Cedar Cove Collection

“Really?” Charlotte hoped it wasn’t serious. If so, she supposed Janet Lester would have called her.

“You might want to check on him yourself.”

“I intend to do that this very afternoon,” Charlotte said, a bit annoyed that Laura had been the one to tell her about her friend. Really, though, Charlotte had no one to blame but herself. It was just that she’d been so busy lately.

She stayed for an hour, visiting and knitting, then packed up her needles and headed for the convalescent center. Not bothering to stop at Janet’s office, she went straight to Tom’s room.

She’d learned from Janet that Tom had originally chosen Cedar Cove. He’d never indicated why. The storage unit remained a mystery. He hadn’t explained that, and when she’d attempted to ask him about it, he’d pretended to fall asleep.

She’d brought her latest column to read aloud, plus a slice of the pecan pie she’d saved just for him. This would, she hoped, suffice as an apology for her lack of attention these last two weeks.

To her surprise, Charlotte found Tom’s room empty. There’d been talk about getting him into physical therapy and she suspected that was where he’d been taken.

Anxious about Tom’s condition, she hurried toward Janet’s office. Charlotte knocked politely at the half-open door.

“Charlotte.” Janet immediately stood, averting her gaze. “I should’ve phoned you earlier.”

“You certainly should have.” It was an embarrassment to find out from one of her friends that Tom wasn’t doing well.

“I do apologize.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“We believe it was another stroke.”

Charlotte gasped. Poor, poor Tom. Another stroke would certainly compound his health problems.

“How bad was it?”

“Bad?” Janet asked, sitting back down. “You don’t know,” she said slowly.

Charlotte shook her head, but she was beginning to get the feeling that this was worse than she’d imagined. Pulling out a chair, she sat down, too.

“Tom died late last night.”

“Died?” It shouldn’t come as a shock, considering his age and his poor health. Nevertheless, Charlotte felt she’d lost a good friend. “I…didn’t realize. I didn’t…” At this stage of her life, death was a common occurrence. She’d buried her husband years earlier, and every day, it seemed, there was an obituary for someone she knew. Still, the death of this man hit her hard.

“Are you all right?” Janet asked.

“Of course,” Charlotte insisted, but she wasn’t. Her hands trembled and she felt chilled.

“I know he appreciated your friendship.”

Charlotte nodded, scrabbling inside her purse for a handkerchief to dab her eyes.

“Your visits meant the world to him.”

“It’s been two weeks—I should’ve been here.”

“Charlotte, you couldn’t possibly have known,” Janet said gently.

Charlotte knew that was true, but she couldn’t squelch the feeling that she’d let Tom Harding down. Before her work with the newspaper, she’d stopped by at least once a week. Tom had been the first person to hear her initial column. She’d read it to him herself and he’d smiled and approved of her efforts. Jack Griffin, on the other hand, had taken his sharp red pencil to her work and cut away at it until she’d barely recognized it as her own. Granted, she knew she wasn’t an experienced writer, certainly not a professional, but it had wounded her pride. When she’d complained to Tom, he’d given her a sympathetic look, which was just what she’d needed.

That was the last time she’d seen him.

Janet reached for her phone and called down to the kitchen for tea. Five minutes later, one of the staff carried a tray into the office.

“He was a special man,” Charlotte said, grateful for the hot, comforting tea. It helped ease the lump in her throat.

“Yes, he was,” Janet agreed.

“What should I do now?” Charlotte asked.

Janet stared at her blankly.

“With the key? Remember he gave me the key to that storage unit?”

Janet frowned. “I guess the state will want it. You’d better return it as soon as you can.”

Nine

Jack Griffin was strongly attracted to Olivia Lockhart, and that wasn’t a good sign. Oh, hell, maybe it was. Still, pursuing this attraction meant losing emotional independence, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He couldn’t help it, though—he found himself making excuses to talk to her. To learn more about her.

After the fiasco of their first date, he hadn’t made a point of asking her out again. Mostly, he was afraid she’d turn him down flat and, frankly, he wouldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to give her any opportunity to reject him. Instead, he made excuses to be around her.

Jack Griffin spent many more hours at the courthouse than his job required. Plus, he made sure he was in the Safeway store every Saturday morning on the off-chance that he might run into her again. He had two or three times, and they’d ended up having coffee. Damn, but he liked her. Judge Lockhart was down-to-earth, smart and sexy. What got him, what really got him, was that she didn’t seem to know it.

Friday afternoon, on his way home, Jack stopped at the dry cleaner. He rushed from the parking lot through the pulsing rain, cursing the foul weather under his breath. The skies had been a depressing lead-gray all week, with intermittent showers. The only bright spot on the horizon—so to speak—was a story he was writing about the Annual Seagull Calling Contest, being held that night.

He raced into the dry cleaner and nearly collided with Olivia. The shock of seeing her destroyed any chance of being clever. Her name was all he could manage. “Olivia.”

Her smile was infectious. “Don’t look so surprised. I do get my clothes cleaned regularly, you know.” Her purse sat open on the counter.

“Me, too.” Now that was brilliant. He nearly rolled his eyes. With other women he was a witty conversationalist, but Olivia unnerved him.

Duck-Hwan Hyo, who’d come from Korea in the 1960s, owned the dry cleaning shop. Jack had written an article about Duck-Hwan soon after he’d started as editor, impressed by the hardworking immigrant family. As soon as Duck-Hwan saw Jack, he rushed to give him the fastest possible service, in the process ignoring Olivia.

Jack felt he should explain.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’m in no hurry.”

Friday night and in no hurry. Jack reached for his wallet and paid his bill, the whole time wondering if Olivia’s response was her way of telling him she didn’t have any plans for the evening. It almost seemed she was hinting that he should ask her out. Could that really be the case?

With the hanger for his dry cleaning hooked around his index finger, he waited for Olivia.

“You mean you’re not going to the high-school theater?” Jack had figured that a good portion of the town would be turning up for the event.

“The Seagull Calling Contest is tonight?”