204 Rosewood Lane (3 page)

“Where are you going now?” Rosie asked as he passed the sewing room.

“To shower and change.”

“Do you have to?” she muttered.

“What's wrong with that?” he demanded.

She pushed away from the sewing machine and stood up. “I thought you might wear your suit to the open house.”

“Why?” He'd been waiting all afternoon to remove his tie.

“It'll make a better impression if you meet Eddie's teacher wearing a suit. Mrs. Vetter will know you're a professional.” She coaxed him with a smile, then brushed a piece of lint off his shoulder and smoothed away a wrinkle. “You look so handsome in your suit,” she said, smiling. “Maybe you should shave, though.”

Zach ran his hand down his face, feeling the bristle scratch against his palm. She was right. “If I shower and shave, then I'm changing out of this suit.”

Rosie's frown deepened. “I don't know why you have to be so difficult.”

“If I had a decent dinner every once in a while, maybe I'd be more inclined to do as you ask,” he snapped. He couldn't help remembering how pleasant lunch with Janice had been. She'd joined the staff the first of the month and had already proved herself as far as Zach was concerned. She was a quick learner, competent, cooperative. Twice she'd gone out of her way to make sure he had what he wanted for lunch. Only that afternoon she'd insisted on driving over to Mr. Wok's for the shrimp dish.

Sitting on the end of the king-size bed, Zach yanked off his jacket and laid it beside him. Unfastening the buttons at his wrist, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and headed into the bathroom.

He was running hot water for a shave when Rosie came into the room. “Do you have enough cash for the pizza guy?”

“I think so,” he said. “Check my wallet.”

His wife met his gaze in the mirror. “I'm sorry about dinner.”

“You're busy.”

“It was crazy today,” Rosie said, sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub. They'd special-ordered it when the house was built three years earlier and it'd taken months to arrive. Rosie had wanted it badly enough to give up using tile on the hallway and kitchen floors. Zach would have opted for the tile floors but he hadn't been able to refuse his wife this small luxury. Yet he couldn't remember the last time Rosie had actually used the tub. Like him, she was in and out of the shower, rushing from one obligation to the next.

She went on to tell him about her day, the committee meetings, Allison's dental appointment and some library function she'd agreed to coordinate. “I don't know how mothers who work outside the home get everything done.”

“I don't, either,” Zach said, although he suspected that his associates' wives put dinner on the table at night and still managed to work forty hours a week. He also suspected those other wives were better organized than Rosie.

“I'll cook dinner tomorrow night,” she promised.

Zach spread shaving cream across his face. “Meat loaf and mashed potatoes?” He didn't hold out much hope, but it sounded good to hear the promise.

“Whatever you want, big boy.”

Despite his irritation, he grinned. Maybe he
was
just being difficult.

T
he credit card must belong to the woman who'd sat across the restaurant from him last Monday, Cliff Harding decided. He'd noticed her. It wasn't like he could have missed her; they were the only two people in the Pancake Palace that afternoon. The lunch crowd had left and it was too early for dinner.

She was attractive and about his age, but she seemed distracted, caught up in her own thoughts. He'd be surprised if she even remembered he was there. They'd paid for their meals at about the same time and that was when it must have happened. His bill was correct, but it was Grace Sherman's credit card he'd slipped back inside his wallet. She apparently had his.

All week he'd gone about his business, oblivious to the fact that he was carrying someone else's VISA card. If an attentive clerk at the pharmacy hadn't pointed it out, he might not have noticed for even longer.

As soon as he was home, he'd looked up Grace Sherman in the phone book with no luck. However he did find a listing for a D & G Sherman at 204 Rosewood Lane, Cedar Cove. The voice on the answering machine was that of a woman, so he left a message and waited for her to return his call. Thus far, no one had phoned and he suspected he had the wrong Sherman. What he should probably do was give the credit card to the manager at the Pancake Palace and request a replacement for his own.

Lately Cliff had found plenty of reasons to drive into Cedar Cove. Charlotte Jefferson had called him in June regarding the grandfather he'd never known. Cliff certainly didn't have any warm feelings toward Tom Harding, even if he was the famous Yodeling Cowboy, popular from the late thirties to the mid-fifties. Tom Harding had deserted Cliff's father and grandmother in his quest for fame. Toward the end of his life, Tom must have regretted the pain he'd caused his family but by then it was much too late. Cliff was his only grandson and—at least according to Charlotte Jefferson—the old man had intended to contact him.

Charlotte had to be in her seventies, but she was a woman with plenty of spunk. She'd befriended his grandfather while doing volunteer work at the Cedar Cove Convalescent Center and had taken a liking to the old man. They were friends, Charlotte explained.

Old Tom had lost his ability to speak after a massive stroke, but apparently Charlotte was able to communicate with him just fine. She told Cliff that Tom had given her a key shortly before he died. Upon investigation, she'd found his personal effects in a storage unit and concluded that Tom was the onetime movie and television cowboy star. As Tom's only surviving relative, Cliff was entitled to these mementos.

In the beginning, Cliff wanted nothing to do with the old man, but Charlotte wouldn't hear of it. She'd made it her mission to make sure Tom's things, which included posters, scripts and his six-shooter—were delivered to Cliff, whether he wanted them or not.

Once he met Charlotte, Cliff understood why his grandfather had felt so comfortable with the older woman, and over the course of the summer, they'd become quick friends.

He made a habit of stopping in to see her or giving her a call every couple of weeks. She appeared to enjoy these visits and bragged proudly about her two children and her grandchildren. Her son, William, lived somewhere in the south, if he remembered correctly, and a daughter, Olivia, was a family court judge right here in Cedar Cove. Cliff had yet to meet Olivia, although he did wonder if any woman could live up to everything her mother had said about her.

Now that Cliff had spent some time studying the items Charlotte had rescued from the storage unit, he'd come to appreciate what she'd done. He could think of no better way to thank her than by giving her one of the movie posters, which he'd had mounted and framed. Charlotte had genuinely loved Tom Harding and that was
before
she'd identified him as The Yodeling Cowboy.

Cliff parked his truck on the steep hill above the cove, angling his tires into the curb. Carrying the unwieldy poster, he walked up the few steps that led to the large family home. As usual, Harry, her “guard cat,” was curled up asleep in the living-room window. Even before he had a chance to ring the bell, Cliff heard Charlotte turning the door locks.

He'd never had the opportunity to count how many locks Charlotte had, but he suspected Houdini couldn't have gotten inside. He wasn't sure what she had hidden that was so
valuable; he did know that anything precious was likely to be buried underneath a pile of panty hose. He was also aware that at some point in their conversation Charlotte was likely to ask him about his bowels.

“Cliff,” she said happily, unlatching the screen door, first one and then a second lock. “This is a pleasant surprise. I wish you'd let me know you were planning to stop by. I would've baked you a batch of cookies.”

That was exactly the reason he hadn't phoned ahead. The woman was intent on fattening him up. Cliff didn't need any assistance in that area—he already had a paunch that had come with middle age and he was trying hard to lose it. So far he was down ten pounds from the first of the year, although he swore it would've been easier to chip away rock. Until retirement, he'd never had to worry about his weight.

“I brought you a little something,” he said as she swung open the screen door for him. Harry raised his head, stared at him and apparently decided Cliff was a friend. The cat closed his eyes and resumed his nap.

“Sit down and I'll make us a cup of tea,” Charlotte said. “And I've got some pound cake.”

“Don't go to any bother.” He knew it wouldn't do much good to protest, but he tried anyway. He was only going to stay for a few minutes. After leaving Charlotte's, he'd drop off Grace Sherman's credit card at the Pancake Palace. He might ask Charlotte if she knew Grace, since the older woman seemed acquainted with nearly everyone in Cedar Cove.

“You must be hungry,” Charlotte said, sounding hurt that he'd refused her offer.

“Charlotte,” he insisted, “open your gift.” It wasn't wrapped, but the frame shop had slipped it inside a cardboard container.

Charlotte looked up at him quizzically. “This is for me?”

He grinned and nodded, enjoying her flustered reaction. Charlotte was the kind of person who was constantly giving to others but felt uncomfortable receiving anything herself.

She opened the cardboard, and Cliff helped her remove the frame. He held up the poster and heard the soft gasp when she realized what it was. She covered her mouth with one hand as her soft-gray eyes flooded with tears.

“Oh, Cliff, you shouldn't have,” she said, blinking furiously. “This is far too valuable to give me.”

“Nonsense. I'm sure my grandfather would've wanted you to have it. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even have any of these things.” Nor would Cliff have known anything about his grandfather, other than what his father had told him. He now saw Tom as more than a selfish, fame-obsessed bastard; he saw a regretful old man who would've liked to turn back the years and make different choices.

“You were a difficult nut to crack,” Charlotte reminded him, frowning.

He had to agree. She'd been persistent in calling and writing. If he hadn't arrived on her doorstep when he did, Cliff figured she would've brought everything to him herself, venturing onto the freeway in a car he was sure had never been driven over forty miles an hour.

Charlotte reached for a lace-trimmed handkerchief in her apron pocket and blew her nose loudly. “I don't know what to say.”

“Would you like me to hang it for you?”

“Oh, please.”

He'd come prepared to do that, assuming the task would require his assistance.

“Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to hang it in my bedroom?” she asked.

“I think that would be a perfectly fine choice,” he assured her. He followed her into the long hallway to the master bedroom at the far end of the house. The double bed against the wall had a plain curved headboard. An old-fashioned dresser with a large mirror sat on the opposite side of the room. She had a comfortable chair with worn green upholstery and a table with a reading lamp. Cliff guessed she did most of her reading there, gauging by the pile of books on the table.

“How about here?” Charlotte asked, pointing to a bare space on the white wall across from the bed.

Several pictures crowded the dresser top, but Cliff didn't have a chance to study them. One did catch his notice, however. Charlotte saw what he was looking at and reached for the frame. “This is Olivia when she was six months,” she said, pointing to the picture of a baby. “She was an exceptional child even then.”

Cliff swallowed a smile. Six-month-old Olivia was sucking on her big toe and grinning with toothless delight. Cliff could only imagine what the judge would say if she knew he'd seen the photograph.

“Mom?” Almost as if the picture had conjured up Charlotte's daughter, he heard a woman's voice call from the living room. “Are you all right? The front door's open and—”

“Oh, dear…” Charlotte rushed out of the bedroom. “Olivia?”

“The door was unlocked and you never—” Olivia said, meeting Charlotte in the hallway. She stopped abruptly when Cliff walked out of the bedroom.

Olivia stared at her mother and then Cliff.

“Hello,” he said, enjoying the perplexed look. Olivia had matured into a strikingly attractive woman. Now probably wasn't the time to ask if she was still agile enough to lift her
foot to her mouth. He couldn't keep from grinning, though. The resemblance between mother and daughter was most apparent in the eyes, although hers were brown. If he hadn't known Olivia was a judge, he would have guessed she held some responsible position from the dignified way she carried herself. She was medium height, close to his own age, and her hair was still a lustrous brown.

“I'm Cliff Harding,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.

“Tom's grandson,” Charlotte explained. “He was just hanging up a poster of The Yodeling Cowboy for me.”

Olivia frowned as they shook hands. “Oh, my goodness, you're Cliff Harding!”

“That's what I just said,” Charlotte murmured.

“He has Grace's credit card.”

Actually Cliff saw Grace as the one who had
his
VISA card. “You know Grace Sherman?”

Olivia nodded. “We've been friends for years. She was planning to return your call this evening.”

Charlotte glanced helplessly from one to the other, as if she'd somehow missed hearing the punch line to a good joke.

As best he could, Cliff explained the situation.

“You'd better take care of that right away,” Charlotte advised. “Personally, I don't use credit cards. It's like carrying Monopoly money.”

“I'd hoped to get my own card back,” Cliff said. “Do you think I could drop in on Grace?”

“She works at the library,” Charlotte told him. “You could leave your truck parked here and walk over there. It's only a few blocks away and I don't expect we're going to have many more of these sunshiny afternoons.”

“I think you should meet Grace,” Olivia encouraged. She
shifted her gaze from him, and Cliff wondered if
he
was missing something.

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte agreed. “Olivia's right, you should meet Grace. She could use a male friend after what Dan did to her.”

“Dan,” Olivia added quickly, “is her husband, correction…
was
her husband. He disappeared earlier in the year.”

The two women became engaged in a discussion about Dan's whereabouts and their own suspicion—that he'd left Grace and run away with another woman.

“Grace filed for divorce last Monday,” Olivia told him.

The same day as the credit card mishap. No wonder she'd seemed distracted and preoccupied. No wonder she'd been alone. Although Cliff would've noticed her if she'd been in the middle of a crowd.

Grace Sherman was like…like a mountain wildflower. He wasn't normally poetic and couldn't really say why he thought of her in those terms, but that was the image that came to his mind. A flower that bloomed despite cold, wind and hardship. He'd tried not to be obvious, but she'd attracted him and he'd wondered about her. It'd been a very long time since he'd looked at a woman, any woman, the way he had Grace.

“I think I will take a walk over to the library,” he muttered.

“Good idea,” Olivia said brightly.

Charlotte's daughter seemed eager to send him off. Perhaps she was trying to encourage him to meet her friend. If that was the case, Cliff didn't need any prompting. After saying goodbye to Charlotte and Olivia, he left and strolled down the steep incline toward the waterfront. This was his first visit to the library and he stopped to admire the mural painted on the outside. The town sported several other murals, as well, which he'd often admired.

Grace Sherman stood at the front desk when Cliff entered the library.

She glanced up when he approached the counter. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Cliff Harding,” he said and waited.

It obviously took a moment for his name to register. “Oh, hi—you're the one who has my credit card and I have yours. I'm sorry. I should have recognized you. If you'll wait a moment, I'll get my purse.” Grace took a deep breath, then said, “I was going to call you back this evening.”

“That's what Olivia said.”

“You know Olivia?”

“We met this afternoon at Charlotte's.”

Again she hesitated, as if needing time to connect all the dots. “You're Tom Harding's grandson. Charlotte's often mentioned you. I apologize, I didn't immediately realize who you were. If you'll excuse me, I'll just be a moment.”

“Of course.”

She disappeared into a small office directly behind the counter and returned with her purse. His credit card was tucked inside a small white envelope. They exchanged credit cards, laughed about what had happened, then stood gazing at each other for an awkward few seconds.