50 Harbor Street (26 page)

R
achel laughed at Jane’s joke as they walked out to the parking lot after work on Saturday. It was the shop’s busiest day and she’d been on her feet for almost ten hours; she was exhausted. Laughter was a good release, even if the joke had been silly and a little off-color.

The parking lot was dark, only fitfully illuminated by nearby streetlights. Approaching her car, keys in hand, Rachel stopped abruptly when a tall, lean man came out of the shadows. Terrified, she couldn’t move.

Until the man spoke.

“Rachel, it’s Nate.”

She felt instantly weak until the anger kicked in, rescuing her. “You scared me out of ten years of my life,” she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing, hiding in the shadows like that?”

“Sorry.”

“You should be!”

He held up both hands. “All I wanted to do was talk. I wasn’t interested in starting World War Three.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you came sneaking
up on me.” Just then, Jane drove by and slowed down as if to check out the situation. As soon as she recognized Nate, a gigantic smile formed and with a wave, she drove off.

Undeterred, Rachel went on. “You’re lucky I didn’t gouge out your eyes with my car key.” The anger concealed her elation. Rachel didn’t want to be this happy, and that made her feel even angrier at herself for reacting to him. “Furthermore,” she added in a flustered voice, “why
are
you lurking in the shadows like…like some stalker?” She inserted her key in the lock and yanked open the door.

“Like I said, I came to talk to you.” He didn’t back down. They stood several feet apart—which was too close. Far too close.

“I love you, Rachel. I can’t help it. I was going to let you have your own way, but I couldn’t do it.”

She wished he hadn’t said that. Every time he opened his mouth she weakened a little more. “This is not a good idea.”

“I happen to think it’s an excellent idea.” He advanced one small step toward her.

Heart pounding, Rachel held out her arm. “Stop right where you are.”

“No.”

“I’ll call for a security guard.”

Still he came. “You do that.”

“Nate…no.” But he reached her and gently took her by the shoulders and brought her toward him. She couldn’t fight him. Instead, the minute he touched her, she swayed into his arms as if she belonged there. When he kissed her, she had to grab his shirt collar just to remain upright.

“Rachel, Rachel,” he murmured between kisses that left her clinging and breathless. “Why did you shut me out of your life?”

If he hadn’t said anything, she might have forgotten, at least
for the length of another kiss. But, no, he had to go and remind her why a relationship was impossible.

She forced herself to pull away, then dragged in a deep breath and prayed she could get enough oxygen into her brain to think clearly.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he protested. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

“Nate—it won’t work.”

“Who says?”

“I do.”

“Then you’re wrong. I love you.”

“You don’t even know me.” He was making this more difficult than it had to be. “I’m just another way to thumb your nose at your family. I…refuse—don’t you dare kiss me again! Oh…Oh.” The fight went out of her as his mouth found hers. His kisses were hungry and demanding and each seemed more potent than the one before. Her knees wobbled and her heart fluttered and if she didn’t do something soon, they’d end up at her house, in her bed….

“Let’s get out of here,” Nate said, his breathing uneven.

“No.” Where she found the strength to deny him anything, she didn’t know. “I told you, this won’t work.”

He gripped her shoulders and his eyes bore into hers. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.”

At his touch she was dumbfounded.

“Do you understand me?”

Somehow, she managed to nod.

“Good. Rachel Pendergast, I love you. I am my own person. I always have been. I love my parents, but I won’t allow them to dictate my life. My father is a congressman. I’m a Warrant Officer in the United States Navy. It’s a job I enjoy and a rank I earned by my own merit. Understand?”

Again she nodded.

“My father doesn’t tell me what to do—or who to love. I make my own decisions. Got it?”

“Yes, but—”

“No
buts.
I love you.”

Rachel hung her head. “Don’t love me. Please, don’t love me.”

He lifted her chin so she couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. “Sorry, it’s too late.”

“But…”

“Are you going to argue with me?”

“I…oh, Nate.” She threw her arms around him. “I missed you, too—so much.”

He sighed deeply, and slipped both arms about her waist, lifting her off the ground. “It took you long enough.”

“I’m frightened,” she whispered. And she was. If they permitted this relationship to continue, the time would come when she’d have to meet his family. It went without saying that they wouldn’t approve; there was absolutely nothing to endear her to his parents. No status, no wealth, no education to speak of. She’d been raised by an aunt who’d died when she was nineteen, and she’d been on her own from that point forward. Dogs at the pound had a better pedigree than she did.

“I don’t have any family,” she said, ashamed to admit this to a man who had such an important one.

“You’ve got me.”

“Do I?” She sighed. “Why do you make this so hard? Why won’t you just let me go?”

“Because you’re worth keeping. Now, no more arguing. We’re going to talk.”

Reluctantly she agreed. He drove them to the Pancake Palace, where they sat in one of the old-fashioned booths. They couldn’t stop staring at each other. When the waitress came,
they both ordered coffee and banana splits, but the ice cream melted and the coffee grew cold before they even noticed it.

Finally Rachel reached for her spoon, then put it down again. “All right. Seeing that you’re the one with the big ideas, where do we go from here?”

“Right where we left off when I shipped out.”

“And where was that?”

“We were dating. You were my girl, and I was your bachelor prize.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nate, that sounds like something out of a 1950s movie. I should be wearing saddle shoes and a poodle skirt, and we should be listening to Bobby Darrin.”

“I’m sure they have some Bobby Darrin on the jukebox here,” he murmured.

“What about Bruce?” she asked.

“I think it might be a good idea if you told him you won’t be seeing him anymore.” Nate leaned all the way over and pressed his lips to hers. “You’ve already got one steady,” he said. “You don’t need two.”

Steady?
Sandra Dee and Frankie Avalon were going to waltz in here any minute.

Still, she knew what Nate meant—and she knew he was right. Jolene would be unhappy, but Rachel’s confused relationship with Bruce simply couldn’t go on.

A
llison woke to the sound of a light tap on her bedroom window. Her heart flew to her throat and she gasped. It could only be Anson. She didn’t care what time of day or night it was, she had to talk to him. In her eagerness to get to the window, she nearly fell out of bed.

Sure enough, Anson stood there in the yard, his shoulders hunched against the cold March wind. In the faint moonlight she could see that he wore his black coat and watch cap and was peering into the darkened room. When she approached the window, he stepped back. Without question Allison opened it for him.

“Anson,” she cried. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.” It was two weeks since she’d seen him, that day in the mall. He hadn’t been to school. None of his friends seemed to know where he was. He’d vanished; no one had seen him anywhere. When she broke down and phoned his mother, Mrs. Butler didn’t show any interest or concern.

Anson didn’t answer nor did he climb inside her bedroom, as he had the last time he’d visited her in the middle of the night.

“Come in,” she urged. “It’s cold.” She moved aside, but he remained out in the wind and the cold. “Anson,” she said, “get in here! You must be half frozen.”

“No!” He shook his head wildly. “The only reason I’m here is to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Her mind was spinning. “Why? Where are you going?”

He shrugged as if that was of no significance. “I don’t know yet.”

Allison rubbed her hands up and down her arms, shivering with cold. “Come in. We need to talk.”

Again Anson refused. If anything, he moved back another step.

“Please,” she added softly.

He considered it for a moment. “I can’t,” he finally muttered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He seemed to steel himself against her. “Like I said, the only reason I’m here is to tell you I won’t be seeing you anymore.”

The shock of his words felt like a slap across her face. “You don’t mean that! You can’t mean that.” She swallowed down the hurt and disappointment. “I love you.”

“Well, don’t,” he said sharply, as if her confession had angered him. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a loser. I’m not going anyplace but down.”

“That’s not true!” But Anson wasn’t listening.

“I don’t want to drag you down, too,” he said.

“Don’t say that,” she argued hotly, furious that he’d say it about himself. “You’re
not
a loser. You’re not.” She suspected he was just repeating what his mother had told him all his life.

“Your dad’s a good guy,” he said. “Thank him for me, all right?” He started to turn away.

“Don’t go.” She leaned out of the window and grabbed for him. She would’ve fallen onto the ground if Anson hadn’t caught her. Once she was in his embrace, practically dangling from the window, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. At first he resisted and attempted to shove her away. But soon he was returning her kisses. Then, apparently reaching some decision, he tore his mouth from hers and pulled back.

“Please,” she begged. “Come in so we can talk about this properly. Don’t walk away from me—not like this.”

Reluctantly he nodded. While he climbed in through the bedroom window, Allison found her thick fleece housecoat and put it on. Shivering, still shaking with cold, she tied the sash around her waist.

Anson sat on the end of her bed, his head lowered. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

“You love me,” she whispered, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Don’t deny it, because I know it’s true.”

He closed his eyes, a tortured expression on his face. “I shouldn’t have come,” he muttered. She suspected he said it more for his own benefit than hers.

She placed her hands over his. “I’m so grateful you did. You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.” She got to her feet. “If you go, then I’m going with you.” There was no alternative, she decided, no other choice. “Wherever you go, that’s where I want to be.”

“No.” The word was chilling in its intensity.

“Anson, you’ve
got
to listen to me. This is all because of what happened at The Lighthouse, isn’t it?”

He refused to answer, refused to look at her.

“My dad believes you. I believe you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He seemed to think about it, then shook his head. “Don’t
you see? This is how it is—everything I touch turns to dust. I thought it’d be different with you, but it’s not. I’m getting out of here before I screw up your life, too.” He scrambled to his feet and started for the window.

“But you don’t know where you’re going,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Then she remembered something else. “You
can’t
leave,” she told him. “You’ll be breaking the terms of your plea bargain. You have to stay in school, remember?”

“I was supposed to have a job, too.”

“Yes, but—”

Anson shook his head again. “It’s too late to worry about that. If they find me now, I’ll probably get jail time. I’m out of here.”

A dozen questions rose at his response. She didn’t ask a single one because she was afraid of the answers. “What will you do for money?”

He turned back and gave a harsh laugh.

“Anson?” She’d never heard him sound like that before, and it frightened her. Her stomach knotted as she realized there was a reason Anson had chosen to leave Cedar Cove tonight.
“What have you done?”
she whispered.

“It’s better if you don’t know.” His eyes softened as he looked at her one last time. “Goodbye,” he whispered, stretching out his hand to touch her face.

“No!” She hurried to the window, but he was too fast. He moved with an agility that belied his size. “How will I know where to reach you?” she called out as he walked across the grass.

Anson didn’t answer. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets, his shoulders bent. She stayed where she was until she lost sight of him, and in her heart she knew she’d never see him again. Eventually the tears came, flooding her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She closed the window and crawled back into bed.

Allison didn’t fall asleep for hours. Her pillow was damp with tears when she woke Saturday morning, again to the sound of knocking—but this time it was someone pounding at her bedroom door.

“Allison,” her mother said, opening the door. “It’s after ten.”

She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She often slept in on the weekends.

“There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”

Her first thought was that it might be Anson, but she realized that it wouldn’t be.

“Who?”

“It’s Sheriff Davis.” Her mother’s expression was serious, and Allison’s stomach immediately tensed.

“Why does he want to see me?” Even though she asked, she knew the answer. This had to do with Anson.

“Your father’s talking to the sheriff now. I suggest you get dressed right away and join us.”

Allison nodded and although she appeared outwardly calm, her heart clamored hard. This was what she’d feared most—that Anson would get into trouble again.

By the time she’d put on jeans and a sweatshirt and brushed her hair, Allison was shaking. Whatever Anson had done, if he was caught, it would mean the fire in the park would now be part of his permanent record. It also meant her father would never allow her to see him again.

The sheriff set down his coffee mug when Allison entered the kitchen. He sat at the table with both her parents.

“This is our daughter, Allison,” her father said, motioning that she should sit down. “Allison,” he said, looking straight at her. “Sheriff Davis has some questions for you. It’s important that you answer him honestly and directly. Do you understand?”

She lowered her head and whispered, “I will.”

“Hello, Allison,” Sheriff Davis said pleasantly. “I hear you’re friends with Anson Butler.”

She nodded.

“I’m wondering when you last saw him,” the sheriff said next.

The minute Anson left, she knew he’d done something he shouldn’t have. He’d as much as said so. His chilling laugh echoed in her mind.

Her father leaned toward her. “Please tell Sheriff Davis the truth.”

“Last night,” she whispered, knowing her parents would be outraged that she’d let him into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

“When?”

“About two this morning.”

“You snuck out of the house?” This outburst was from her mother, who was clearly upset.

Allison shook her head. “No. Anson came to me.”

“At the house?” her father clarified without apparent censure. But his eyes let her know he wasn’t pleased, although he kept his voice even.

Allison sighed. “He tapped on my window and woke me up. He—he came to say goodbye.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He said he didn’t know.”

“Do you have any idea where he is now?”

She shook her head a second time.

“You’re sure he ran away, though?” her father said, pressuring her for more information.

“He hasn’t been at home or at school. I asked around and no one’s seen him.”

“Where’s he been keeping himself?” This came from the sheriff.

“I don’t know.” Allison wished she did. All week she’d wondered and waited to hear from him. The thought of Anson living on the streets made her want to weep all over again. His mother wasn’t any help; she didn’t even seem to care.

“Do you know whether he had any money?” the sheriff asked.

She hesitated, but for only a second. “He didn’t say.”

Sheriff Davis exchanged a look with her father.

“What did he do?” Allison had to find out.

“At this point we don’t know that Anson did anything,” Sheriff Davis said, his words measured and flat. “He’s what we consider a person of interest.”

“Interest in what?”

Again her father and the sheriff exchanged that ambiguous glance.

“About one this morning, The Lighthouse restaurant burned to the ground.”

“Is it arson?” she cried.

“We don’t know for sure,” the sheriff said, “but the indication from the fire chief is that the fire appears to have been purposely set.”

Allison gasped. “Anson would never do that!”

“He burned down the shed in the park,” her father reminded her. He placed his hand on her shoulder as if to lend her strength.

“I don’t care,” she said, shrugging off his comfort and leaping to her feet. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Seth Gunderson laid him off.”

“Mr. Gunderson thought Anson had taken some money from his office, but he didn’t.”

“Anson was angry.”

“You would be, too,” Allison shouted, “if you were unjustly accused of—something.” Her voice broke. She couldn’t believe The Lighthouse was gone. It’d become a Cedar Cove landmark.

“As I mentioned, we’re not certain that the fire was arson,” Sheriff Davis said in an obvious attempt to calm her.

“But you’re already trying to frame Anson!”

“Allison.” Her mother spoke her name softly. “No one’s going to frame him for anything.”

“All I want to do right now is talk to Anson,” the sheriff assured her.

Allison didn’t believe him. She was convinced the sheriff and her parents considered him guilty. She recognized that he must have done
something,
but he hadn’t burned down The Lighthouse. Despite any evidence or suspicion to the contrary, she knew one thing: Anson was innocent.

Justine Gunderson stared at what had once been their restaurant, her arms tight around her son to ward off the cold wind gusting from the cove. Leif was peacefully asleep, thumb in his mouth. Seth stood a few feet apart from her, answering the fire chief’s questions. The stench of fire invaded her nostrils, clung to her clothes and hair. Smoke wafted up from the ashes of what had once been their dream—their restaurant, their investment and sole source of income. Even now, staring at the charred remains, it was hard to believe The Lighthouse was no more. All that survived of the structure was a blackened skeleton and a pile of rubble. With a jolt she recognized the twisted metal frame of a photograph—the picture Jon Bowman had given them when they opened the restaurant.

After a few minutes, Seth returned to her side and took Leif from her arms. Their son was still asleep so he’d be spared seeing this. Justine felt numb with shock. She couldn’t cry, could barely think.

“It was arson,” Seth whispered.

This was as unbelievable as the fire itself. “Who…who would do such a thing to us?”

Seth shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“How?”

“The fire chief says it was started near the kitchen. We were supposed to think it was a grease fire.”

This whole situation was becoming more unreal by the minute.

“Whoever did it was stupid,” he said grimly. “Or else they wanted to be caught.”

That, at least, was encouraging. Justine wanted whoever had done this to be caught, too. Wanted that person to face his—or her—day in court, to receive the maximum sentence.

“The fire chief asked if we had any disgruntled employees,” Seth murmured. He, too, seemed to be in shock.

“Do we?” Seth was the one who handled the hiring and firing, plus the scheduling of staff. Justine had enough to do working as a hostess and keeping their financial records straight.

“Anson Butler was pretty angry when I laid him off.” Seth’s voice was hoarse, and he hardly sounded like himself.

Justine remembered now that Seth had laid off two employees recently. “What about the other kid?”

“Tony Philpott,” Seth told her. “He seemed to take it in stride. I hear he’s already got another job.”

“Oh.”

“The police want to question Anson. He’s missing. They’re looking for him now.”

Justine leaned close to her husband. “I hope they find him.”

Seth nodded. He placed his free arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. “We’ll get through this.”

“Of course we will,” Justine said. She just didn’t know how.