Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-6). Debbie Macomber

      “I’ll bet you’re here for storytime,” Grace said.

      Jazmine nodded. “Are you reading today or is Mrs. Bailey?”

      “Mrs. Bailey.”

      “That’s all right, but…” Then, as if she didn’t want to hurt Loretta Bailey’s feelings, little Jazmine glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “You’re a better reader.”

      “Thank you,” Grace whispered back conspiratorially.

      Tuesday afternoons were often slow, and while Loretta entertained the children, Grace handled the front desk. She was busy doing some paperwork concerning interlibrary loans when the glass door slammed open and Maryellen rushed in.

      At the unexpected noise, Grace glanced up from the desk and discovered her daughter flushed and breathless.

      “What’s wrong?” The first thing that came to Grace’s mind was Kelly and the baby.

      Breathing hard, Maryellen staggered toward the desk. She placed her hand over her chest as though her heart needed to be held firmly in place.

      “Dad,” she managed, barely able to speak.

      “What?” Grace had already come out from behind the counter.

      “He’s here.”

      “Here?” This was unbelievable. “Where?”

      “The marina.”

      Grace was halfway out the door, with Maryellen stumbling behind her.

      “You saw him?”

      Maryellen shook her head. “John Malcom did.”

      Even as she raced out the library parking lot toward the waterfront, Grace was trying to remember who John Malcom was. Then she remembered. John and Dan had worked together years ago. John was another logger whose career had been wiped out in the controversy involving the spotted owl. Entire forests had been closed to cutting in an effort to save the endangered species, destroying the livelihood of certain communities in the shadow of the Olympic rainforest.

      “Where is he?” Grace cried.

      “Down by the foot ferry.”

      “Did he get on the ferry?” Panting, she could hardly get the question out.

      “No,” Maryellen shouted, gaining on Grace. As luck would have it, Grace had worn high heels that morning and they made running nearly impossible. Maryellen had on flats and was much faster, but Grace wasn’t any slouch. She took that aerobics class precisely to experience the benefits. Her adrenaline surging, she pounded down the sidewalk, putting everything she had into reaching Dan before he disappeared again. Suddenly she stumbled, then tripped over a water hose. She went down hard on the sidewalk, scraping her knees. Grace didn’t give herself the luxury of checking her injuries.

      “Mom!”

      “I’m all right. Go! Go!” Ignoring the pain, she picked herself up, paused only long enough to remove her shoes and then started running again, limping as she went. By the time she reached the foot ferry, Grace felt as though her legs were about to collapse.

      John was there, pacing back and forth. He came toward them as soon as he heard Maryellen’s shout. “He’s gone.”

      “Gone?” Maryellen cried. “You said you’d stop him.”

      “I tried.” John’s sober gaze refused to meet Grace’s. “I’m sorry, really sorry. He was here, and I kept an eye on him like you asked me to. About five minutes ago, a pickup drove to the curb and he climbed in and there was no way I could stop him.”

      Grace fell onto a park bench, her knees throbbing and her legs trembling.

      “Start at the beginning,” she pleaded, barely able to talk. The frustration and anger were almost more than she could stand. Dan was that close, taunting her, daring her to find him, mortifying her in front of the entire town.

      “You’re sure it was my dad?” Maryellen asked.

      John nodded. “I’m positive. I worked with him for years. I know what Dan Sherman looks like, all right.”

      “How’d you get involved in this?” Grace asked her daughter.

      “I just happened to take a late lunch today. I closed the gallery and decided to walk down to Java and Juice for a latte,” Maryellen said.

      “I heard about Dan turning up missing and all,” John went on. “There’s been a lot of talk down at the Pelican’s Nest about what might’ve happened to him.”

      The local watering hole was one of the most popular drinking spots in town. “Have you been drinking, John?”

      “No, Grace! I swear it was Dan.”

      “He didn’t know what to do,” Maryellen interjected, “and he was halfway to the library to get you.”

      “I thought you’d want to know,” John said, looking miserable. He shoved his hands in his coverall pockets and stared at the pavement.

      “That was when he saw me,” Maryellen explained.

      “Your daughter said she’d get you and sent me back to keep an eye on Dan.”

      “Mom, your knee!”

      Blood trickled down Grace’s leg; the nylons were already soaked.

      “Are you all right?” John asked.

      “I’m fine. Tell me about the pickup.” Grace wanted as much information about Dan as she could get. She’d take care of her knees later.

      John hung his head. “I should’ve gotten the license plate number, but it happened so fast I didn’t think to look.”

      “Did you see who the driver was?” Maryellen asked.

      “Sorry, no.”

      Maryellen sat down next to Grace, both hands over her face, and hunched forward.

      Grace placed a comforting arm on Maryellen’s back. Caught up in her own misery, she’d failed to see how upset her oldest daughter was by Dan’s disappearance. Kelly had been much more forthcoming about her emotions, and Grace had assumed Maryellen was taking the situation in stride. As far as anyone could…

      “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about all this,” John Malcom said again.

      “You didn’t see who was driving?” Grace asked one final time.

      John shook his head. “It wasn’t anyone I recognized. Not from around here, leastways.”

      “Male or female?”

      John hesitated and looked away. “Female.”

      Grace bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. John wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

      Fourteen

      Cecilia would forever be grateful that she hadn’t given in to the impulse to drop out of her community college classes. The day of her wedding anniversary, she’d been feeling depressed and regretful. She thought now that her desire to quit was a way of punishing herself—by taking away the very thing in life that brought her joy. She couldn’t understand why she’d wanted to do such a thing. Thankfully, Mr. Cavanaugh had been kind enough to reason with her. He hadn’t tried to pressure her or talk her out of it, but he’d been sensible and matter-of-fact.

      She loved her classes, especially advanced algebra. On a Sunday afternoon when she was free to go anywhere and do anything she wanted, Cecilia chose to work on problems in her textbook. Problems that hadn’t even been assigned. That said a lot. Recently one of the other students had flippantly called Cecilia the teacher’s pet. She didn’t believe it since Mr. Cavanaugh wasn’t the sort of teacher who played favorites. But afterward Cecilia had smiled all day.