16 Lighthouse Road (28 page)

Rather than attempt to respond verbally—at the rate she was going she hadn't a clue what might actually come out of her mouth—she nodded and put her wineglass on a nearby table.

Seth led her onto the dance floor and turned her into his embrace. Naturally—fittingly—the band was playing a slow dance and she lifted her arms as he held her loosely. Justine was amazed at how well-suited they were physically. At five-ten and in heels, she was taller than most of the men, but Seth still had several inches on her. She rested her head against his shoulder and breathed in his clean, outdoor scent.

This was the first time she'd ever danced with him.

“You came alone?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

The music was mesmerizing and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and give herself completely over to it. That couldn't happen, especially with Seth. She couldn't allow herself to be trapped in the magic of the moment. She refused to let her guard down, certain that as soon as she did, Seth would ask her about Warren, or the engagement.

“I did, too,” he said after a minute. “Came here alone, I mean.”

He wrapped his hand around hers and brought it to his chest. Justine felt the solid, steady beat of his heart. It seemed to travel through her hand and the pulse in her wrist, directly to her
own heart. His eyes held her, and with their steps in unison, this was the most sensual, seductive moment of her life.

When the love song ended, Seth released her. She moved away from him and clapped politely.

“Do you have a table yet?” Seth asked.

“Lana asked me to sit with her and Jay.”

“Well, Jay invited me to sit with him and Lana,” Seth told her, eyes twinkling.

So the Rothchilds were involved in a little matchmaking. Just now, it was very easy to forgive them.

“The buffet isn't until nine.”

“I know,” she said, wondering if he was inviting her to dance again. If so, he didn't need to ask. When the music started, they moved toward each other as though magnetically drawn.

Other than the few times they stopped to talk to friends, Justine and Seth danced every dance. Soon the buffet table was ready and a line of revelers straggled around the gym floor. Seth bought them each a glass of wine and sat next to her at the table for eight.

It wasn't long before Justine fell into conversation with the others. Soon pictures of her classmates' children were passed around and she found herself looking at the cherubic faces and listening to stories full of love and pride. Justine carried a small photograph of her newborn niece and showed it to Seth.

“James is married? When did this happen?”

“Earlier in the year. Isn't Isabella beautiful?” Justine had made a firm decision not to be a mother, but as she studied the photographs she was handed, she felt an intense and unexpected longing. It would eventually pass; she recognized that, even as she struggled to deal with a slew of unwelcome emotions.

“Excuse me,” she said, getting to her feet. Instead of heading for the ladies' room, Justine walked outside, out the front door, letting the cool air revive her. She leaned against the flagpole and closed her eyes, breathing in the night air and with it the return of her rational self. She wasn't like those people back inside the school. She never had been. She was separate, different. Not above them, just not one of them. She'd known it in high school and felt it even more profoundly ten years out.

“Justine?” Seth joined her. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She was quick to assure him that everything was fine, but he wasn't fooled.

“What is it?”

She shook her head. She couldn't explain to Seth, of all people, that she'd come outside in order to clear her head and put her life back in perspective.

“You look like you're about to cry,” Seth commented.

“That's ridiculous.” She turned away, but Seth caught her hand and drew her gently into his arms. She could have resisted at any time—but didn't. She knew he intended to kiss her even before his lips claimed hers. This wasn't their first kiss, but Justine had conveniently forgotten what this man was capable of doing to her resolve.

The effect of his kisses was like putting a match to lighter fluid, each one hotter and more explosive. “This isn't a good idea,” Justine cried, tearing her mouth from his, her breathing labored.

“It's a terrible idea,” Seth agreed, but it was clear he was teasing her as he brought his mouth to hers. He held her head between his hands, but Justine wasn't struggling. She submitted fully to the kiss, starved for his touch.

“We have to stop,” she whimpered.

“The reunion…” he murmured.

“Yes…yes, we should get back.” Justine broke away and hid her face against his collarbone as her shoulders heaved.

Seth held still, arms around her waist, until his ragged breathing slowed.

“This
really
isn't a good idea,” Justine finally said, and broke free from Seth entirely.

“Why isn't it?”

“You aren't going to like the answer,” she told him.

“What?” he asked. “I suppose you're going to say you've decided to accept Warren's proposal, after all?”

She attempted a smile, one that would show him she was confident in her decision. “Actually, I have.”

“You're going to marry Warren Saget?” The question sounded incredulous.

She lowered her eyes and nodded.

Seth didn't say anything for several seconds, then exhaled slowly. “If that's your choice, I'm obliged to honor it. I only want the best for you, and if that's Warren as your husband…I won't try to change your mind.”

He spun on his heel and returned to the reunion alone.

 

Dan had been missing for over three months now, and as the weeks drifted by, Grace had become almost accustomed to living alone. She'd adopted a routine of sorts, which helped her forget that the man she'd been married to all those years had abandoned her and their two daughters. She couldn't understand why he hadn't stayed long enough to see their first grandchild. Kelly had convinced herself that her
father would be back before the baby was born, but Grace held out no such hope.

Roy McAfee continued to give her biweekly updates on his progress, but so far he had nothing of significance to report. There'd been no more sightings of Dan in town after that one time. Grace suspected there wouldn't be. Her husband had come to deliver a message and Grace had received it loud and clear. He hadn't been to the house again, either.

Thursday evening after she'd closed the library for the night, Grace walked toward her car, which she'd left near Waterfront Park. Concert on the Cove—a summertime music series sponsored by the downtown merchants—was on tonight. This was exactly the kind of social gathering Dan hated; in all the years the performances had been offered, Grace hadn't attended a single one.

Families came with their children, senior citizens brought their own chairs, teenagers hung out in groups. Most people brought a take-out dinner. The blend of young and old drew the community together.

As she reached her car, Grace heard sixties rock-and-roll and sang along with an old Diana Ross hit. All at once it dawned on her that there was nothing to keep her away. There hadn't really been a good reason in the past, and there wasn't now.

Dan would never have told her she couldn't attend, but she hadn't wanted to go alone. She was alone now, with no reason to hurry home. She could stay or leave as she wished; it was entirely up to her. How odd that this insight should give her such a profound sense of freedom. It felt as if shackles had been unlocked and the weight she'd carried had fallen from her shoulders. She was free—free to attend the concert. Free
to enjoy life without catering to Dan's likes and dislikes. Free to do what
she
wanted.

Walking over to the park, Grace stopped long enough to pick up an order of chicken teriyaki from the Japanese restaurant across the street.

Most of the seating had already been taken. Grace stood and watched, delighting in the fact that so many people were enjoying the concert. A trio of women cavorted on the bandstand. Dressed in miniskirts, pageboy haircuts and pink feather boas, The Blondells performed the old Supremes hits from the '60s, and Grace found herself smiling at their energy and high-spirited fun.

“Grace!” Charlotte Jefferson raised her arm in order to attract Grace's attention. Her best friend's mother sat on the outer edge of a semicircle of lawn chairs, with a blanket spread in front of her.

Grace made her way over to Charlotte, maneuvering slowly through the crowd.

“Sit here with me,” Charlotte invited. “I have something I want to discuss with you later, all right?”

“Sure.” Grateful for the invitation, Grace sat down on the blanket and leaned against one leg of Charlotte's chair. Her back would start to ache soon, but she would enjoy this as long as she could.

“This is such good music,” Charlotte announced when the intermission was announced.

“It's fabulous,” Grace agreed.

“You know, I was just thinking of you the other day,” Charlotte said. “I have something for you.”

“Me?”

“I talked it over with Olivia, and she thinks it's a good idea. Exactly what you needed, she said.”

Grace was intrigued.

“A friend of mine, a good friend, has a wonderful companion, and well, she's moving to a retirement complex and needs to find a home for Buttercup.”

“Buttercup?”

“Harry's been such a loyal friend, and seeing that you're alone, I thought…” Charlotte looked uncertain. “I did plan to ask you first, but as I recall you've had dogs in the past.”

Dan had loved his dogs, and throughout their marriage they'd had a number of family pets. Two years ago, their small cocker mix had died peacefully in his sleep and Dan had decided they wouldn't have any more animals.

“What kind of dog is Buttercup?” she asked.

“A golden retriever.”

“I'd love a dog,” Grace said decisively. “I really would.”

Charlotte rubbed her hands together. “I'm so pleased. Olga's been terribly worried about finding a good home for her dog. I
knew
you were the right person.”

“I'd be happy to take Buttercup over to visit Olga now and then, if that would put her mind at ease.”

“Oh, Grace, what a thoughtful gesture. Olga would be so appreciative.”

 

That weekend, the golden retriever became part of Grace's life. She wasn't sure how well the dog would adapt to a new environment, but the moment Grace brought her into the house, it was as if Buttercup recognized it as her home and prepared to settle in.

“Well, Buttercup,” she said, releasing her from the leash. “What do you think?”

With her tail wagging, the golden retriever examined each room, paused in the middle of the living room and then jumped into the old recliner that had been Dan's chair. Dark eyes watching Grace, she rested her chin on her paws.

Grace couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. Of all the places for Buttercup to claim as her own, she'd chosen Dan's chair. Somehow she'd instinctively known that space was available.

“We're going to be good friends, aren't we, Buttercup?” Grace murmured to the dog.

This, too, Buttercup appeared to understand.

Grace poured herself a cup of coffee, reached for a crossword puzzle book and settled down in the chair next to that of her newfound friend and companion.

Life continued without Dan. He'd apparently found someone else and—Grace smiled over at Buttercup—so had she.

O
livia felt good. Better than good. She felt confident, successful, at the height of her powers. She'd put in a fabulous day in court, and, since summer was now apparently in full bloom, she intended to enjoy what remained of her afternoon.

This was perfect weather for sitting at a café along the waterfront and enjoying a bottle of wine and some delectable Hood Canal shrimp. She could think of no one she'd enjoy doing that with more than Jack Griffin.

He'd proved to be delightful company. In the three weeks since the Fourth of July picnic, they'd attended a political rally, on which Jack had written an article. Then she'd tagged along while he interviewed the lady who crocheted beautiful tablecloths for the Saturday Farmers' Market. That article had appeared in Wednesday's edition of the
Cedar Cove Chronicle.
Last Friday night, Jack had taken her to dinner at Willcox House, a B-and-B in Seabeck that Bob and Peggy Beldon had
recommended. The house boasted a room Clark Gable had once stayed in, and the food was incredible. Once again, Jack was writing an article. It was high time they went out just for pleasure, she decided, instead of combining it with business.

Leaning back in her office chair, she reached for the phone and punched out his number. “Hi,” she said when he picked up.

“Hi, yourself. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her.

“I'm about to make you an offer you can't refuse.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I promise you it will be.” Olivia loved the banter between them.

Jack chuckled. “I can hardly wait. What do you have in mind?”

“Close your eyes,” she whispered seductively. “Think of sitting out on the Cove.”

“Am I with anyone?” he interrupted.

“Naturally. You're with me.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Jack!”

“Well, it's important.”

She sighed in mock annoyance. The teasing was all part of the Jack she enjoyed most. “Okay. I've got on a sleeveless top and walking shorts, a big sun hat and dark glasses.”

“I like you in dark glasses. They make you look mysterious.”

She laughed; there wasn't a thing mysterious about her—certainly not her growing attraction to him.

“Next, consider the background music.”

“Dire Straits? Guns n' Roses? Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“No,” she said with a beleaguered sigh. “I was thinking
more along the lines of Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, Henry Mancini.”

“
Barry Manilow?
Please, not Barry Manilow.”

“I happen to like Barry Manilow,” she chided.

Now it was his turn to sigh. “I don't know if there's hope for this relationship.”

“All right, we'll compromise on the music.”

“If you like Manilow, there's nothing I can do.”

“Okay, Eric Clapton,” she suggested.

“Bob Dylan's better. Agreed?”

“All right. May I continue?”

“Go ahead,” he urged, as if she'd been the one holding up the proceedings.

“We're together on the Cove watching the sun set, music is playing softly in the background and we're sipping glasses of wine.” She hesitated, certain he was about to launch into a discussion regarding the wine. “Do we need to argue about the wine, too?”

“No,” he assured her, “you choose.”

“All right. A nice fruity Gewürztraminer.”

“Hmm. Isn't that a little sweet? Are you sure you wouldn't be interested in something—”

“I thought we weren't going to argue about the wine. You can drink what you want and I'll drink what I want.”

“Fine with me.” He was certainly amicable all of a sudden.

“A waiter appears with a menu,” she went on.

“If the menu's got tassels, I can't afford to eat there.”

“No tassels.”

“Good.” Jack said immediately. “Now, did the waiter bring the bread basket yet? I'm getting hungry.”

“Don't rush him, we're still enjoying our wine.”

“While you're drinking the wine, I want the warm bread and butter.”

“You're making this difficult, Jack.”

“Okay, okay, continue, but I should tell you I worked through lunch today, so if you're going to start listing the specials of the day, I'll have to make a run to the candy machine.”

Olivia heard drawers opening and closing. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I'm looking for something to eat.” A grumbling sound followed his explanation. “The best I could come up with was a roll of Tums.”

“Poor baby. I guess that means you don't want to hear about the seafood fettuccini, dripping with spicy shrimp, seared scallops and bits of lobster, stirred together in a creamy Alfredo sauce.”

“You are a cruel woman, Olivia Lockhart.”

Olivia laughed delightedly. “You just wait until I show you how cruel I can be.”

Jack sucked in his breath. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Olivia growled.

“When, where and how long will it take me to get there?”

“Tonight at seven.”

He hesitated. “I…can't.”

“Six?”

“That won't work, either.”

“All right, eight, but that's really kind of late for me.”

“What about tomorrow night?” Jack asked.

“Can't. I've got a judicial committee meeting. Why can't you go to dinner tonight?”

“I just can't.”

He was certainly being cryptic about it. “Jack, have you got another date?” she asked, half laughing as though it was a joke. Neither of them had made any promises. He was free to date someone else, just as she was. But she hadn't.

He paused before answering. “Not exactly,” he said.

“Not exactly,” she echoed. What the hell did that mean? “Are you doing something illegal?” she asked.

“No.”

“Just secretive,” she muttered under her breath.

Again the pause. “If you want to put it that way.”

Olivia hated secrets. “I see,” she said, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

“Olivia, I'm sorry. I'd love to have dinner with you, but you'll have to choose some other night.”

Olivia was a woman whose life was open to scrutiny; she disliked the way he chose to keep parts of his life hidden. If he had some dark secret, she'd rather know now.

“Come on, honey, it's not that big a deal, is it?”

Honey.
Now she was his honey.

“Another evening, all right?”

“No,” she said softly but with conviction. “It isn't all right.”

“Let me make sure I'm getting this,” Jack said after a long pulsing silence. “You're angry because I can't go to dinner with you at the drop of a hat.”

“No, Jack, that's not it at all.” She straightened in her chair. “Listen, I'm sorry. It seems I've been reading more into our relationship than warranted—”

“Olivia…”

“No, please, I understand.”

“You don't.”

“I do,” she countered. He wanted everything on
his
terms, which meant that any relationship could only be a surface one. He had his secrets, and she was just supposed to overlook that.

“Olivia…”

“I'm sorry you can't make it for dinner,” she said, interrupting him a second time. “We'll do it another night.”
Maybe ten years from now.

“Don't hang up that phone!” Jack shouted.

She was too stunned to react.

“I know what you're going to do. The next time I call and suggest we get together, you'll have a reason you can't. The time after that, it'll be the same, until I've got the message. Dammit, Olivia, I won't let that happen.”

“Then I'll be up front with it. Jack, I don't think it's a good idea to continue seeing each other.”

“Why? Because I can't go to dinner with you tonight?”

“No,” she said swiftly. “Because I was married to a man who chose to keep secrets from me. I'm not willing to get involved with anyone who can't be open and honest.”

Silence.

“I'm right, aren't I?” she pressed. “You're a man with secrets.”

It took him forever to answer. “If it gives you any pleasure, then I'll say it. You're right—I have my secrets.”

He replaced the receiver, and Olivia listened to the buzz droning in her ear. Jack should've known her better than that. She derived no pleasure from being right.

 

The instant Grace pulled into the driveway, Buttercup bounded out the doggie door at the back of the house and raced to her side.

“Hello, girl,” Grace said as she stepped out of the car. She leaned down and scratched the dog's ears, then the two of them walked to the mailbox to collect the day's offerings.

Along with a couple of magazines and a few odd bills, Grace got the
Bremerton Sun.

“Are you ready for your dinner?” she asked Buttercup, unlocking the door that led to the kitchen.

The golden retriever dutifully walked to her water bowl and lapped up a drink, then waited patiently while Grace opened the closet door and brought out the large bag of dog food. She filled the dog's dish, then settled down to glance at the mail.

Nothing important.

She set the magazines on the table and as she did so, noticed that the message light was flashing.

“Grace, it's Roy McAfee. Give me a call when you get home.”

Dan.

Roy must have learned something about Dan. Her hand trembled as she looked up Roy's number and immediately returned the call.

Corrie, Roy's wife and assistant, connected her right away.

“Roy, this is Grace Sherman. Have you located Dan?”

“No, but I got the report from the Assets Check and thought you might be interested in what I found out.”

After running into nothing but dead ends, Roy had suggested they request a computer check for assets, but Grace had balked at forking over the extra two-hundred-dollar fee required for the search. Learning that Dan held title to a piece of land wasn't going to help her locate him. In a community property state, any bank records would be open to her without cost.

“So—anything interesting?”

“Yup. The report listed a license application Dan made last June.”

“A year ago.”

“That's right. You didn't tell me you two owned a travel trailer.”

“We don't.”

“According to state records, Daniel Clayton Sherman residing at 204 Rosewood Lane, Cedar Cove, Washington, applied for a license for a travel trailer.”

“When?” Grace asked. “
Exactly
when?”

“June sixteenth of last year.”

The date was meaningless, and Grace felt numb. “I…I don't know about any travel trailer.”

“I called the private party who sold it to him and discovered he paid cash. It's a twenty-four footer. The other person wasn't likely to forget, since Dan arrived with the money in fresh one-hundred-dollar bills.”

“How much?”

“According to the seller, thirteen thousand dollars.”

“Cash?” They didn't
have
thirteen thousand dollars in cash. Any extra money had been invested. Nearly everything they'd managed to save over the years was in stocks and bonds.

“The man made quite a point of telling me it was all one-hundred-dollar bills. Actually, he was quite shaken when he was handed that much cash.”

“Where would Dan get that kind of money?”

“I can't answer that,” Roy told her.

Neither could she. “Dan couldn't have taken out an equity loan without my knowing, could he?”

“He didn't,” Roy said. “Not according to the bank records I have.”

And surely she would've received some sort of statement for any other kind of loan.

“This doesn't make sense.” But then, very little of what Dan had done in the last year was logical.

“So you don't know anything about this travel trailer?”

“Not a thing. Do you think Dan's traveling around the country?” she asked, searching desperately for answers.

“I really don't know. Haven't come across any evidence of that—no credit card charges, for instance. None in his name, anyway.”

“Then what's he using for money?”

“If he had thirteen thousand dollars in cash you knew nothing about, there's no way of knowing how much money he had squirreled away.”

“Where could he have kept this money?”

“Do you have a safety-deposit box?” Roy answered her question with his own.

“Yes…no. I don't know anymore.” They did have a box at some point, but she hadn't seen the renewal application in years.

“Tell me this,” Roy said. “Who brought in the mail every day?”

“Dan.”

“That's what I thought. Another possibility is that Dan has a post office box you know nothing about.”

All the secrets Dan had kept from her. Grace didn't know how she could have lived with him for more than thirty years and not known the man who was her husband.

“The report didn't show a safety-deposit box?” she asked.

“No, but if Dan has one strictly in his name, the bank isn't legally obligated to report it. Some banks will as a matter of course, and others only if a court order is issued.”

“Will we need a court order?”

“We'll face that when we come to it.”

“All right.”

As if she understood that her new mistress was feeling anxious, Buttercup walked over to the phone and stood next to Grace. She leaned down and stroked the dog's head, which calmed both of them.

She spoke with Roy for a few more minutes. When she hung up, Grace experienced a new sensation. Considering the range of emotions she'd already become familiar with, she wouldn't have thought that was possible. Since Dan's disappearance, she'd felt disbelief, shock, grief and outrage. Lately she'd discovered a certain peace that came with resignation and acceptance. Roy's latest news didn't infuriate her. Instead, she was left feeling
stupid.