to the sink. “My goodness, that young man is growing. I don’t remember him being nearly that tall.”

“Seth or Leif?” Justine asked with a laugh. It was true; Leif was tall for his age, but then his father was a big man.

“Leif, of course,” her grandmother said, obviously missing the joke.

“By the way …” Justine opened the patio door. “We’re barbecuing chicken tonight and I’m using a recipe I got from you.”

“The one with soy sauce and honey? I picked that up at a wake, too.”

Justine couldn’t hold back a smile. “Whose wake? Do you remember?”

“Of course I do,” she answered in a dignified voice. “Norman Schultz. 1992. Or was it ’93?” With that Charlotte walked outside.

Penny and Leif ran toward her. Knowing he needed to be gentle with his great-grandmother, Leif pulled up short and then stood still, giving Charlotte the opportunity to hug him. Penny, however, felt no such constraint. With one sharp command, Seth controlled the dog, who promptly sat. After she’d finished chatting with Leif, Charlotte leaned over to stroke Penny’s fur. She gave Justine a final wave, then Seth walked her out to her car.

When he returned to the kitchen, he asked, “Is that for me?” motioning toward the glass of iced tea on the counter.

“Oh, sorry,” Justine said. “I was about to bring it to you when my grandmother arrived.” She removed an ice-cube tray from the freezer. “Here. I’ll add some ice.”

“Thanks,” he said, pausing to take a long drink of the tea. “Did you tell her we sold the property?”

“I did.”

“What did she think?”

Justine grinned. “That we’re too brilliant for words.”

Seth took another swallow of the tea. The ice cubes tinkled cheerfully as he set the glass down. “Your mother and Jack know, don’t they?”

“I told her this morning. Speaking of which …” Justine grew thoughtful.

“Yes?” Seth urged.

“She didn’t say she had a doctor’s appointment.”

“So? Should she have?”

“No, I guess not, but it makes me wonder….” She suspected there was a reason her mother didn’t want her to know about the appointment, and that concerned Justine. Charlotte might have said it was “routine,” but was Olivia expecting bad news?

As if sensing her unease, Seth brought his arm around her waist. She felt so thankful to have her husband back. The arson had briefly changed him into an angry, vengeful man, but after Warren Saget—a local builder and onetime boyfriend of hers—was arrested, a burden had been lifted from her husband’s shoulders. Seth was once again the man she knew and loved.

He held her for a long moment as though he, too, recognized how close they’d come to destroying everything that was important to them both.

“Do you want me to fire up the barbecue?” he asked as he released her.

“Please.”

“Can I help with dinner, too, Mommy?” Leif entered the kitchen with Penny at his heels.

“You sure can.” Justine smiled at her son. “You can help me set the table—after you wash your hands.”

“Okay.”

They all headed outside, and while Seth was busy on the patio, Justine and Leif wiped the glass-topped table and adjusted the umbrella. Leif took great pleasure in carefully arranging the bright green place mats he’d chosen and the napkins with their multicolored butterflies.

When they’d finished dinner, Leif and his father cleared the table. Justine dealt with the leftovers and cleaned up the kitchen. Until recently, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed meal preparation; she’d always assumed that cooking wasn’t her forte. Her mother and grandmother were the ones who enjoyed working in the kitchen. Then she’d married Seth and in those first few months while they renovated the old Captain’s Galley and planned their new restaurant, Justine had taken pride in preparing their meals. She’d gone to Olivia and Charlotte for recipes and ideas, and for the first time as an adult, she’d connected with her mother in ways she never would’ve thought possible. Her relationship with her grandmother, always good, grew even closer.

“I talked to my grandmother about recipes,” she said.

“Recipes?” Seth repeated, washing his hands. “For the tearoom?”

She nodded. “You know, I’ve rediscovered how much I actually enjoy cooking.”

Seth blinked. “Hold on a minute. You enjoy cooking?”

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes at his feigned shock.

“Answer me this,” her husband teased. “Exactly who was standing over a hot barbecue this evening?”

“Seth Gunderson, flipping a few chicken breasts on the grill is not cooking.”

“It is as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am not.” He laughed, then caught Justine around the waist.

She laughed, too. Everything was going to be better now. In fact, it already was.

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