The Inn at Rose Harbor (18 page)

“I’m sorry,” Michelle whispered to Ginger as she turned to leave.

Josh stood back as Michelle escorted the other woman to the front door.

Richard’s gaze narrowed as he pointed at the walker. “Where did that come from?” he demanded. Josh had brought it into the room and set it by the chair.

“I don’t have a clue,” Josh said.

“It wasn’t here when I got back from the hospital.”

“I don’t recall if it was or wasn’t. Perhaps Santa brought it … a delayed Christmas gift. You know how slow the mail can get at this time of year.”

What might have been a smile briefly flitted across Richard’s face, but it disappeared so fast that Josh doubted what he’d seen. His stepfather closed his eyes again, blocking them all out.

Stubborn old fool, Josh mused. They were both far too stubborn for their own good.

This had been by far one of the most perplexing days of my life. Spenser, a man I barely remembered, had shown up unexpectedly at my front door. I hadn’t thought to ask him how he’d found me, which left yet another question unanswered.

And that was just the beginning. Mark, a man I had only recently met, had stormed into my house like a raging bull and escorted Spenser outside, and they’d both left without another word. It’d all been so strange, so odd. So shocking.

I was determined to find out what had happened and the only person I could ask was Mark. I dug out the business card he’d given me and walked over to the phone. I held the receiver for several moments while I figured out what I wanted to say, then dialed his number.

To my disappointment, it rang four times and then went to voice mail. I listened to the recorded message and waited for the beep, which seemed to take forever.

“Mark, this is Jo Marie Rose, could you please call me back?” I hesitated before replacing the receiver, hoping that Mark would somehow pick up. My curiosity over his behavior was like the itch of a pesky mosquito bite. I simply couldn’t ignore what had happened.

Thankfully, I didn’t have long to wait. No more than ten minutes later the phone rang.

“Rose Harbor Inn,” I said.

“It’s Mark. Sorry I missed your call; I had the buzz saw running.”

All at once I decided I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. He’d made it plain earlier that he hated talking on the phone. And I wanted to see Mark’s face when we talked. Over the phone it might be too easy to put me off and I had the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to explain himself. Otherwise he wouldn’t have run off the way he had without offering any explanation.

“Would it be all right if I stopped by this afternoon?” I asked.

“Here?”

“At your shop, yes.”

“My shop is part of my home and I’m not much for company.” He sounded hesitant.

“Would you rather stop by the inn … again?” I couldn’t help adding that last part.

“No; I’m busy.”

“Then I’ll come to you.”

Mark exhaled audibly and when he spoke there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I don’t have time for coffee and cookies.”

“I won’t stay long … I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

He hesitated and seemed to realize I wasn’t going to drop this easily. “Fine … come over.”

I’d certainly had more enthusiastic invitations, but in this instance I would take what I could get. His business card had only listed his mailing address, which was a post office box. “I need your street address.”

“Oh, right.” He gave it to me. “It’s just a couple of blocks from the inn. You can drive but I recommend walking—there isn’t always parking close by.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Cedar Cove wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis. I’d heard parking spaces on the waterfront were limited, but not in local neighborhoods, at least in my experience so far.

“I live by the courthouse,” he explained, sounding impatient to get off the phone.

“This will only take a few minutes,” I promised again.

“Whatever.”

I bristled but held my tongue. It would be easy to take offense at his brusque manner, but I tried not to let my irritation show.

I docked the phone, grabbed my coat, scarf, and gloves, and within a couple of minutes of our conversation, I was out the door.

Tucking Mark’s address in my coat pocket, I headed up the hill in the direction of the courthouse. It was a steep climb and it wasn’t long before I was winded. I kept my head down and my shoulders hunched forward. I paused to drag in a deep breath when a vehicle whizzed past me. It looked just like Spenser’s car. His speed seemed excessive, as if he was eager to leave town. He drove in the opposite direction of the inn, toward Tremont Street, which led to the freeway. I wasn’t sure that it was Paul’s friend, but intuitively I thought it might have been. Apparently he’d hung around town for a bit longer, but I could only speculate as to why.

Spenser had claimed that he and Paul were as close as brothers. I didn’t know if I should believe that, although to be fair, it wasn’t completely implausible. Still, it seemed that if the two of them had been as tight as Spenser had indicated, Paul would have mentioned him more often. My husband had talked about several men under
his command, but not Spenser, at least not since he’d been shipped to Afghanistan.

I should know. I’d read my husband’s letters and emails, which I’d printed out, so often I’d practically memorized each word. These notes were my connection with Paul, the one tangible link I still had to him.

I suspected Spenser had exaggerated their relationship as a ploy to get me to loan him money. If Spenser thought he could guilt me into a loan then he was mistaken. And anyway, I’d invested nearly all of the insurance money I’d collected as Paul’s beneficiary in purchasing the inn. Thankfully I had my own healthy savings account as a cushion—funds I’d put aside from every paycheck for a number of years.

Standing outside Mark’s residence I was impressed by how well maintained his home and yard were. The house itself looked to have been built in the 1950s, and wide concrete steps led to its large front porch. The porch columns appeared to be constructed of river rock.

A buzz saw could be heard in the distance. Perhaps Mark’s shop was in the basement. I walked up the steps to the front door, thinking I’d wait to ring the doorbell until there was a pause in the noise. However, when I approached the front door I saw a small sign posted there.

IF YOU’RE HERE SELLING ANYTHING, I’M NOT HOME
, it read. Directly below that line was another:
IF YOU’RE HERE ON BUSINESS, COME AROUND TO THE SHOP IN THE BACK BY THE ALLEY
.

I followed his instructions and took the stone pathway around the side of the house. As I came around the corner I saw a small outbuilding. It looked as if it must have been a garage at one time, although there wasn’t a driveway that led to it.

The building’s door was open and Mark was inside, at work at a table saw, with his back to me. Thinking it might not be a good idea to distract him, I waited until he turned off the machine. The silence
was almost deafening. Mark seemed to know I’d arrived because he removed his protective eye gear before he even turned to face me.

“I see you found me,” he muttered, frowning.

“I just followed the noise,” I said, feeling completely out of my element. “I realize this isn’t the best time and I apologize, but it shouldn’t take long.”

He didn’t agree or disagree. Instead he picked up the piece of plywood he’d cut and carted it over to his workbench.

Undeterred, I followed him into his work area. “How long have you known Spenser?” I’d introduced the two men—or attempted to at any rate—before Mark had interrupted me.

“Never met him before in my life,” he mumbled, reaching for a planer. He ran it over the wood a couple of times and then set it aside.

I had trouble not showing my surprise. That didn’t make the least bit of sense. Okay, fine, I’d try a different angle.

“Why did you stop by the inn?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“That’s no answer. You must have had a purpose.” Considering how busy he seemed now, whatever had brought him to the house must have been important.

“No reason.”

“No reason,” I repeated, all the more perplexed.

“Okay, if you must know, I had just started work when this niggling feeling came to me and wouldn’t go away.”

“About me?”

“Yeah. And I wasn’t happy about it.”

I’d already guessed as much. “What kind of feeling?”

He paused then, and turned to confront me. He wore a thick frown. “If I could explain it, I would. But I can’t. This feeling … this nagging sensation … kept telling me that you needed help.”

I was as stumped as Mark appeared to be. “That I needed you? But you barely know me.”

“That’s the point, don’t you think?” he snapped, and then seemed to regret his outburst. “I was working and all at once you popped into my brain. That happens sometimes after I’ve accepted a job. An idea will come to me and I’ll stop what I’m doing and jot it down.”

“An idea about me?”

“About the job. You wanted me to design a new sign for the inn, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and I’m anxious to get it. But this feeling you had didn’t have anything to do with the sign, did it?” I could tell from his stance and his body language that he didn’t want to answer the question.

“No … I kept thinking you were in some kind of trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Listen, I’m no knight looking to rescue a damsel in distress. I tried to ignore the feeling, but the harder I tried, the stronger the impression came back until it was either get over to the inn or knock my head against the wall.”

“I wasn’t in any danger,” I insisted.

“Maybe not, but whoever that man was, he had less than honorable intentions toward you.”

“How do you know that?” While Mark might assume I was defending Spenser, I wasn’t. Mark hadn’t been privy to our conversation, nor could he have known Spenser’s reasons for stopping by the inn. He couldn’t have known Paul’s friend had sought me out looking for a loan.

“I just know. I suppose you’re here because you want me to apologize.”

I was about to correct him—I’d come for information and nothing more, but he continued without allowing me the opportunity to speak.

“Okay, fine. I owe you an apology,” he admitted gruffly. “I was abrupt and impatient, but frankly I was angry.”

“Angry about what?”

He tossed his hands in the air as if he worked in a pizza factory. “That’s just it. I don’t know. I took one look at your … friend and it was all I could do not to ram my fist down his throat. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. I don’t initiate fights, but I don’t back away from them, either.”

His answer confused me all the more. “You’re sure the two of you have never met?”

“One hundred percent positive.”

I walked around two sawhorses he had in the middle of his work area. “What did you say to him?”

Mark didn’t answer right away and when he did a frown creased his forehead. “He asked me what my relationship was to you.”

I stiffened. Spenser had no business making such an inquiry. “And you said?”

“I told him it wasn’t any of his business.”

“Okay.”

“Then he said the two of you were having a private conversation and he’d appreciate it if I butted out.” Mark picked up the planer again. “Now if you don’t mind …”

“A couple more questions.”

He glared at me and then exhaled. “Go ahead.”

“What convinced Spenser to leave when he did?”

“I did. I told him to leave you alone and advised him not to come back … ever.” He exhaled. “I probably spoke out of turn. If you’re looking for an apology, okay fine, you’ve got one. But if he was a good friend, then I’d say you need better friends.”

I bristled. “He isn’t my friend.” And frankly I felt even more certain that he wasn’t Paul’s either, despite Spenser’s claims.

“Then no harm done.” Mark reached for the planer, apparently dismissing me.

“No harm … only.”

“What now?” Mark said, and set the planer down on the workbench.
Clearly my questions frustrated him but I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to let the matter drop—well, not entirely. “I saw Spenser a few minutes ago.”

Mark straightened, and seemed to be on full alert. His gaze narrowed and he started moving toward the door.

“He was in his car. I’m not one hundred percent sure it was him, but it was the same car, same model, same color …”

“It was him.”

I didn’t question how he could be so sure.

Mark set the planer aside and faced me, his frown darkening all the more. “Do you know where he went after he left the inn?”

I shook my head. Frankly, I had no idea, and I certainly didn’t appreciate the accusing look Mark sent my way.

“Which direction?” Mark demanded.

“He took off …” I couldn’t remember the name of the street. Tree-something. “On the main street coming up the hill.”

Mark relaxed. “Headed toward the freeway on-ramp?”

I nodded. “
Speeding
toward the on-ramp would be a more accurate description.”

“Maybe he’ll get a ticket.” Mark chuckled, and for the first time since I’d arrived I sensed a smile in his voice.

My curiosity hadn’t been resolved. In truth, Mark’s answers seemed to raise even more questions. But I’d already outworn my welcome.

“I said I wouldn’t stay long and I meant it. Thanks.”

He shrugged and returned to his workbench. He reached for another sheet of plywood and carried it to the saw.

I watched him for a couple of moments and when he switched on the saw, spitting sawdust in a perfect plume, I turned to leave. I wasn’t more than a few feet from the door when the saw went silent.

“Jo Marie,” Mark asked.

“Yeah?” I turned back to face him.

He wore a frown and he scratched the side of his head. “Can I ask you something?”

Seeing how I’d drilled him with questions it didn’t seem fair to deny him. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Can you tell me who Paul is?”

“We need to join the others before the wedding rehearsal starts,” Abby’s mother said, wrapping her arm around her daughter’s waist. “I’m just so happy.” She laughed lightly and the joy seemed to fizz up inside her like champagne bubbles. “I can’t tell you how long your father and I have waited for this day.”