The Inn at Rose Harbor (24 page)

“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart, but I need to know what time you’re picking me up for lunch?”

Abby glanced at her watch. “How about eleven-thirty. Patty suggested noon. That will give us plenty of time.”

“Perfect.”

Her mother hesitated. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine, Mom. More than fine.”

“I’m glad … I’ve been concerned. Your father, too. See you soon.”

“Oh and Mom …”

“Yes,” her mother said quickly, as if she’d been just about to turn off her cell. “What is it?”

Abby had been about to tell her she’d apparently just had a lengthy conversation with Angela, but she quickly changed her mind. “It’s nothing important. We’ll have time to catch up before the wedding.”

“Okay, and did I tell you I’ve decided to wear the pink suit instead of the pale green one?”

“You look lovely in pink.”

“You think so? That’s what your father said. It’s such a mother of the groom outfit, but as your father reminded me, I
am
the mother of the groom.”

Abby smiled. “You’ll be lovely.”

“We both will be,” her mother insisted.

I waited until the house was empty before I gathered my coat and purse. I had a few errands to run, but none were really important. My mission was to get to know the town better and meet other business owners.

Peggy Beldon had recommended a dry cleaners and I had a couple of pillow shams I wanted to drop off. They would go nicely on the sofa. I was planning to stop off at the library, too. Two people now had mentioned Grace Harding and I hoped I’d have the opportunity to introduce myself.

I had the shams in a bag and my purse over my shoulder. Again I chose to walk rather than take the car. One of the nice things about Rose Harbor Inn’s location was that I could walk to almost anywhere in the downtown area. But instead of heading down the
hill, the way I intended, I found myself walking toward Mark Taylor’s place.

I hadn’t answered his question about Paul the day before. As soon as he’d asked it, I’d made an excuse and had promptly left. Mark hadn’t tried to stop me and I was grateful. In retrospect, though, I felt I owed him an explanation. Besides, I still wasn’t satisfied with his answer about why he’d showed up at the inn while Spenser was there.

Just like the day before, I found Mark in his workshop, sanding a lovely cradle. It was a work of art, with intricate carving on each end. He glanced up when I appeared in the doorway, surprise showing in his dark eyes. He wore coveralls over a thick plaid winter jacket. One look reminded me that he wasn’t a man who paid a lot of attention to grooming. His sandy blond hair needed to be cut and he didn’t appear to have shaved that morning.

“You again,” he said, not looking the least bit pleased by my unexpected visit.

“Yup, me again. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Not really.”

I ignored that and walked over to where he kept a coffeepot and poured myself a cup and one for him, too.

“Sit with me a while,” I suggested.

Mark glowered at me. “What do you want now? You keep interrupting me and I’ll never get that sign made.”

“It doesn’t look to me like you’re working on it now anyway.”

His frown deepened but he ignored the comment.

“Someone commission you to build a cradle?” I asked.

Reluctantly he shook his head.

“You’re building it … why?”

“Are you always this nosy?” he growled.

“Sometimes,” I admitted. Pretending not to notice his complete lack of welcome, I pulled out a stool, sat down, crossed my legs,
and cupped the mug between my hands, letting the hot coffee warm my palms.

Mark appeared to be doing some pretending of his own, acting like I wasn’t there. I let him. My gaze automatically went to the cradle. I couldn’t take my eyes off the intricate swirls he’d carved at each end. “The cradle is beautiful,” I said, admiring his handiwork. Mark was a talented craftsman.

He stepped back and regarded his project with what seemed to be a new perspective. “Thanks.”

“Is someone you know pregnant?”

“No.” He returned to his project and added begrudgingly, “The idea for it came to me one night.”

“And you decided to build it?”

He dropped his hand and glared my way. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” I found his gaze intimidating, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

A half smile appeared, but his voice was filled with sarcasm when he spoke. “I’m glad to hear it.” He took the chisel to the wood, carefully tapping away at the intricate scroll.

“What do you intend to do with it?” I asked. He didn’t have retail space as far as I could see.

He shrugged. “Don’t know yet. I’ll probably give it away.” He sounded less irritated now.

“Give it away?” I repeated. That cradle could be sold for a fortune. Beautifully hand-carved, one of a kind? Nothing about Mark was the least bit usual—I never knew what to expect from him.

I blew on my coffee and then took a tentative sip, fearing it would burn my lips.

“Is there a reason you stopped by?” he demanded. He stepped away and reached for his own coffee.

“Yes.”

“Then don’t you think you should get on with it? As you might have noticed I’m busy.”

Despite his attitude I smiled, and did a poor job of hiding my amusement.

“You find something funny?” he demanded.

“You,” I told him.

He scratched the side of his head. “I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but I have to say funny isn’t one of them.”

“I felt I owed you an explanation regarding Paul …”

He raised his hand and stopped me. “It’s none of my business. Whoever he is doesn’t matter an iota to me, understand?”

I ignored him. “Paul was my husband. He was killed in Afghanistan about nine months ago.”

Mark straightened his shoulders and took a step back. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

He shook his head, apparently unwilling to respond. After a moment he said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, I am, too. Paul Rose was a good man. The world is a better place because of him.” I bit my lower lip, hoping to keep the sadness out of my voice. I wasn’t sure I succeeded.

His look grew thoughtful. “You named the inn after him and you want to plant a rose garden.” It was as though everything made sense to him all at once.

“His helicopter went down in the mountains. The crash site isn’t accessible so his body was never recovered.”

Mark’s look held mine. “That’s tough.”

“For a long time I tried to believe he might still be alive.”

“Is he?”

I shook my head. “As much as I want to believe it’s a possibility, I don’t think it is. The aerial photographs of the crash site show that it would have been impossible for anyone to have survived.”

Mark looked away and set his cup aside. Without another word he returned to working on the cradle.

“I apologize if I made a pest of myself,” I said, setting aside my own mug.

“You didn’t,” he said as he continued with the task at hand.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said on my way out of the shop.

“Don’t think anything of it,” he grumbled.

I left and started down the hill toward town. The cold felt good against my face. I was grateful for my wool coat and the warmth it offered. The wind blew off the water and the scent of salt lingered in the air. I was half-tempted to walk all the way to the marina and look out over the cove. I resisted when my stomach reminded me it was time for lunch.

Although I’d cooked a hearty breakfast for my two guests I hadn’t eaten much of anything myself. I’d heard a lot about the Pot Belly Deli and I decided to stop in there for a bowl of soup.

The place was packed. I waited ten minutes for a table and was seated at a small round one by the window, overlooking Harbor Street.

Two women sat at the table across from me. They were obviously good friends and they chatted back and forth, leaning toward each other and sporadically laughing.

When the waitress came over with a water glass and a menu, I asked for the soup of the day, and was told it was beef vegetable. I ordered that and a cup of tea. It wasn’t until the waitress left that I noticed that one of the women at the table across from me had on a name badge. Grace Harding. This was the very person I’d hoped to meet later that day.

She must have caught me looking in her direction because she paused in the middle of her conversation and glanced my way.

Flustered and a little embarrassed, I said, “I apologize if I was staring.”

“No, not at all. Are you the young woman who recently purchased the Frelingers’ B and B?”

“Yes, I’m Jo Marie Rose.”

“Grace Harding, and this is Olivia Griffin.”

“Judge Olivia Griffin?” I asked.

“Yes.” The judge was an elegant-looking woman with short, stylish dark hair and dark brown eyes. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

“Welcome to Cedar Cove.”

I’d felt such a warm reception from the town already. “Practically everyone I’ve met so far has said I need to introduce myself to you,” I told the two of them.

The waitress came by with my soup, a warm crisp roll, and a pat of butter. The bread smelled as if it’d come straight from the oven and I could feel my resolve weakening. When I looked up I discovered that Judge Griffin was watching me.

“Did you have an unexpected guest yesterday?” she asked.

I started to say that I hadn’t and then remembered Spenser. I wasn’t sure how to answer. I opened my mouth and then closed it. I couldn’t imagine how she would know about him. I didn’t think Mark would have said anything, but then again I didn’t really know Mark. The more exposure I had to him, the less I knew.

Olivia looked slightly embarrassed. “The reason I ask is that my daughter Justine and I were in town and a man in a car stopped and asked for directions to Rose Harbor Inn. I told him I didn’t think there was a B and B in town with that name.”

“Yes, I decided to change the name.”

“Unfortunately I didn’t know you had, and he got rather upset.”

“With you?”

“With the world in general.” She frowned. “I ran into Sheriff Davis a little later and mentioned the incident. Did the man find you?”

I nodded. “Unfortunately he did.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes.” I was half-tempted to mention Mark’s unexpected visit but held back.

Olivia stood and reached for her tab. “I apologize if he was a friend of yours.”

“He wasn’t … isn’t. I doubt he’ll be coming back anytime soon.”

“Good.” Grace frowned and looked concerned, too. “Both Olivia and I have been single women on our own so we know what it’s like. Don’t ever hesitate to give a holler.”

“Women need to stick together,” Olivia added.

I couldn’t agree more.

The two left then and I tasted my soup. It wasn’t anything exotic or fancy, just good home cooking. The roll remained hot to the touch and when I ripped it open, steam rose from inside. The butter melted and ran onto the plate. It was every bit as good as it looked and smelled.

When I finished my lunch the crowd had thinned out considerably. I paid at the cash register and headed for the dry cleaners, which was a couple of blocks over.

As I walked down the street I noticed several curious glances in my direction. A number of people smiled and nodded as though to acknowledge me.

I found the dry cleaners and left the shams. From there I headed directly to the library, where I intended to sign up for my library card.

Josh watched as Michelle quietly slipped out of Richard’s bedroom, being careful to close the door with the least amount of sound possible. She looked toward him and sighed expressively. “He’s much worse than yesterday.”

“I thought so.”

She lowered her head and was quiet for a moment, as if she was struggling to get out the words. “Despite what Richard says he wants, I think we need to contact hospice. I’m worried that he’s in pain, and hospice can help us make his last days more comfortable.”

Josh agreed with her. He also knew Richard’s thoughts on the matter. “Richard won’t like it.”

Michelle agreed. “He’s in no condition to argue. He’s sleeping
fitfully, and frankly, I don’t think he has much longer. Hospice will have a better perspective than me, though. We need to be sure he shouldn’t be taken back to the hospital.” Her words trembled with emotion.

Josh walked into the living room and stared out the large picture window. In a matter of only a couple of days he’d witnessed a rapid decline in his stepfather’s condition. It was almost as if Richard had waited for Josh’s arrival before he was willing to let go.

When Josh had first walked into the house, Richard had had the energy and resolve to shout at him, but this morning, his stepfather barely had the strength left to breathe.

“I’ll make us lunch,” Michelle said from behind him.

It was that time of day already. Josh wasn’t interested in eating. “Don’t make anything for me; I’m not hungry.”

Michelle acted as if she hadn’t heard him. She went into the kitchen and after a few minutes Josh heard the teakettle whistle. She returned moments later with two mugs.

“I called hospice,” she said.

Josh took the mug from her hand and they sat across from each other. The recliner where Richard spent the majority of his time remained empty, although he was very much present in their thoughts.

“What did they say?” he asked.

Michelle set the tea down on a coaster and leaned back in the chair. “The woman told me they’d send someone out this afternoon to check on him.”

Richard wouldn’t like it, but as Michelle had said earlier, the old man was in no condition to protest. He’d asked to die alone, and for just a moment, Josh wondered if they should abide by his wishes. But he suspected Michelle would refuse to leave her neighbor.

Truth be known, Josh would like to climb into his rental car and drive as far away from Cedar Cove as a tank of gas would take
him. In the back of his mind he had hoped to spend at least part of his time off at the ocean.

One of the happiest memories of his childhood had been a short trip with his mother to Ocean Shores. Josh must have been around ten years old. After his father had left there’d never been extra money for luxuries like vacations. Finances were always a struggle. Yet somehow his mother had managed to eek out a few extra dollars for gas. They’d packed a cooler, loaded the car with pillows and blankets, towels, plastic buckets and shovels, and driven to Ocean Shores. They couldn’t afford a hotel room, so they’d parked on a sandy stretch of beach.