50 Harbor Street. Debbie Macomber
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to me. You block me out.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Don’t!” she cried with barely controlled anger. “I need to know—I have to know. Don’t you see what this is doing to me?”
Roy leaned forward then, bracing his elbows against the desk. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve wracked my brain and I can’t think of anyone who’d come after me like this.”
“But there must be some case…One you might’ve forgotten.”
Obviously at a loss, Roy shook his head again. “Clearly I have. I’ve put murderers away and received my share of threats over the years, but I can’t think of anyone who’d do this. Yet who else could it be?” he said, almost to himself.
“What do you mean?” She was more in control now. Clutching a wadded tissue in her hand, she inhaled a calming breath.
“The type of people I dealt with weren’t subtle. If they wanted revenge, they wouldn’t bother with postcards.”
“A relative of some criminal you sent to jail? Or…a victim?” That was a possibility she’d entertained more than once.
He raised his shoulders in a slight shrug. “Could be.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” It was this constantly being on guard, not knowing what to expect, that had driven Corrie to such an emotional extreme.
“We do nothing.”
“Nothing?” This wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “How can we?”
“We have to, for now, until they make a mistake. That’ll happen, sweetheart, I promise you, and once it does, this nightmare will be over.”
“You promise?” she repeated.
Roy’s expression softened and he nodded. Offering her further reassurance, he extended his arm across the desk. Corrie reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. Her husband gazed deep into her eyes. She felt his love, his comfort, and for now it was enough. For today, for this morning at least, she would be fine. Her problem, Corrie decided, was that she was just so tired. Everything would seem less frightening if she could get even one decent night’s sleep.
The front door to the office opened, and Roy abruptly released her and stood. From his years of police work he was always on the alert, never more so than now.
“Mom, Dad?” Their daughter’s voice rang from the outer office where Corrie’s desk was situated.
“Linnette,” Corrie cried eagerly, although her enthusiasm might have seemed a little strained. “We’re in here.”
Their daughter came into the room, then paused, an uncertain expression on her face. She was petite like Corrie, with dark hair and eyes. Also like Corrie, Linnette had excelled in school, and because she was the daughter of a policeman, she’d always been sheltered. Her studies had kept her from pursuing much of a social life, but Corrie hoped that would change now. Linnette had never had a serious boyfriend.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Linnette glanced suspiciously from Corrie to Roy and back again. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” Corrie assured her in a rush. “Why shouldn’t it be?”
Their daughter was far too intuitive to be easily fooled, but thankfully she let it pass. “I’ve found an apartment,” Linnette announced and did a small jig around the office.
“Where?” Corrie asked, hoping it was in town. Linnette had been hired by the new Cedar Cove Medical Clinic as a physician assistant, and Corrie was thrilled to have her closer.
“It’s on the cove, just down from the Waterfront Park,” Linnette explained. “The complex next to the Holiday Inn Express.”
Corrie knew the apartment building, since she passed it nearly every day when she went for her afternoon walk. The building was close to the marina and a short distance from the library. The two-story complex had a fabulous water view of the cove and lighthouse, with the Bremerton shipyard in the distance. As far as Corrie was concerned, this was perfect.
“I hope they aren’t charging you an arm and a leg,” Roy cautioned, but Corrie could tell he was pleased.
“The rent, compared to what I was paying in Seattle, is a bargain.”
“Good.”
Roy was still protective of his little girl. Unfortunately, he had a difficult time expressing his feelings for his children—especially their son. Mack and his father were constantly at odds. In Corrie’s opinion, they were too much alike. Mack seemed to know exactly what to say to irritate Roy. And Roy wasn’t blameless, either; he seemed to go out of his way to find fault with their son. Because of the tension between them, they generally avoided each other. Corrie didn’t like it. Most of the time, she felt trapped in the middle. Thankfully that wasn’t the case with Linnette, who was two years older than her brother.
Linnette was talking about the apartment and the move-in date and her job at the clinic. Corrie nodded at the appropriate moments but only listened with half an ear. Roy returned to his work while Corrie walked back to her desk, Linnette following her.
“Mom,” Linnette said as soon as they were in the other room. She lowered her voice, and her face was thoughtful. Concerned. “Are you sure everything’s all right between you and Dad?”
“Of course! What makes you ask?”
Her daughter hesitated. “Just now, when I came into the office, it looked like you were ready to cry, and Dad…he—his eyes were so…hard. I’ve never seen him that intense. I didn’t know what to think.”
“You’re imagining things,” Corrie insisted.
“No, I’m not.”
“It’s nothing. We’ll talk about it later.” Her daughter could be obstinate, definitely a trait she’d inherited from Roy. The last person Corrie intended to share her worries with was Linnette. Eventually, perhaps, once this was all settled, they could laugh about it over lunch. But for now, these postcards were no laughing matter.
“You dropped a piece of mail,” Linnette said, gesturing toward the desk.
Corrie froze. “I did?”
“Yes, there was a postcard on the floor when I came in. I put it on your desk.”
Roy must have heard because he came out of the other office. His eyes met Corrie’s. “Give it to me,” he instructed.
A small protest rose from her throat as she walked over to retrieve the card. Carefully she turned it over and read the message before handing it to Roy.
It said in large block letters: ARE YOU THINKING YET?
“Mom,” Linnette demanded. “You’d better tell me what’s going on.”
Two
Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes worked cheerfully in her kitchen, baking a large batch of cinnamon rolls, Ben’s favorite. After nearly sixty years as Charlotte Jefferson, she had to think twice to remember that she and Ben were actually married. A woman her age didn’t expect to find love this late in life. Like so much else in the past few years, romance had come as a very nice surprise.
“It sure smells good in there,” Ben called out from the living room where he sat, feet propped up on the ottoman. The Bremerton morning newspaper was folded over as he completed the New York Times crossword puzzle. Charlotte was impressed by his skill with words and his wide general knowledge. She also liked his lack of arrogance—he used a pencil to fill it in.
“The first batch will be out of the oven soon,” she promised. She enjoyed baking, especially when there was someone who appreciated her homemade treats. Ben certainly did, but he preferred his