92 Pacific Boulevard (3 page)

He touched the brim of his hat and, with a nod in Scott’s direction, turned and walked out the door.

O
livia Griffin spooned up the last of her soup and set the empty bowl in the kitchen sink. The homemade tomato basil was one of her favorites and her mother made sure she had an abundant supply every week. Jack would be pleased that she’d finished her lunch. She’d received her first chemotherapy treatment the previous week and it had gone better than she’d expected.

But then her expectations hadn’t been optimistic. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before, Olivia had been afraid her life was almost over. To say the news had shocked her was putting it mildly. She’d always eaten properly, exercised regularly and taken all the recommended vitamins.

The important lesson she’d learned about cancer was that the disease wasn’t fair; for that matter,
life
wasn’t fair. And at her age, that was something she certainly should’ve known. Did know. Losing one of her children at thirteen, the failure of her first marriage…But somehow, she’d foolishly come to believe she could control her body, her health, if she did the right things. That loss of control was difficult to accept, yet she had no choice.
She was a woman who rigorously managed her environment—no clutter in
her
house. She realized she’d become more that way after Jordan’s death.

She’d taken a leave from her position as a family court judge and was gearing up, both emotionally and physically, for the treatments scheduled during the next three months. She knew some people worked through their chemo, but everyone had urged her not to. “Give yourself a break,” Jack said, and so she had.

The sound of a car door closing alerted Olivia to the fact that she had company. Glancing out the large kitchen window, she noticed that her visitor was none other than her mother. No surprise there.

Olivia frowned slightly when she saw that Charlotte was alone. Since her mother had married Ben several years ago, they were practically always together. They’d returned from a Caribbean cruise on Christmas Day and her mother had been a daily visitor ever since.

Knowing Charlotte preferred to park at the side of the house and use the back entrance, Olivia opened the door off the kitchen.

Her mother smiled as she entered the house. “I hoped I’d catch you before you had a nap,” she said. She placed the basket on the table and quickly divested herself of purse and coat, hanging them on the hook by the door. Charlotte rarely stopped by without bringing some kind of treat, generally something homemade.

“Mom,” Olivia joked, “I outgrew naps when I was four, remember?”

“I know, dear,” Charlotte said, without taking offense, “but you need your rest, especially now.”

“I slept in this morning.” Olivia’s normal routine had her out of bed at six and in the courthouse by eight-thirty.
The sheer luxury of not setting the alarm each night could become habit-forming, she thought.

“Slept in until what time?” Charlotte asked as she folded back the basket’s red-checkered cloth and brought out a tin of cookies and an orange Bundt cake that just happened to be one of Jack’s favorites.

“Nearly eight.”

Her mother looked over her shoulder and pretended to gasp. “My, that’s
so
late.”

Olivia laughed. “Well, for me it is—and it was divine.”

“Jack got ready for work on his own and didn’t wake you?”

As a matter of fact, her husband
had
awakened her, but in the most romantic way. Jack had brought her a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Then he’d kissed her—repeatedly—before he’d left for the newspaper office. The memory of his kisses stirring her from a deep sleep filled her with a warm glow of happiness.

“Would you like some tea, Mom?” Olivia asked. Usually she had coffee only in the morning and tea after that.

“I’ll make it,” Charlotte said.

“I’m not an invalid,” Olivia protested, although she knew it was pointless to argue. Without waiting for a reply, she pulled out a chair and sat down, watching as her mother bustled about the kitchen.

Olivia tended to let Jack and her mother pamper her these days. There was so little either of them could do for her, and these small indulgences—coffee in bed, some home-baked goodies—made them feel better, too.

“Where’s Ben?” she asked as her mother put water on to boil and added tea bags to the pot.

“Home, in his lazy chair,” Charlotte said. “He’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Did you make him some of your chicken noodle soup?” This was her mother’s surefire remedy for just about anything that ailed the people she loved.

Charlotte nodded. “It’s simmering in the Crock-Pot at this very moment.” She took two teacups and saucers from the cupboard as she spoke. “Ben’s tired out from the cruise, and then, well, this whole business with David and the baby has really upset him.”

On Christmas Eve, a young pregnant woman by the name of Mary Jo Wyse had arrived in Cedar Cove looking for David Rhodes, Ben’s youngest son. David was the father of her child, and he’d told the naive young woman a pack of lies. Aside from the more serious lies—like telling her he loved her and wanted the baby—he’d led Mary Jo to believe he’d be spending the holidays with Charlotte and Ben. David knew very well that his father and stepmother would be on a cruise; he’d obviously assumed that Mary Jo wouldn’t try to find him.

What he hadn’t expected was that she’d actually come to town, let alone that she’d go into labor and give birth to her daughter here, in Cedar Cove. It turned out to be a miraculous night, one Olivia and her best friend, Grace Harding, would long remember.

“Has Ben been in touch with David?” Olivia asked. The last she’d heard, no one had reached David to tell him Mary Jo had given birth to a daughter.

Charlotte nodded just as the kettle started to whistle. She lifted it off the burner and filled the teapot, which she covered with a cozy and carried to the kitchen table. Next, she brought over the cups and saucers. All her movements were economical and precise, Olivia thought, testament to all those years of working in the kitchen, bringing comfort to others.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t a pleasant conversation,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “Ben is dreadfully disappointed in his son.”

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time. Far from it…

“David tried to deny that he even knew Mary Jo.”

The weasel. The jerk! Attempting to squirm his way out of responsibility was typical, of course. Olivia’s first exposure to David had been when he’d attempted to swindle Charlotte out of several thousand dollars. Thankfully, Justine, Olivia’s daughter, had managed to thwart him.

Charlotte released another deep sigh. “I’m afraid Ben and David argued. Ben didn’t say much afterward and I didn’t pressure him, but you can imagine how he feels.”

“He got a beautiful granddaughter out of this mess, though,” Olivia reminded her mother.

“Oh, yes, and he’s thrilled about Noelle. I know he’s already had his will revised.”

“Have you heard from Mary Jo?” Olivia asked.

“We’ve talked to her a couple of times this week. She sounds well, and the baby’s thriving.”

“That’s good news.”

“And her brothers are crazy about little Noelle.”

The memory of Christmas Eve produced a smile as Olivia recalled the three Wyse brothers rushing to Grace and Cliff’s ranch in an effort to find their little sister. They’d fumbled and bumbled their way across the Puget Sound area and eventually arrived, just in time to see their newborn niece. Mary Jo had been staying in the apartment above Cliff’s barn at the ranch, where she’d gone into labor.

“When we spoke yesterday, Mary Jo said Mack McAfee had stopped by to see the baby,” Charlotte told her.

“He went over to Seattle, then?” The young firefighter
had been with Mary Jo during much of her labor and had delivered the baby. It was his first birth. Olivia could clearly recall how excited he’d been. Mack’s face had shone with such joy, you’d almost think
he’d
been the child’s father.

“Yes, and Mary Jo said he brought Noelle another stuffed animal.” Charlotte removed the cozy and picked up the pot, pouring them each a cup of steaming green tea. Shaking her head in amusement, she looked up at Olivia. “Between Mack and Mary Jo’s brothers, that baby has enough toys to last her whole childhood.”

“That’s so nice,” Olivia said, reaching for her cup.

“Did you hear about Faith Beckwith?” Charlotte opened the tin and offered Olivia an oatmeal-raisin cookie.

“That she moved back to town, you mean?” This was old news as far as Olivia was concerned. She bit into her cookie, which as always was just right.

“No.” Charlotte took a sip of tea. “That her home was vandalized.”

“No!” Olivia was horrified. “Oh, dear, does Grace know?”

The rental belonged to her best friend, who’d agonized over whether to sell the house or keep it. Her first tenants, a young navy couple, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had barely settled in when Ian was transferred to another duty station. The next tenants had gotten months behind in their rent and seemed determined to work the system and live there rent-free as long as possible. Apparently the couple and the hangers-on who lived with them knew exactly what they were doing.

The experience had been terrible for poor Grace. Fortunately, the renters had moved of their own accord—with a little help from Jack and Grace’s husband,
Cliff, who’d come up with a rather inventive means of persuading the gang of deadbeats to vacate the house quickly.

“Oh, dear,” Charlotte murmured as she set aside her cup. “I forgot. Grace asked me not to tell you.”

“Why ever not?”

“She didn’t want you to worry.”

The one thing Olivia wished was that her family and friends would stop treating her as if she’d faint at the smallest hint of bad news.

“I’ll talk to Grace later, but first tell me about Faith.”

Her mother held her teacup in both hands. “Oh, she’s fine. The minute I heard about the break-in, I went over to help her clean up. So did Grace and Cliff, of course, and Corrie and Peggy and a bunch of others. The place was a mess.” Charlotte grimaced. “An
awful
mess.”

“How’s Faith handling all this?”

Her mother leaned against the back of her chair. “You know Faith. She’s a strong woman, but this break and enter rattled her. Thank goodness the vandal was gone by the time she got home.”

Olivia could easily guess how unsettling this must have been for Faith. “Was anything taken?” she asked.

“When I saw her, she wasn’t sure, and we were all so busy cleaning up the house it was hard to tell. I don’t think she’ll know until she has a chance to go through everything.”

“Who else came to help?” This was something Olivia loved about Cedar Cove. Neighbors were more than neighbors—they were friends who willingly pitched in when needed.

“Well, naturally, her son and his wife.”

“Of course.”

“Megan Bloomquist was there, too.”

“Troy’s daughter?”

“Yes. Faith and Megan have struck up quite a friendship.”

This was surprising. “What about the sheriff and Faith?”

Charlotte set her teacup in its saucer, her frown thoughtful. “That, unfortunately, is a delicate situation. I hear they’ve decided not to see each other anymore.”

“Really?” Olivia was sorry about that. She remembered that the two of them had dated in high school. Recently there’d been rumors that they’d reconnected, which seemed like such a satisfying idea. It saddened her to think that everything wasn’t going to fall neatly into place. But, as she very well knew, not every romance had a happy ending.

Both were silent for several seconds. “The locksmith showed up while I was there,” Charlotte said. “Troy suggested a dead-bolt system for the house, and Grace got it installed immediately.”

“Good.”

“Front and back doors, and the garage, as well.” Her mother grinned. “Lloyd said he’d defy anyone to get into that house again.”

Lloyd Copeland was the town’s locksmith and had twenty years’ experience. If he said the house was secure, then it was secure. The only way in would be through a window, but Olivia recalled that Grace had installed extrastrong glass in the downstairs panes.

“I’m glad,” Olivia said. “Faith needs the peace of mind.”

“Amen to that.” Charlotte finished her tea and stood to bring her cup to the sink. “Anything more I can do for you, Olivia?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Thanks for asking.”

“Has your brother been by lately?” Charlotte asked as she headed toward the door.

“Will phoned this morning.”

The immediate frown told Olivia that her mother wasn’t pleased. She expected Will to visit at least three times a week, to commiserate and hold her hand.

“Mom,” she protested. “Will’s busy. He’s working on getting the art gallery up and running, plus remodeling the living space.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Olivia didn’t bother to argue.

“You’ve seen him since Christmas though, right?”

“Of course.” Actually, Will had come over on Christmas Day, looking a bit depressed. He’d gone to Shirley Bliss’s home and—to his astonishment—she hadn’t been there. Her brother had a massive ego and assumed that the world revolved around his schedule. It had never occurred to him that Shirley, one of his artists and a widowed mother of two, would be anywhere but at home, waiting,
longing,
for a visit from him. Olivia hoped her brother had learned from this.

“Don’t forget I brought you my orange Bundt cake.”

“I couldn’t possibly forget.” Although Jack would appreciate eating it more than Olivia. “You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?”

Her mother didn’t deny it. “I’ll cook you a batch of my special lasagna next.”

“Mom,” Olivia said laughingly, “I won’t fit into any of my clothes if this continues.” Although she was far from having to worry about that. Her suits hung on her because she’d lost weight before Christmas, fighting off a serious infection. However, Olivia wanted her mother
to know that while she valued everything Charlotte did for her, she was well on the road to recovery.

“Let me spoil you a bit longer,” her mother said. “Please, honey?”

Olivia gave in with a smile. “All right, Mom.”