44 Cranberry Point. Debbie Macomber
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been an accident. He’d probably never be able to prove that. The accident report blamed Russell, but Hannah’s father had insisted the steering had disconnected. There was nothing to verify his account.
The door to Roy’s office opened and his wife walked in with a tray of coffee and freshly baked cookies. Corrie seemed intent on fattening him up, not that he was making much of a fuss. He certainly wasn’t turning down homemade cookies.
“Let me guess what you’re reading.” That know-it-all glint shone in her eyes. “Could it possibly have something to do with the Beldon case?”
“Smarty pants,” he said, grinning up at his wife.
“You’re going to solve this if it takes the rest of your life, aren’t you?”
Roy was close to the answer; he could feel it. He didn’t know what he’d missed, if anything, but eventually his instincts would lead him where he had to go. All he needed was patience but that, unfortunately, seemed to be in short supply.
Corrie poured coffee into the mug, added cream and gave it to him. “I get suspicious when you’re this quiet.”
Roy leaned back in his chair, the mug in his hand. “I’m sifting all the facts through my brain.”
“Do you still think the Beldons might be in some kind of danger?”
Roy didn’t know how to answer. He shrugged. “Two of the four men are dead. One was murdered and the other committed suicide.”
“What about the fourth man?”
“Apparently Davis has talked to Colonel Stewart Samuels. He told me he didn’t think Samuels is involved-but who knows?”
Corrie looked down at the file and picked up the top sheet. “It says here he’s up for a Congressional Committee assignment. If news of what happened in Nam got out, it could be disastrous to his career, don’t you think?”
“True.” Roy was well aware of that, but Samuels’s military record was impeccable. And he lived on the East Coast. His whereabouts were accounted for during the time around Maxwell Russell’s death. To be on the safe side, Roy had checked into the weeks shortly after Dan Sherman’s disappearance, but Samuels had been in Europe, on a NATO assignment.
Corrie poured a second mug of coffee, black, and sat in the chair across from Roy’s desk. “Linnette phoned this morning.” Their twenty-five-year-old daughter had recently graduated as a physician’s assistant.
Roy brightened. He adored Linnette and felt close to her. She was bright, beautiful and a source of pride. Her brother was another story. Roy and Mack were frequently at odds. Linnette had done well in school and Mack, to put it bluntly, hadn’t.
“She’s applying for a job in Montana, of all places.”
With the majority of physicians choosing to work in big cities, many small towns were left without medical professionals. Although she’d grown up in Seattle, Linnette had always been drawn to rural areas, so Roy wasn’t surprised by her decision. She’d be filling a critical need and living in the sort of place she liked.
“Did you hear me, Roy? Montana?”
He wasn’t sure what had upset Corrie so much. When Linnette had entered the medical program, they’d both known she wouldn’t settle down in Seattle.
“I don’t want her moving two states away!”
“Corrie-”
He wasn’t allowed to finish.
“Linnette doesn’t know a soul in Montana. There’s plenty of small towns in Washington State that need physician’s assistants.”
Roy made an effort to hold back his amusement. “It’s time to cut the apron strings, Mother.”
Evidently not a successful effort. Corrie cast him an exasperated look. “This is our daughter we’re talking about.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Roy McAfee.”
“Yes, dear.”
“You’re not funny. You know that, don’t you?”
Roy resisted answering, although it was a struggle. “Where would you be comfortable having Linnette find a job?”
Corrie bit her bottom lip and didn’t answer him.
“I have the feeling you’d like her to move right here to Cedar Cove,” he joked.
At that his wife’s head snapped up and her eyes widened. She set down her coffee, then leapt out of her chair, raced around the desk and kissed him soundly.
“What was that all about?” Roy asked, pleasantly surprised.
“It’s because you, my wonderful husband, are much smarter than I give you credit for.”
Bewildered, Roy watched her fly out of his office.
Chapter Ten
Grace thrust her hands decisively into her garden gloves, ready to head out to the back garden to plant Martha Washington geraniums. It wasn’t the way she wanted to spend Friday evening, but she refused to mope around the house. Buttercup waited for her at the kitchen door, tail wagging.
“We’ll plant these now and see what we can find at the Farmers’ Market tomorrow morning. That sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?” The fact that Grace had begun to carry on whole conversations with her golden retriever had to be a sign of how lonely she was.
The Farmers’ Market had started the first Saturday of May, and although there were only a few homegrown vegetables available this early in the season, Grace enjoyed going there each week. She almost always ran into a few friends. One or both of her daughters was likely to show up, as well.
The phone rang, startling Grace. She pulled off her righthand glove and reached for the wall-mounted receiver.
“Hello.” She forced a cheerful note into her voice, hoping with all her heart that it was Cliff. He’d weighed heavily on her mind since their chance encounter at the restaurant earlier in the week. Her hope was that he’d been thinking about her, too.
“It’s Stanley Lockhart, Grace. How are you?”
Grace felt an immediate stab of disappointment. “Hello, Stan.” She kept her voice cool, not wanting to encourage Olivia’s ex-husband. “I’m fine.”
“Me, too. Listen, would you like to go to dinner tonight?”
She glanced over at the can of clam chowder that was slated to be her evening meal. Still, she preferred to eat soup alone over a three-course meal with Stan Lockhart.
“Sorry, I already have plans.”
“You can’t change them?” He didn’t bother to hide his displeasure.
“No.” How like Stan to expect her to alter her evening because he needed a dinner companion.
“What if I stop by later?” His enthusiasm was back. “It’s important.”
“That won’t work, either.” She couldn’t imagine what he had to tell her that was so urgent. Grace sincerely hoped he got the message, but the subtle approach wasn’t always successful with Stan. Inbred politeness prevented her from being rude and telling him outright that she wanted to avoid him.
The line went quiet as he contemplated her refusal. “I see,” he said, sounding depressed. “Gracie, listen, I hate to be a pest but I’d like to talk to you if we can manage it.”
Gracie. From the time she was in grade school, Grace had detested that nickname. She gritted her teeth. Stan hadn’t been in touch since that one dinner. Now this. She couldn’t even guess what he wanted.
“Why