Holidays at Crescent Cove (7 page)

Chapter Eight

T
EN MINUTES LATER
Grace was walking out the door, armed with the e-mail folder and a photo of her father she'd downloaded from the Internet. She walked the two blocks to the parking lot where she kept her car. Her stomach churned as her mind replayed the image of that poor girl lying broken in the street, her rounded belly, her dark hair, her pale lifeless face. Neither the mother nor the baby had survived.

Grace shook her head, trying to drive the image away. Trying to give herself the courage to do what needed to be done.

She was usually fine with sharing personal stuff with her two best friends. But not this. Bri knew the barest details because she had been here when Grace moved back, hurt and humiliated.

And Grace had told Margaux just this past summer, when Margaux was going through trials of her own. They'd never mentioned it again. But she would now. Today. Ask Nick for his advice. Take the chance of losing her friends forever when they heard what her father was planning to do and what she was planning to do to stop him.

Grace stopped by her office and put up a Closed sign; she wasn't sure how much time this would take. And a spasm of fear shot up her arm. That she would be tainted by the whole sordid case.

But it wasn't just that. Grace had lost her belief in the law for the second time in her life. And she wasn't sure she could ever recover from this final bow.

She turned into the Little Crescent Beach community where she'd spent so many summers. She drove down Salt Marsh Lane toward the beach. Passed the house her family had rented every year until she graduated from high school. They'd spent many happy summers there, with her father—like many of the fathers—coming for the weekend, and taking the train back to their respective cities on Monday morning.

Grace always loved that little house, had good memories of their summers there, and thought that when she came back to Crescent Cove she'd buy it. But now she was content to live in town. She wanted nothing to do with the beach houses.

She noticed a thin ribbon of smoke coming out of the chimney and hoped that whoever was renting it off season was enjoying it. Then she shoved it to the back of her mind, where it belonged.

Margaux was waiting by the back door when Grace pulled into the gravel parking area behind the Sullivan beach house. She looked concerned. And Grace's first reaction was to pretend that nothing was really that bad. But she couldn't hide those things from her friends. And if she were honest, she didn't want to.

She'd been carrying “stuff” alone for far too long. She gathered her purse and the bag of papers, and got out of the car. And was hit by the tingling chill of salt air. It was so much stronger here than in town, it was hard to believe they were less than a mile away.

And sometimes so far away.

Grace had spent a good ten summers here with Margaux and Bri. She suddenly longed for those days, when life was simple, where everything was before them. But only for a second. She normally loved her life, except the estrangement from her family. But though she'd often wished for a reconciliation with her father, this last episode had finished any chance of that ever happening.

“Grace.”

Grace jumped. Margaux was standing right in front of her. She hadn't noticed that she'd stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the gravel like a statue.

“Sorry. Preoccupied.”

“I can tell. Come on in. I have coffee. And pumpkin bread. Jude made it. I haven't even had time to finish the shopping for Thursday or put things away, so the place is kind of a mess.”

Grace let Margaux lead her to the back door and through the mudroom to the kitchen.

Grace stopped again. “It looks like a hurricane just blew through.”

One counter was loaded with brown shopping bags. A bowl of yams sat on the kitchen table, along with a five pound bag of flour and a row of sweet onions. A second, smaller table held pie boxes stacked six high.

“It did,” Margaux said. “Nick and Connor made breakfast.” She pointed to the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. “We were running a little late this morning. Nick's taking Connor to school but he's coming back. The bags over there are from shopping last night. The fridge is packed. Jude's is packed, and I'm sure Mrs. Prescott's is, too. So bring your appetite Thursday. Mom and Nick's mom are so glad to have everyone together that they just can't stop cooking.”

Grace smiled. It was so messy, and human and loving, that she had a hard time breathing.

Margaux took two mugs down from the cabinet and poured coffee. She handed both of them to Grace and bought out two small plates and a loaf of pumpkin bread, which she cut into thick slabs. “Let's take this out to the parlor. We might find a place to sit there.”

The parlor was as familiar to Grace as her own apartment. Same furniture that had been there for years. And it was just as mismatched and lovingly used as ever. A stack of Margaux's latest designs covered the top of the old knee-hole desk. A basket of trucks, books, and superheroes had been shoved into a corner. A history book lay facedown on the steamer trunk that did double duty as a coffee table. Next to it, a first grade writing tablet lay open to where Connor had been practicing writing his name. Margaux put the bread and plates down beside it.

“Okay, shoot.”

It was as if someone punctured the balloon of her emotions. Grace flopped back on the couch. “I can't believe this is happening.”

“I take it more has happened since you saw the newspaper article.” Margaux slid a plate with a slice of pumpkin bread toward her. Grace mechanically broke off a piece, sending a waft of heady spices right to her nose.

“I don't even know where to start. After you left, Jake dropped by and brought some pastries. Since I'd missed breakfast.”

Margaux didn't say anything, just looked at Grace over her coffee cup from the other side of the trunk where she sat cross-legged in a cabbage rose-covered easy chair.

“It was a nice thing to do. But I was still kind of shell-shocked, so he just handed me the box and left. So later I invited him and Seamus to dinner. It was the least I could do. And it was part celebration for the reopening of the boardwalk.”

“Hmmm,” Margaux said.

Grace slowed down. “Then we—Jake and I—went for a drink—”

“At last,” Margaux said. “Is that what you want to talk to Nick about?”

“No. Of course not. Nothing even— He walked me home, and there on my doorstep was my father.”

It took a second for Margaux to process the information, and like a good attorney, Grace waited to let it sink in.

“Wow. What happened?”

“I told him to leave. Jake saw me upstairs.”

Margaux raised both eyebrows.

“He saw me in.”

“Yeah? And?”

“I thanked him and told him to leave.”

Margaux groaned. Shook her head. “Not that I blame you. Not with your dad ready to beat the door down.”

“That wouldn't have surprised me at that point.”

“He never was one for subtlety,” Margaux agreed.

“Then my mother called, hysterical because she couldn't find him. I told her he was on his way home.”

“And?”

“He wasn't. He left, but he didn't go home. He showed up at my office yesterday morning. I had to leave the room for a minute, and when I came back he'd put the briefs from the Cavanaugh trial on my desk and disappeared again. And that's what I want to talk to Nick about. I need some advice.”

She hesitated, and in the silence they heard the crunch of gravel.

“And speak of the devil . . .” Margaux smiled, an expression Grace envied.

She pushed it aside. She was happy for her friend. Hell, she'd been happy for herself until two days ago.

“You want to talk to him alone?”

“No. I need his police advice, but I need a friend's take on it, too.”

A minute later Nick Prescott strode thorough the parlor archway.

“Hey Grace. What's up?” He sat down on the arm of Margaux's chair. Looked from one woman to the other. “Is this an official visit?”

Grace shrugged.

“I'd better get you a cup of coffee,” Margaux said, and left the room.

Nick slid into her vacated seat. “Okay, tell me.”

Grace told him about being estranged from her father, about the original case, the subsequent case and the latest case against Harrison Cavanaugh. “So after years of not ever speaking to me, my father shows up at my door and . . .” She took a breath and jumped in. “ . . . left the briefs of the case with me before disappearing again.”

Nick didn't say anything, just looked attentive. In the same way a panther looks attentive before it springs for the kill. Grace was glad she'd done nothing to break the law. And she swore to herself she never would, not even for her father, bastard that he was.

“Which doesn't make any sense,” she said as Margaux came back into the room. “He knows I won't help with the case. And from the looks of the brief and knowing how I feel, he shouldn't even want me to see it. It's filled with stalling tactics, and, let's just say, what appears to be an overzealous investigation of the prosecution witnesses' backgrounds—just at a superficial view.”

Nick nodded.

“My father isn't stupid. Actually he's a pretty brilliant lawyer. Before he went over to the dark side.” She leaned forward, lowered her voice, though there was no one to hear. “Which is why I'm concerned. No good can come from leaving the documents with me.

“And he still hasn't returned home. My mother's beside herself. And I have to admit that even though we don't see eye-to-eye, I'm a little concerned. This is all so out of character.” Grace had to fight the urge to get up and pace. But years of discipline kept her in her seat.

Nick slid Connor's tablet over and tore off a piece of paper.

“When and where was the last time you saw him?”

Grace told him. “I don't think anything has happened to him, really. But this is so unlike him. My mother has already called hospitals and the hotel where he stayed night before last. He'd checked out. I don't want him picked up or anything. He hasn't done anything wrong but be a jackass. I thought maybe if you could give Finley and some of the other deputies a heads-up they could give me a call if they see him around town.”

Nick asked some specifics—height, current weight—which Grace could only guess at. Thinner than the last time she'd seen him was hardly a helpful answer.

Nick tore off the paper and put down the tablet. “Grace, it's okay. It won't hurt for us to keep an eye out for him, in an unofficial capacity. A silver alert type situation.”

“He's only sixty-two.”

Nick's eyebrows raised.

“He has gotten a little gray.”

“Do you have a photo?”

“Took one off the Internet.”

J
AKE SHUT DOWN
the lathe and pulled off his protective goggles and face mask. He might just make his self-imposed deadline for finishing the Cove Inn's replacement balusters.

He unscrewed the tail stock and released the balustrade, dusted off the sanded particles and lay it in the case with the other finished pieces. The original balustrades had been hand-turned, and though Jake liked to stay as close to the original as possible when he was doing a restoration, he wasn't crazy enough to say no to electricity.

This job would make a handy addition to his dad's household account. A big infusion. Thanks to some drunken wedding party and a bit of horseplay on the stairs that broke off an entire section of banister and rail. They must have been some big guys, because until that night the staircase had survived two hundred years.

It was almost lunchtime. He could probably work straight through and finish up today. But he couldn't get Grace Holcombe out of his mind. For some reason he wanted her to know that he had her back. But knowing Grace, she'd just look at him like he'd lost his mind, thank him politely, then tell him she could take care of herself.

Feisty. Guess she had to be in her profession. Hell, she'd been that way since she was a little kid and would come down to the boardwalk with Bri and Margaux. Feisty and bossy, but she hadn't been so guarded. Maybe lawyers were trained to stay detached. Maybe it was because of what had happened with her father.

Ah, to hell with it. Maybe she'd like to go to lunch.

Jake threw his work gloves on the table, hung up his goggles, and cut the power to the lathe. His rational brain told him to wait until she got this thing worked out with her father. But that had been going on for years, and Jake wasn't getting any younger. Or any more patient. And if Nick, the most hard-assed, my way or the highway best friend a guy ever had, could do it. So could he.

Maybe.

Chapter Nine

G
RACE DIDN'T DRIVE
straight back to town, but meandered through the narrow streets where they'd played as kids. She slowed as she passed the rambling beach house where Bri's family came each year. Parked at the curve in Salt Marsh Lane and sat on the steps that led down to the beach. But even with the sun out and her jacket buttoned up to the neck, it was too cold to stay long.

Besides, she needed to keep busy. She could cruise the streets looking for a lawyer on the lam or she could take another look at those papers and see if they had passed the boundaries of legal. And if they had, would she turn her father in?

Grace parked in front of her office but didn't go in. Once she did, she would be committed to the road she'd have to take, so she sat, eyes closed, her head resting against the seat, trying not to think.

Someone banged on her window and she jumped. Turned to come nose-to-nose with Jake McGuire, who was peering at her through the glass, scowling like there was no tomorrow.

She'd never been happier to see him. She cranked down the window. “Hi.”

“Is there a reason you're sleeping in your car?”

“Just procrastinating. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you were free for lunch. Breakfast?

Reprieved. “Sure. Hop in.”

Jake opened her car door. “I'll drive. You look like you could use some TLC.”

He'd brought his truck, and as Grace clambered into the cab, she was thankful she'd dressed in slacks and sweater that morning. Jake closed the door after her and ran around to the driver's side.

He was grinning when he got inside.

“I hope you're not about to make a comment on short people or wide butts.”

“I like short people, and if you think your butt's wide, you've been hanging around Bri and Margaux too long.”

“All my life,” Grace said with a twisted smile.

“Your butt's great. They don't give you shit about it, do they?”

“No. It's just one of my insecurities. So let's just stop talking about it.”

“Okay.” He was trying not to smile but lost the battle.

It made her laugh. “You are so immature.”

He started laughing, too, and for the next few minutes they just sat in his truck laughing like a couple of idiots.

Finally, he said. “Where do you want to go? How much time do you have?”

That sobered her up pretty quickly. “Dottie's, I guess. It's close.”

“Works for me.” Jake started the truck and two minutes later they were walking into the diner.

Dottie was sitting at the cash register, but she jumped up when they walked in. She was tall and skinny, and had been owner, waitress, and hostess of the diner since Grace could remember. She and Margaux and Bri had grown up on milk shakes and fries with Dottie's famous gravy. She still wore a version of the pink uniform she'd always worn but had forsaken her mile-high French twist for a short, layered cut that made her look years younger.

“Well if it isn't two of my favorite people. Where would you like to sit?”

They sat in a free booth that overlooked the street.

Dottie put menus on the table and beamed down at them. “We've got a meat loaf and a baked grouper special. Also a French dip sandwich and a Cobb salad.”

Grace didn't know if the fluttering in her stomach was nerves, anxiety, or the fact that she'd had several cups of coffee and no food except for a couple of bites of Margaux's pumpkin bread.

“Can I get you two something to drink?”

Grace swore Dottie winked at her. She hoped Dottie wasn't getting any ideas about her and Jake, because the diner was gossip central. There was nothing weird about two friends having lunch.

Jake was looking at her, and for a moment she panicked. Then realized he was waiting for her to order.

“Coffee?” Dottie prodded.

“No, I'm past my limit already,” Grace said. “Just seltzer with lemon, please.”

“I'll have coffee,” Jake said. “I'm under my limit since I was working on the inn's banister this morning. It doesn't pay to do detail work with coffee jitters.”

Dottie left to get their drinks.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked. “You still look a little pole-axed.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere.”

“I didn't mean—you look great— just like— Oh hell, Grace, you know what I mean.”

She nodded. “You're concerned that I might run screaming out of the diner? I'm sorry about the other morning.”

“No, it isn't about any of that. I know you're upset about your father. And that was my inept way of saying I care. Okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He looked away.

She touched his hand. “I mean it.”

Dottie returned with their drinks. Grace snatched her hand away, but it was too late. Dottie was grinning from ear to ear. “Well how about meat loaf for two? It's particularly fine today, if I do say so myself.”

Jake looked at Grace.

“Fine.”

“Sounds good.” Jake handed the menus back to Dottie, who gave them another doting smile and went away to get their food.

“So tell me about this project you're doing for the inn.”

It wasn't until they were finished with lunch and Jake was eating a piece of chocolate cream pie that he said, “Now, do you want to tell me how you're feeling? I'm a good listener.”

“I know you are. It's just that lunch was so pleasant, I just didn't want to think about what's going on in my life.”

“So what is going on?”

“In a nutshell, my father is a crook. Well maybe not a crook, that remains to be seen. But his firm—well, I told you about that. Not only didn't he leave the night we saw him, he came to the office the next day, and while I was talking to you on the phone he dumped a pile of papers for the Cavanaugh case on my desk and disappeared.”

Jake frowned. “Why?”

“Good question. I didn't look at them at first, but later, curiosity got the better of me. I just wanted to see . . . Oh, I don't know what I wanted or expected but—hell, they don't even have a case except for a few sleaze-bag tactics that, even knowing my father, I wouldn't believe he would stoop to.”

“What kind of tactics?”

“Let's just say things no reputable lawyer would stoop to. I've racked my brain as to why he would show me this when he knows how I feel. It's like he's wiping my nose in it.”

Jake shook his head. “He didn't seem like somebody who would do that.”

Grace snorted. “Jake, you saw him for all of ten seconds on a dark street. You have no idea.”

Something in his expression set Grace's alarms off. “What? You only saw him for that ten seconds, right? He wasn't still there when you left. I looked out the window and you were both gone.”

“Grace. Now just listen, okay.”

“You did see him.”

“Yes, but hear me out. He waylaid me, said he wanted to go for a drink. No way was I going to go drink with him and have him wreck his car on his way back to Hartford. So I told him I'd have coffee. We went to one of those fast food joints on the highway.”

“I can't believe it. How could you?”

“Grace, it was just coffee. The guy looked miserable. I thought maybe I could help.”

“That's just great. Did he tell you he was staying over?”

“He may have mentioned it.”

“And you didn't tell me?” Grace threw her napkin down. “You can pay for lunch. I have to get back to the office.”

She slid out of the booth, wondering how she could have been so wrong about the guy. Her people skills had gone south with her law practice.

Jake threw some bills on the table and caught up to her. They said goodbye to Dottie and walked out of the diner.

Grace refused to get into it with Jake with Dottie watching, which she no doubt would be doing right now. And she wasn't going to tell him what she thought of traitors in the middle of Main Street. She started walking toward her office, buttoning her coat as she went.

“I'll drive you,” Jake said, grabbing her elbow.

She calmly eased her arm away, the rest of her in a slow seethe.

“Dammit, Grace, just listen to me for a minute.”

She walked faster.

“I just had coffee with the guy. I felt sorry for him. He looked so . . . I don't know, hopeless. I think he knows he made a mistake by giving you that ultimatum years ago. He really cares for you in his stupid parent, clueless way.”

Now she turned on him. “
You
don't have a clue. There is a world of difference between my father and Seamus. You don't know how lucky you are.”

“I don't understand why you're so upset.”

“You went behind my back and talked to my father.”

“I didn't go behind your back. You sent me home and he waylaid me on the street. I was just trying to help.”

“Well, don't. There's nothing you can do.”

“Jesus, Grace, just talk to the guy.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” They'd reached her office. She fumbled for her keys, so disappointed and hurt and angry she could hardly see. “Thanks for lunch.” She slipped in and tried to close the door.

Jake stepped into the opening. “You know, you're both stubborn. The other night your father asked me if I was your boyfriend. I said no but I was planning on it.”

Grace's mouth twisted. A few days ago she would have welcomed that declaration. Now, her father was ruining even this. She lifted her chin. “I guess you've changed your mind.”

“No I haven't. I'm ready, but I'm not desperate. So you just give it some thought when you get a chance, and let me know if you're interested. See you around.”

And he was striding back down the sidewalk toward Main Street before she could even reply.

She shut the door, leaned against it. How had things gotten so screwed up?

Driving over to Little Crescent Beach this morning, seeing how happy Margaux and Nick were. Seeing her family's old beach cottage made her homesick for a time before all the anger, the words that could never be taken back, the hurt.

She wished she could go back to a summer, any summer, in that little cottage with her mother and father dancing on the patio to the radio while the burgers sat forgotten on the grill and smoke engulfed the backyard.

Smoke.
Grace's brain finally caught up to her subconscious. The smoke. There was smoke coming out of the chimney of the old beach cottage. No one ever rented it in winter. And she hadn't heard that anyone was renting it now.

She knew where her father was hiding.

“
Y
OU GAVE HER
an ultimatum? Haven't I taught you anything about women? I knew something was wrong when you went straight to your workshop and didn't show your face for half the afternoon.”

“I was just trying to help. And I didn't give her an ultimatum . . . exactly. Besides, I'm not so hard up that I have to beg her to like me.”

“Yeah, you are.” Seamus shoved his hands in his baggy trouser pockets, jiggled the change. Rocked forward on his toes, looking like an oversized, menacing leprechaun.

Jake felt the familiar burn of embarrassment. Even his father thought he was incapable of finding love. “I told her I was willing and to let me know if she came around. That's not an ultimatum.” No, it just sounded stupid, and arrogant.

“Stupid and Arrogant,” his father said.

Jake threw himself into the old easy chair. “I didn't mean it that way.”

“I know you didn't, son. And I blame myself.”

“What? What do you have to do with it?”

“Get out of my chair.”

Jake stood and his father eased himself down.

“Sit.”

Jake pulled a straight-backed chair over and sat facing Seamus. They'd been sitting this way since Jake was big enough to climb up to the seat. Man-to-man talk, his father called it. Sometimes it led to a thrashing; physical, until he got taller than his dad, then verbal. Either way, his dad knew how to mete it out. Most of the time it led to a gruff hug, a head noogie, or a slap on the butt.

Jake settled down to see what it would be this time.

Seamus leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his forearms on his knees.

Jake guessed he was about to get more good advice. At this point he was more than willing to take it.

“Your poor mother, rest her soul . . .”

“Dad, she isn't dead.”

“ . . . rest her soul, had a hard life. I loved her with my whole self, but I kept her pregnant and poor. I wore her plum out with my loving. I broke her down and didn't give her enough in return.”

“Dad—”

“You listen to me. She was a fine girl. I bullied her and at first she bullied back. Ah, we had some fine fights and some better makeups—”

“I really don't want to hear about that.”

“But finally she just tired out and let me have my way. And I took it and didn't even notice. And that's when I lost her. By the time I figured it out, we'd just gone too far to get back where we belonged. I don't want the same thing happening to you.”

Jake slapped his hands to his head. “I did not bully Grace. She's unbulliable.”

“Maybe not but you did something worse.”

“What?”

“You didn't fight her back.”

Jake sprang up and walked away then back again. “First you say don't bully her, then ride me for not fighting. You're not making any sense.”

“She likes you. But she's a strong woman. You stepped away when you shoulda stepped forward. I didn't learn that until it was too late—when to put up and when to shut up. So you listen up and don't make the same mistake.”

Jake sat. “I'm pretty dense when it comes to relationships.”

“No, you just lose interest fast. And that's because you haven't met the one. Until now. That Grace will give you a run for your money. But she's got a big heart and it's hurting now. Now's not the time to bully. Nor is it time to stand down. Now's the time you open up and let her come in.”