311 Pelican Court

Olivia’s shoulders sank. “Now you know why I’m upset.”

“You aren’t going to dinner with Stan, are you?” Grace asked, just to be sure.

“Not hardly,” Olivia muttered.

“I’m free Friday night. Want to go to the movies?”

Olivia laughed. “You’re on, my friend. Who needs men, anyway?”

Maybe, Grace decided, she’d find a way to get Jack Griffin to the theater on Friday evening. Apparently there were times when romance could use a helping hand.

Rosie finished writing out the words her second-graders had to copy. She set the worn chalk down on the blackboard ledge and brushed the dust from her hands.

The bell rang, indicating class was dismissed for the day. “Don’t forget to remind your parents that Open House is tonight,” she told the students. Open House introduced the teacher to the parents, and it usually occurred in the third week of September.

The children leapt up from their desks, grabbed their bags and backpacks, then dashed out. All except Jolene Peyton. The little girl with the long dark pigtails wore a forlorn look as she walked, head bowed, to the front of the room.

“Can I help you, Jolene?” Rosie asked gently.

The little girl kept her eyes lowered. “Only my daddy can come tonight.”

“That’s wonderful. I look forward to meeting him.”

Jolene slowly raised her head until her eyes met Rosie’s. “My mommy died in a car accident.”

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.” Rosie’s heart went out to the motherless little girl.

“Every week Daddy and I put flowers by the road where she died.”

Rosie knew that, too. The flowers and balloons often caught her eye at the busy intersection.

“Well, I’m glad your father’s coming to the Open House,” Rosie said.

Jolene nodded. “He said it was one of those things Mommy would do if she was still here.”

Rosie tucked her arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulder. It was apparent even now, almost two years after the accident, that Jolene missed her mother.

“I told my daddy that I need a mommy, and he said he’d think about it.” She sighed deeply. “He says that a lot.”

So did she, Rosie thought with a grin. “I’ll think about it” was in every mother’s repertoire.

That evening as the classroom started to fill with parents, Rosie made it a point to seek out Jolene’s father. The little girl led him into the classroom, then rushed to bring him juice and cookies from the table set up at the front.

While he waited for his daughter, Bruce Peyton stood in the background, not mingling with the other parents. He was nice-looking, but he had a somber air about him, a remoteness, which was perfectly understandable. School events such as this evening’s must be a painful reminder that he was alone. He was of average height and on the thin side. His clothes hung loose on him. Rosie could only assume this was due to a recent weight loss. His eyes were an intense blue, compelling her to steal glances in his direction.

It’d been many years—decades—since Rosie had really looked at another man. Her flirting skills had rusted from lack of use, although she was confident Janice Lamond could teach her a thing or two.

When Rosie was free she made her way toward Bruce. She smiled and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Rosie Cox, Jolene’s teacher. I just want to say I’m very sorry about your wife.”

“Thank you.” The widower’s smile was fleeting and he clasped her hand for only a few seconds. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Mrs. Cox is a good teacher, but she’s not my real teacher,” Jolene told him earnestly.

“I’m taking over until Mrs. Gough recovers from surgery,” Rosie explained. “This is my first time back in the classroom after, uh, several years. I was recently—divorced.” The word nearly choked her. To Rosie’s horror, tears filled her eyes and she had to turn away before she embarrassed them both.

Through sheer force of will, Rosie managed to hold on to her composure. While she talked to several other parents, Bruce lingered; Jolene showed him her desk and led him to the play area at the back of the room.

By eight o’clock, just a few parents and children remained. Rosie carried the empty punch bowl and cookie plate to the cafeteria kitchen, and when she returned, Bruce and Jolene were the only two left.

“If Jolene needs extra help with her reading or spelling, please let me know,” he said.

“I’ll be happy to,” Rosie assured him. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too.” He reached for his little girl’s hand, then hesitated. His gaze briefly sought hers. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”

Rosie looked down and nodded. “I…am, too.”

He left after that, and not a moment too soon. Once again Rosie found herself blinking back tears.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. To all outward appearances, Zach was having the time of his life. When Allison and Eddie were with him they cooked together; the three of them got along famously. It didn’t work that way on the nights Rosie spent with her children. Allison and Eddie bickered incessantly and her teenage daughter challenged Rosie’s authority at every turn. She’d clearly taken Zach’s side in the divorce.

Feet dragging, Rosie entered the small apartment she shared with Zach. He was with the children this evening, and she doubted Eddie had made a fuss at bedtime. Those bouts of temper were reserved for the nights Rosie spent with the children. Allison had probably volunteered to wash the dinner dishes. Rosie had given up asking her daughter to perform even the most routine household tasks. It just wasn’t worth the argument.

Oh, yes, she was a real catch, Rosie thought wryly. She was a recent divorcée with two rebellious children. It wouldn’t be long before dozens of eager men lined up at the door, all eager to date her.

Yeah, sure!

Seven

As a Seattle police detective, Roy McAfee had always had a hard time letting go of a case, no matter how cold. That hadn’t changed, although he was now retired and living in Cedar Cove, where he’d become a private investigator. His dogged determination served him well in his new job. He liked his work, liked the diversity of cases that came across his desk. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. Roy had discovered through his years of police work that if he was patient enough and lucky, he eventually discovered what he needed to know. However, things didn’t always turn out exactly the way he expected.

The disappearance of Dan Sherman was a prime example of that.

Grace had come to him shortly after her husband had disappeared. She was a strong woman. In his experience as a private detective, Roy had been hired by several women looking for answers regarding their husbands’ activities or whereabouts. Twice he’d been asked to track down errant spouses. In one case, he’d started the investigation on a missing husband and had only gotten a week into the search when his client told him to quit looking. She’d claimed that in retrospect she was better off without the bastard. She didn’t want to know where the hell he was. If he’d taken off with another woman, as she suspected, then the other woman was welcome to him.

From the little bit he’d learned about the missing husband, Roy figured his client had made a good choice.

It surprised him that Grace Sherman had contacted him again. Dan had been found, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, and laid to rest. Roy assumed the case was closed. She had the answers she needed, but not necessarily the ones she wanted.

He heard the outside door open and glanced at the small clock on the corner of his desk. Twenty-five after twelve. A minute later Corrie, his wife and business manager, stepped into his office.

“Grace Sherman is here for her twelve-thirty appointment.”

She ushered Grace into the room. Corrie’s eyes met his, and she shrugged as though to say she was as much in the dark about this meeting as he was.

“Have a seat,” Roy said, gesturing to the upholstered chair across from his desk.

“Would you care for a cup of coffee?” Corrie asked.