Holidays at Crescent Cove (5 page)

Damn and double damn.

“I don't know why you're here, to ask advice or to humiliate me. But I'm not interested in either, so you can turn around and go home. I'll phone mother and tell her you're on your way—so she won't worry.”

“Grace—”

“Go.” Grace practically ran past him. She was too enraged and heartsick to manage more. And she couldn't imagine what Jake must be thinking. He would probably despise her, too. Well, to hell with them all.

At this point Grace didn't even care. She just wanted to be alone, to drown her sorrows in tears, maybe a few muffled screams into her pillow. Leave it to dear old dad to find the perfect time to screw up her life.

She began fumbling for her keys before she even reached her door. She could only think about escape.

But Jake followed her up the stairs; he eased the keys from her fingers and opened her door.

“Sorry about that. Thanks for—”

He pushed her inside and shut the door.

“Jake, I'm sorry, but could you just go?”

“I will, but not until I know you're going to be all right.”

“I'm—I'm— How dare he come here?” She spun away from him and began to pace. She knew she should cool it. He probably thought she was a nutcase. But she'd been holding this all in for years and she was finished letting it rule her life. Starting now. “What does he want from me?”

Jake stepped toward her, took both her shoulders. You could ask him.”

“I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I'm sorry he ruined the evening. And I had such a nice time.”

He pulled her close. “He only ruined the last few minutes, and what might have happened later . . . who knows? Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes, I really am sorry, Jake.”

“Don't be.” He lifted her chin. Kissed her, this time longer and harder, and she let her emotion flow out into that kiss. They were both breathless when she pulled away.

“Good night. Gracie.”

He made her smile and that hurt even more.

She followed him to the door. She didn't even think about asking him to stay.

“Lock your door. Call me if you need . . . anything. I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

He waited until she closed and locked the door, then she listened to his steps on the stairs until they echoed away.

She leaned her head against the door. Angry and hurt and turned on, and feeling like she'd missed another chance for happiness. Which was ridiculous; it had been dinner and a kiss. She tried to hold onto the memory of that kiss, but the image of her father standing in the shadows shattered it.

She hoped like hell he wasn't waiting to waylay Jake or that he'd wait until Jake was gone and creep up the stairs like the devious creature he was.

Her phone buzzed and Grace gave it up. “Hi, Mom.”

“Grace, your father hasn't come home. I'm worried sick. He—”

“Don't be. He's in Crescent Cove. I assume he'll be driving back to Hartford tonight.”

“What's he doing there? Did you talk to him? Did he come to see you?”

“I don't know. We didn't talk. I have nothing to say to him. I suggest you ask him yourself when he gets home.”

“If he comes home. He isn't answering his cell. He evidently hasn't been to the office in several days. Where has he been going when he leaves the house?” Her mother's voice climbed the scale. “They have some big case starting in a few days and the partners are worried and angry. He's the linchpin of their defense.”

“Mom, I love you, but I don't want to hear about any of this. He's fine. He's probably on his way home. He should be there in an hour. And life goes on. And another murderer will go free.”

“Grace, you're not being fair.”

“That's a matter of perspective. I have to go. Good night.” She hung up. Her father was a brilliant lawyer. But Grace didn't care about brilliance. She cared about the truth.

Suddenly uneasy, she hurried to the window, carefully pulled the drapes aside and peered down into the street.

The street was empty. They had both gone.

Chapter Six

V
INCENT
H
OLCOMBE WAS
still downstairs when Jake came out of the building, and Jake didn't know whether to ignore him or go back upstairs until he left. The second option was definitely the best, but he didn't want any potential relationship with Grace to be tied up with the anger that was swirling around tonight.

Grace's mainly. Holcombe looked tired, sort of the way his own dad looked when they had to close the carousel. And even though his dad sometimes irritated the hell out of him, he couldn't imagine being estranged from him or any of his family. Not when they had a choice.

He'd wanted to tell Grace that, but he knew she didn't want to hear anything rational. Her father had basically rejected her, banished her like some Shakespearean king, but it looked to Jake like Holcombe was paying the most for it now.

“Hey,” Holcombe called out.

Jake knew he should keep walking. Get in the truck and leave Grace and her father to work it out for themselves. But there was something plaintive in that one word. He turned back to the man. He was medium height, thickset. And there was a kind of charisma that emanated from him, even tired, that told Jake he could probably sway a jury with little effort.

Holcombe moved toward him. “You're a friend of my daughter's.”

“Yes.”

“A good friend?”

“I think so.”

“Her boyfriend?”

“Her friend. The rest I don't think is any of your business.”

“It's my business to see that Grace doesn't make any bad decisions.”

“No it isn't. You gave up that right when you gave up Grace.”

“Listen. I don't know what she's told you—”

Jake started walking again. He wasn't about to listen to Vince Holcombe trash-talk Grace.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Jake hesitated. What did the man want?

“I have to drive home and so do you.”

“I—I just want to hear how Gracie's doing.”

Gracie?
Damn, he's suckering me,
Jake thought. “Fine, but we'll go to the diner for a coffee, and under one condition.”

Holcombe's eyes narrowed. “And what would that be?”

“No bad-mouthing your daughter.”

“Is that what she told you about me?”

“She hasn't told me much about you. Only that you kicked her out of your law firm when she refused to represent a man who—”

“I didn't kick her out. I told her she had to choose.”

“Which she did.”

“But I didn't mean for her to leave.”

“People who give ultimatums rarely think that far ahead.”

“What's your name?”

“Jake McGuire.”

Holcombe stuck out his hand.

Jake reluctantly shook it.

“Fine. Now where can we get that cup of coffee?”

They took Jake's car. The lights were off in Dottie's Diner. All of Main Street was shut up for the night. In the summer there would be people on the street until all hours, but during the winter most places closed early.

“Guess it'll be one of the fast food places out on the highway,” Jake said, half hoping Holcombe would decide to go back to get his car and go home.

“That'll do.”

Resigned, Jake turned the car toward I-95.

“
S
O WHAT DO
you do for a living, Jake? You don't mind me calling you Jake?”

Jake shook his head as he tore open a sugar packet and poured sugar into a really bad cup of fast food coffee. “Why don't you get to the point, Mr. Holcombe.”

“Vince, please. You work in town?” Holcombe continued, obviously having his own agenda and intending to stick to it.

Jake began to wonder how soon he could get Holcombe back to his car and head him out of town.

“I have a woodworking business, I do restorations and regular repairs.”

“Is it lucrative, the woodworking business?”

“Enough for me. Is this some kind of cross-examination?”

“No. I just want to know the kind of friends my daughter has.”

“Why?

“I'm her father.”

Jake gave up and pushed his coffee away. “With all due respect, sir, you gave up that privilege when you let Grace walk out of your life. It's been what? Four years? And what have you done to repair that rift?”

“I was upset. And she's stubborn.”

Jake smiled. She was that. “She is, and she's also smart and caring.”

“And she's throwing it all away—”

“Stop right there. Grace is a respected member of this community. She has helped people keep their houses when they were threatened with foreclosure. She's spoken for those who don't have access to three-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyers. This afternoon was the ribbon cutting of the Historic Boardwalk restoration project.

“Grace is responsible for that happening. Grace fought to give my father's carousel historic status, thereby saving the whole boardwalk from becoming high rises.”

Vincent Holcombe's eyes rolled, and Jake had a hard time not reaching across the table and punching him out.

“It might not be as newsworthy as getting murderers off on a loophole, but I can tell you it's important to the residents of Crescent Cove and to the businesses that have been slowly dying out as their livelihoods are being replaced by developments that take, but put nothing back into the town. That beach and boardwalk is the only public recreation area we have, and we were all just sitting around while it went to hell and nearly went under the auction block.

“But Grace wouldn't let that happen.”

Holcombe blew out air from puffed cheeks. “And I noticed from the sign in her window that she has to sell real estate to make ends meet.”

“We all have to do extra jobs to make ends meet. We're a tourist town three months and a few weekends out of the year. The rest of the time we make do. I teach art at a special needs school. The local bakery teaches baking classes. We're a community, and Grace is an important part of that community.”

“A good way to have people take advantage of her.”

“If you think that, you don't know your daughter.” Jake chuckled in spite of his raging anger at Grace's father. “You don't know her at all. Now, if you're driving back to Hartford tonight, you'd better get going. I'll drive you back to your car.”

They drove back in silence. Jake stopped at the BMW Holcombe pointed out, and Holcombe opened the door.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said.

“You're welcome.”

Holcombe gave a short nod and got out.

“Mr. Holcombe.”

He leaned back into the car.

“You asked if I was Grace's boyfriend. I'm not, but I intend to be.”

Slowly, Holcombe pointed his index finger at Jake. “Then I'll warn you here and now, you'd better not hurt my daughter.”

“And that goes for you, from me. Good night, Mr. Holcombe.” The door closed, and Jake drove away without looking back.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Grace sat at her office desk staring at a pumpkin muffin and coffee from Caroline's. Normally pumpkin was her favorite, but she hadn't slept much the night before, between her racing nerves, the resurgence of the hurt and humiliation that she thought she'd overcome years ago, and the unresolved way the evening with Jake had ended.

Her mother called three more times after their initial conversation, to report that her father hadn't returned home or called; he wasn't answering his cell, and should she start checking the hospitals?

Grace told her to wait another couple of hours. And since she didn't hear from her mother again, she assumed that he'd finally made it back to Hartford in one piece.

Now her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep and a few tears she couldn't help but shed. Her stomach was queasy, also brought on by lack of sleep. She was tempted to put the Closed sign up and curl up on her couch with an old movie and the rest of Jake's box of pastries. But that would be unprofessional. And God knew she was professional.

So she sat studying the briefs for her scheduled court dates. Two speeding tickets, a zoning infraction, and a domestic violence case. Not very exciting, she had to admit, except for the domestic violence case, in which a local woman at her wits' end took a shovel to her drunken husband. It was clearly a case of self-defense, but the husband's lawyer had gotten the jerk to press charges.

Grace was ready for them. She'd questioned neighbors and the local school their children attended. Summoned the woman's employer, who would testify to seeing her bruised and battered on many Monday mornings. She'd given that poor woman her best shot. She'd have to depend on the judge to do the rest.

She'd help save the boardwalk; she had other petitions that she could guide through the rapids of unintelligible legalese. And the town would be better for it. And that made the traffic tickets and zoning cases worth it.

And if the closest her name ever got to the front page was in “What's Happening this Week in Crescent Cove,” that was fine with her. It was sometimes hard to explain why her life here was satisfying. Some people—her parents included—thought she had wasted a promising career.

Grace knew she'd done the right thing, in her heart it felt right, but there were days when she doubted she could ever make a real difference.

She pulled off a piece of muffin and ate it, barely conscious of what she was doing. Maybe she'd call Margaux and Bri and schedule a girls' night out. Except Bri was always so busy with Mimi and Lily. They could go to Bri's, bring pizza and wine.

And then she remembered. Thanksgiving was three days away. It would be too busy and bustling to really talk until after the holidays, and she needed time to voice her misgivings about her life, her career, and about Jake McGuire.

It would have to wait.

The street door opened and Grace looked up. The bile rose to her throat. “I thought you went back to Hartford,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Decided to stay over in one of the hotels out on the highway.”

“I suppose mother knows.”

“I called her last night.”

Which is why her mother had stopped calling. You think she could have made one more call to warn her what was up.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Grace sighed. Rubbed her forehead. He was between her and the door, and she'd be damned if she'd run from her own office.

“I can't see that we have anything to talk about, so that can only mean you want to talk at me, which is the way it always was. Not happening. And don't even start with the ‘after all the money I put out for your education' bit. The publicity I gained the firm in that misbegotten law case has more than made up for it, I'm sure.”

“You didn't have to leave.” His color was rising. His shoulders tensed.

Ah, dear old dad. Angry and arrogant. Some things never changed.

Grace stood. “Old history. I have a life. I have job I love. People I care about. I suggest you go do yours. See if you can't get that scumbag back on the streets for Thanksgiving. Hell, what's a mother and her baby? Maybe he'll go for a whole family or a school bus of children next. I'll show you out.”

Grace stopped, horrified. She didn't make wild statements like that. It was coming down to his theatrics. His manipulations. She pressed her hand to her mouth, afraid she was going to be sick.

Her father swayed, grasped for the edge of the desk.

Dear God, please don't let him be having a heart attack.

But he straightened up, though it looked like it took an effort.

Grace forced herself to meet his eyes.
Just think of him as the opposing attorney.
Not her father, her father who had driven her away.

“I'll show you out.”

It was a ridiculous thing to say since the door was less than twenty feet from her desk. And she was pissed at herself for letting him goad her into exaggeration. As she walked to the door she could feel him looking, not at her, but around her office. And she knew what he was thinking. A little storefront law practice that she had to supplement by giving real estate advice.

A failure. He was probably disgusted. Which would be preferable to pity.

She reached the door and realized he hadn't followed her. He pulled a chair over and sat down, facing her desk. “I'll pay for your time.”

Grace stared at him. She felt extremely close to tears, which was not an option. She'd learn to steel her emotions long ago, mainly to compensate for her lack of height and for being a woman. And then from letting the horror of what people did to one another get the best of her.

But nothing had prepared her for this.

And there was no rational way to get rid of him. Call the police? Nick would ask him to leave but would think she was crazy. Then he'd tell Margaux, who would tell Bri, and they would be over in a flurry of wine and martinis to hold an intervention. But they were both busy with their families now, they didn't need to be taking time trying to fix their broken friend.

Grace was the one who was alone. And who had a nutcase father sitting at her desk.

“I'm calling Mother.” It sounded so childish, but she couldn't think of another option.

He didn't answer, just began pulling papers out of his briefcase, which, in her shock at seeing him, she hadn't noticed he was carrying..

“What are you doing?” Grace rushed back to her desk while the cell phone rang in her hand.

“I need your advice.”

She stopped. He what?

“Hello? Hello? Grace is that you?”

Grace looked at her phone, put it to her ear. “He's lost his mind.”

That's all her mother needed. “Let me talk to him.”

Gladly, she thought, and shoved the phone at her father.

He put it to his ear as he continued to arrange papers on her desk; moved it away as her mother's strident voice squawked from the other end.