Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

  His depression had begun shortly after Pastor Flemming’s sermon, but it had been simmering from the time Maxwell Russell had died in Bob’s home. Even before the body had been identified, Bob knew this dead man was somehow connected to him. Max Russell had haunted him, reminded him of sins long past. They’d never learned his reasons for coming to Cedar Cove—to the Thyme and Tide. Bob guessed it had something to do with Dan’s suicide, but that was only speculation. They’d never know for sure.

  Bob pulled out of the parking lot and onto Harbor Street. From town, the road wound along the waterfront. Normally Bob followed it down to Cranberry Point, but as soon as he reached Harbor, a pair of headlights came up behind him.

  Bob smiled to himself. So his instincts were right. He’d been watched and whoever was watching had decided to follow him. Surprisingly he experienced no dread or fear; instead he felt a sense of vindication. This proved he’d been right all along.

  The car turned off Harbor and onto Cedar Cove Drive, which Bob hadn’t expected. Apparently his stalker knew he’d been caught. For reasons he didn’t want to analyze, Bob made a sudden decision to follow whoever it was. He found a convenient spot to turn around and speeded after the other vehicle. Bob flicked his high beams on and off and felt a certain satisfaction in letting the follower know he was being followed.

  This was all a bit silly, but he stayed behind the car, eager to find out what he could. The vehicle slowed and turned into The Pink Dog tavern. A pink neon French Poodle flashed on the bar’s sign. If Cedar Cove had a seedy area, this was it. Workers from the shipyard stopped in for a beer on the way home; they were the Pink Dog’s regular clientele. On Saturday nights, the parking lot was nearly full. Bob turned in and watched as the other car claimed one of the few empty parking spaces.

  Riveted, Bob sat in his vehicle, staring as a man climbed out of the car and headed for the front door. Bob strained for a better look, but the light was too weak and all he got was a general impression. Tall, with a thick waist, the guy had a beer gut that hung over his belt, faded jeans and a grease-smudged shirt. He didn’t so much as glance in Bob’s direction. Bob suspected this guy hadn’t been tailing him, after all. He looked more interested in a cold beer and a good time than anything to do with Bob.

  He waited and then parked facing the front door so he could check out everyone who came and went. Still, Bob didn’t know what he should do if he saw the man again—or if he’d even recognize him.

  He hadn’t been anywhere close to this kind of establishment in years. He knew better. He’d been sober since 1983. For several minutes all he did was stare at the flashing sign. It hypnotized him, that sign, reminding him of days when his best friend in the world was a bottle of beer.

  His mouth started to water and the urge for a drink was so strong that he held the steering wheel in a death grip. He could taste a beer. He remembered how, on a hot day, there was nothing that satisfied him more.

  It felt as if he were in a trance. He was shocked by how powerful the pull was, and he knew he was no more immune to the lure of alcohol now than he’d been the day after his first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting twenty-one years ago.

  Bob took out his cell phone. He needed help, and the first person he thought of calling was Jack. He pushed the speed dial button and waited. Jack had a cell that he kept in his car but constantly forgot to recharge. No answer. With increasing desperation he called the house.

  After three rings, Olivia picked up.

  “Oh hi, Bob,” she said after he’d asked for Jack. “He’s on his way home from Bainbridge Island. Did you try his cell?”

  “I did. No need to tell him I phoned, I’ll catch him later.” All Bob wanted was someone to tell him not to go inside that bar. Anyone. He had to hear it, because the pull toward that front door grew stronger and more compelling with every breath he drew.

  “Of course,” Olivia said. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Sure,” he lied but realized he must have sounded as desperate as he felt. “On second thought, have him call me, would you?”

  “The minute he walks in, I’ll let him know. You want him to call your cell phone?”

  “Please.” Bob didn’t bother to say goodbye. He ended the call and put his hand on the door handle. He’d tried. If he walked into the Pink Dog, it was because Jack hadn’t answered his phone. He’d been there for Jack countless times over the past fourteen years, but now—when he needed a friend, someone to talk sense into him—Jack was nowhere to be found. Typical. When he needed help, his good friend Jack was unavailable.

  As Bob opened the car door, a cool breeze blew inside. He breathed in the scent of the night and closed his eyes, knowing full well that if he walked into that bar, it would be the end. He’d go right back to the hell his life had been twenty-one years ago. Right back to the insanity, the madness that had controlled him.

  He placed one foot and then the other on the ground outside the car. He blamed his golfing partner, Pastor Dave Flemming, for this. In his frame of mind, it was easy to cast blame. All this talk about healing and forgiveness. What Dave didn’t understand was that some sins couldn’t be forgiven. Yeah, he talked about forgiving yourself, but that wasn’t an option for Bob, not with what he’d done. Some acts defied forgiveness. A man couldn’t slaughter women, children, old people, and ever be the same again. It just wasn’t possible. Maybe he should’ve died that day.

  Bob remembered returning from Vietnam. He’d landed in San Francisco, grateful to get home alive. When he was granted leave, he’d been warned against wearing his uniform into town. Returning soldiers were called “baby killers” and had blood thrown at them. Bob defied the order. He would have welcomed the attack. Then the whole world would know what he’d done; he wouldn’t have to hide it any longer.

  Rocking slightly now, Bob stabbed his fingers through his hair. He wanted a drink. One. He’d stop with one. That was all he needed. After twenty-one years, he knew what he could handle and what he couldn’t. One beer would satisfy this need and then he’d turn around and walk out.

  Blindly he grabbed the cell phone on the seat next to him. As he stared at it, he knew that if he walked into that tavern he was as good as dead. He might as well blow his brains out the same way Dan Sherman had. Drinking would take longer to actually kill him; that was the only difference.

  Death wasn’t such a bad thing, he reasoned. People died every day and the people they left behind mourned them, but life continued.

  As if in slow motion, Bob hit speed dial for Roy McAfee’s home number; fortunately, he’d programmed it in after that other incident. He’d try one last time, reach out. Roy didn’t need to know his dilemma, but he could provide human contact, a human voice. Bob gazed up at the heavens, deciding that if his friend didn’t pick up, he had his answer. He’d know it was useless and he should just give in and have that beer. Hell, he’d buy the whole tavern a round. But if Roy answered, then God was telling him to get back in his car and drive away. It’d be God’s fault if he started drinking again, he thought, hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat.

  The phone rang four times, and Bob swore that each ring lasted ten seconds longer than the one before. When the answering machine clicked on, he bolted upright at the unexpectedness of it.

  “You’ve reached the home of Roy and Corrie McAfee. We aren’t available to take your call right now….”

  Bob severed the connection and stared down at the phone.

  Then he looked up at the night sky again. “That wasn’t the deal,” he shouted. Roy had answered, all right, but it wasn’t really Roy, just his voice on an answering machine. In other words, God had given Bob a half-assed answer.

  Bob felt the torture of indecision. He longed to test his strength and prove he was strong enough to have one drink and walk away. But he knew…Everything he’d ever learned in AA told him otherwise. Still, he didn’t care. He wanted that drink. Needed that drink. Craved that drink.

/>   The sound of his cell phone ringing jolted him badly. He grabbed it with both hands and fumbled at the keypad.

  “Yes,” he snapped.

  “Where are you?” It was Peggy.

  “Why?” he demanded. He didn’t want to talk to his wife. Didn’t she realize he had a life-altering decision to make?

  “Something’s wrong. I could feel it. Where are you?”

  Bob opened his eyes wide. Could Peggy be the answer to his prayer? He slid back inside the car.

  “I thought you’d be home by now,” she continued. She sounded troubled. Almost afraid. “This isn’t like you.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He was now. “I thought there was someone following me again.”

  “Was there?”

  “No…I’m on my way home.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Bob started the engine and backed out of the space.

  He was going home.

  Forty-Three

  Maryellen stepped out of the shower, hair still wet. It was the afternoon of Charlotte and Ben’s wedding. She’d mentioned the ceremony to Jon, but they weren’t exactly on good terms. The one time she’d asked, he refused to attend the wedding with her.

  He also refused to discuss his parents. He remained civil, but distant and guarded. Every night they slept side by side without touching, without talking. Her beautiful home felt like a prison and Maryellen couldn’t bear it.

  Being pregnant didn’t help. She hadn’t told Jon yet. She’d planned to, knowing she should, but as time went on and his attitude didn’t change, she realized it was a hopeless situation.

  After dressing and blow-drying her hair, she got out an overnight bag and packed as much as it would hold. She added several extra pieces of clothing to Katie’s diaper bag, as well. When she was finished, she carried both to the car.

  Maryellen was on the verge of tears. She loved Jon and hoped they would be able to resolve their problems, but she’d begun to fear that wasn’t possible. Her husband no longer trusted her. He felt she’d betrayed him. He couldn’t understand or accept that she’d only been trying to help him reconcile with his family—for his own sake and his daughter’s.

  With a sleeping Katie over her shoulder, Maryellen gently tapped on the door of the darkroom where Jon was developing film. Whenever he was in the house at the same time as she was, he found a way to avoid her. If she was upstairs, he had some reason to linger downstairs. Meals were a painful experience. They sat across from each other and made polite conversation, but Maryellen simply couldn’t connect with him.

  “What is it?” Jon called impatiently.

  “I’m leaving for Charlotte’s wedding now.”

  “All right.”

  Maryellen hesitated. “Are you sure you can’t come with us?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” Disappointment settled heavily on her shoulders.

  “Give the newlyweds my best.”

  “I will.” Maryellen swallowed painfully. “Listen, Jon, I’m thinking I won’t come back after the wedding.”

  “What?”

  “I talked to Mom earlier, and Katie and I are going to spend the night with her.”

  “Hold on a minute,” he said and opened the door.

  Maryellen stepped back nervously as Jon’s gaze held hers. “You’re going to your mother’s place for the night?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  Maryellen shrugged. “I need time to think.”

  “About what?” he challenged.

  “I can’t live like this,” she whispered, breaking eye contact.

  He didn’t respond.

  “I’m sorry, Jon, sorrier than you know.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away and left the house.

  To her surprise, he followed her to the car. When she’d placed Katie in the car seat, she straightened. Jon stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the ground.

  “Are you coming back tomorrow?” he asked as she walked around to the driver’s seat.

  “Do you want me to?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “That says it all, doesn’t it?” She climbed in the car, started the engine and drove to the end of the driveway. Her heart was about to break. Hands clenching the steering wheel hard, she lowered her forehead and drew in a deep breath.

  The minute Maryellen arrived at her mother’s house, Grace knew something was wrong. “You’d better tell me,” her mother said as Maryellen carried in her bags.

  “We’ll discuss everything after the wedding,” Maryellen insisted, managing a smile. “It’s all right, Mom. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Her mother looked as if she didn’t believe her, and rightly so. Maryellen didn’t believe it herself.

  The wedding was lovely. Standing beside her mother, Maryellen battled tears. Only five months earlier, she’d stood before Pastor Flemming and vowed to love Jon for the rest of her life. It had only taken her five months to screw up her second marriage. Five months. That had to be some kind of record outside of Hollywood.

  The church was nearly full. Charlotte’s dearest friends crowded the front pews, wearing red hats and purple boas. Olivia and her family took up two pews. So many people had wanted to share in the couple’s happiness. Unfortunately, neither of Ben’s sons had been able to come; both he and Charlotte must have been disappointed.

  Despite the jubilant mood, Maryellen felt a sense of hopelessness and inner turmoil. The church seemed to get hot and stuffy and the room began to sway. Maryellen sat down, taking several deep breaths, fearing she was about to faint.

  “Maryellen?” Grace sat down beside her.

  She offered her mother a feeble smile. “I’m pregnant.”

  Her mother smiled from ear to ear and squeezed her hand.

  “Jon doesn’t know.”

  “I think it’s time for you to tell him, don’t you?”

  Maryellen couldn’t answer.

  The music started then, and Pastor Flemming came to the front of the church. Charlotte and Ben joined him and gazed up at each other with such adoration that Maryellen had to blink back tears.

  She heard footsteps behind her and hope leapt into her heart. She turned around, thinking, hoping, desperately wanting the late arrival to be Jon. Instead, Cliff Harding slipped into the pew beside her mother. She watched as they looked tenderly at each other and then Cliff tucked her mother’s arm in the crook of his elbow and smiled over at Maryellen and Katie.

  Somehow Maryellen made it through the rest of the day. The reception at The Lighthouse was elegant, with vintage wines and the best champagne—neither of which she touched—and a selection of delicious hors d’oeuvres. Several people asked about Jon, and Maryellen invented a convenient excuse. He was busy with a photographic commission and couldn’t come; he sent his best wishes. He had, in fact, given the newlyweds a framed photograph of the lighthouse, one that Charlotte had long admired.

  Knowing her mother wanted to spend time with Cliff, Maryellen drove back to the house on Rosewood Lane. Katie was cranky and hungry by then, so Maryellen hurriedly heated her dinner. She was giving Katie a bath when she felt the first painful spasm. The sharpness of it caught her unawares and she nearly doubled over.

  Kneeling on the floor in front of the bathtub, she watched as her daughter splashed joyfully, unconscious of the turmoil in Maryellen. No, please God, not the baby. Nothing else happened and she breathed easier.

  After a few minutes, Maryellen lifted Katie from the tub. The pain shot through her and she gasped as the blood rushed between her legs. Holding Katie against her, Maryellen sank to the floor.

  The front door opened a moment later and Maryellen sagged with relief. “Mom…help…oh, Mom.”

  Grace was in the bathroom in an instant; Cliff was with her. Her mother’s eyes were wide with alarm.

  Maryellen was weeping by then. Katie was screaming.

  “I’ve lost the
baby…I’ve lost the baby,” she wailed in grief and pain, sobbing openly now.

  After that, everything happened so quickly, Maryellen had trouble making sense of it. The next thing she knew, she was at the hospital in Bremerton and a doctor was telling her she’d suffered a miscarriage. As if she hadn’t figured that out for herself. Maryellen barely heard a word he said, crying as hard as she was. He asked about her husband, but she shook her head. Jon didn’t even know she was pregnant.

  It was decided she should spend the night in the hospital and after the D&C, she was wheeled into a private room. A lone figure stood in the shadows. Jon. Apparently her mother had called him. Or perhaps Cliff had; it didn’t matter. He was with her.

  Maryellen looked at him and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. She turned her head away.

  “Maryellen,” he whispered, moving to the bedside. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She had no answer for him.

  “I am so sorry.” Each word was carefully enunciated.

  Deeply depressed, Maryellen could only shake her head. She was sorry, too. Sorry about everything.

  Jon sat down beside her and after a moment, reached for her hand and kissed it. She realized then that his eyes were bright with tears.

  She started to sob again and stretched out her arms. Jon wrapped her in his embrace and together, with their arms securely around each other, they wept.

  Forty-Four

  Roy McAfee always checked his answering machine when he arrived at the office. There’d been a number of hang-ups recently. In light of the mysterious postcard he’d received a few weeks back, these hang-ups troubled him. He expected a few occasionally—any business got its share of wrong numbers—but his office had received more disconnected calls than usual in the last six weeks.

  Corrie was making coffee after collecting the day’s mail on her way into the office. Sitting down, Roy opened the drawer on the left-hand side of his desk and pulled out the cryptic postcard. He still didn’t know what to make of it.