311 Pelican Court. Debbie Macomber

drinker, but Bob was…well, you know about his problems with the bottle as well as anyone.”

      Jack nodded. “Friends can do that,” he said, thinking more about himself and Olivia than Dan Sherman and Bob. “Drift apart, I mean.” Only his relationship with Olivia hadn’t exactly drifted, it had been abruptly cut off. His gut twisted, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think he had the beginnings of an ulcer. When he reached for his iced tea, he noticed Peggy studying him.

      “You’ve lost weight.”

      “Have I?” If so, he was grateful. He had a bit of a paunch that had come with middle age and a demanding desk job. There wasn’t much time for exercise, and meals often consisted of what he could get from a vending machine.

      “I suspect it has something to do with Olivia. You’re obviously miserable.”

      Now, that was below the belt. Jack nearly groaned aloud. “Unfair,” he muttered. “And Olivia’s off-limits.”

      “Okay,” Peggy murmured, apparently content to abide by his wishes. “But I do have one thing to tell you and then I’ll shut up.”

      “One thing?” he repeated. “Just one?”

      “Yes,” Peggy said, “and I think you’ll find this interesting. I had to go down to the courthouse the other day and everyone in the whole building was buzzing about another of Olivia’s decisions.” She paused, as if waiting for him to bite.

      Funny Jack hadn’t already heard about it. Curiosity got the best of him and he swallowed the bait. “What did she do this time?” he asked.

      Peggy explained the controversial joint custody decision Olivia had made. “I wish more judges would take the children’s needs into consideration,” she said.

      This willingness to employ common sense in her courtroom was what had first attracted Jack to Olivia. He’d been surprised—and impressed—when a year earlier, she’d basically denied a young couple a divorce.

      Everyone in the courtroom could tell that Ian and Cecilia Randall were still in love. They’d lost an infant daughter, and the death of their baby had ripped them apart. Olivia had not only recognized their emotional confusion and their need for each other, she’d boldly acted upon it. The last Jack had heard, Ian and Cecilia were together again.

      Peggy was staring at him.

      “I haven’t seen Olivia in weeks.” Jack helped himself to a cookie. Six weeks to be precise, not that he was counting. All right, all right, he knew down to the day and the hour, which he wasn’t admitting to anyone.

      “Jack, that’s terrible!”

      No kidding. Well, he didn’t much like it, either, but he’d backed himself into a corner. It was an impossible situation, and his ego demanded he stay exactly where he was.

      “You miss her, don’t you?”

      He started to say that after a while it wasn’t so bad, then stopped abruptly. Hell, who did he think he was fooling? It was worse than ever, especially in the past few weeks. “She seems to be doing okay. I hear Stan Lockhart is hanging around a lot these days.”

      “Is Olivia dating her ex-husband?”

      “Not according to Charlotte.” Jack nearly bit his tongue in his eagerness to close his mouth. He hadn’t meant to let Peggy know he’d been commiserating with Olivia’s mother. Charlotte was his biggest supporter. She’d told him that she’d nagged Olivia to mend fences with Jack; unfortunately, Olivia didn’t seem inclined to admit the error of her ways.

      Jack set the cookie aside, his appetite gone. “Apparently Olivia’s got some bug up her butt about how I should be making a play for her.”

      “A play?”

      “You know,” he said, growing impatient. “She wants me to—in her words—show some gumption and fight for her.”

      Peggy frowned. “She wants you to fight?”

      “Well, maybe not a knock-down, drag-out fistfight but… hell, I don’t know what she wants.” He assumed she was expecting him to come on bended knee and beg her forgiveness. He had too much pride for that. If she was interested in him, the same way he was interested in her, then that high-school, high-drama stuff shouldn’t be necessary. For a woman who supposedly knew so much about human nature, Olivia had fallen decidedly short on figuring this out.

      “You might send her flowers,” Peggy suggested.

      Jack had already thought of that. “I don’t have a reason.”

      “Reason? What do you mean, reason?” Peggy repeated.

      “You know…her birthday, Christmas, whatever.”

      “Jack, Jack, Jack,” Peggy said slowly. “You have a reason. You want her back, don’t you? This nonsense has gone on long enough. That’s all she wants to hear. She’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

      Yeah, well, Jack was waiting, too.

      “You’re at a standoff,” Peggy said. “If you don’t do something fast, you’ll lose her. If she intended to get together with her ex, don’t you think she’d be with him by now? Good grief.” She shook her head. “Stan must be overjoyed by all this.”

      Jack scowled ferociously. He’d thought plenty about that slimy bastard who’d once been married to Olivia, and heaven knew Jack didn’t want to do Stanley Lockhart any favors. “I suppose you think I should pour my heart out on one of those dinky cards, too.”

      “No,” Peggy said. “That wouldn’t be like you.”

      Thankfully she knew him well enough to recognize that. “What should I say, then?”

      “Why say anything? Just write your name.”

      “That’s it?”

      Peggy nodded. “All Olivia needs is some indication that you care.”

      It was that easy? Nah—couldn’t be.

      “Are you going to do it?” she pressed.

      “Maybe.” It sounded like good advice, and at this point, he was willing to try just about anything—especially if he could hold on to his pride at the same time.

      Peggy shoved the cookie plate in his direction and Jack took the last one. “I hope you do it,” she told him.

      Peggy had certainly given him something to think about, but now he was anxious to turn the subject away from Olivia. “I happened to run into Roy McAfee the other day,” Jack said. The retired Seattle police detective had put out his shingle as a private investigator shortly after he’d moved to Cedar Cove. Jack knew that Roy had talked to Bob and Peggy extensively about the John Doe who’d checked into their B and B—and never checked out. The medical examiner still hadn’t determined the cause of death.

      “Is Roy still working on our big mystery?” Peggy asked, her eyes troubled.

      “He didn’t mention anything, but I doubt it.”

      Peggy became quiet and thoughtful. “I wish he would,” she finally said.

      “Investigate your John Doe?” Jack prodded.

      “It’s almost as if…as if he landed here from another planet.”

      “You think Roy might be able to find out something the police can’t?” he asked.

      “I…I don’t know.” She shifted in her seat and suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “It’s just that…” Again she hesitated.

      “What?”

      “It’s Bob. That night, he casually said there was something familiar about our guest. But with the way he arrived, so late and without a reservation, Bob couldn’t put his finger on it. I think there might be more to this than