92 Pacific Boulevard. Debbie Macomber
been less than a month.”
“I thought she wanted us to marry,” Bruce argued.
“She did. Only she’s afraid of what it’s going to do to her relationship with you.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Bruce muttered. He broke away long enough to jerk on his pants.
“But, Bruce, it has. Don’t you see?”
“Frankly, no.” Every movement conveyed his frustration and anger. “We’re married, and I want to make love to my wife. It isn’t right for us to be sneaking around because we’re afraid Jolene might know what we’re doing. She should know. That’s what married couples do.”
“Listen, Bruce, I’m as frustrated as you are, but we need to be sensitive to Jolene’s feelings. We should never have rushed into this.”
Bruce whirled around, his face contorted. “So now you regret marrying me?”
“No!” she insisted. “I love you and Jolene more than I could ever express. What I wish is that we’d given Jolene time to get used to the fact that I was going to be moving into the house.” Rachel didn’t want her husband to think for even an instant that she didn’t want to be married. “For seven years it was just the two of you and I was conveniently tucked away for whenever Jolene wanted to visit or chat. Now I’m here 24/7, and she feels threatened.”
Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. “This is torture.”
Rachel sat next to him and leaned her shoulder against his. “It is for me, too. But remember, there’s always tonight.”
“What I want,” Bruce said, “is to be able to make love and not worry about the bed creaking.”
It wasn’t funny but Rachel couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll find a way.”
“I just hope it’s soon.” Bruce left the bedroom, and a few minutes later Rachel heard the front door close. He must have gone back to the shop.
Wondering how best to approach her stepdaughter, Rachel changed out of the negligee and into her clothes. She gently tapped on Jolene’s bedroom door.
“Jolene?”
No response.
“Let’s talk about this.”
“Go away.”
“I thought you had basketball tryouts after school,” she said.
“That’s on Monday.”
“The notice said it was today.”
“Well, it isn’t. Tryouts got canceled because the coach is sick.”
“Oh.”
“Go away.”
“Not until we talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
Rachel stood by her stepdaughter’s bedroom door for a long time and tried to cajole Jolene into coming out so they could discuss this.
After a while Jolene stopped answering her.
Rachel turned the handle, figuring that if Jolene wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to Jolene. Only the bedroom door was locked.
Eight
Troy was still in the parking lot outside city hall when Mayor Benson came charging toward him. He’d just returned from a speaking engagement at the local Rotary, but other than that, it hadn’t been a good day. Two of his deputies had phoned in sick. The flu bug had hit his department hard, and he was stretched to the limit. His conversation with the Seattle reporter, Kathleen Sadler, hadn’t improved his mood, either. The woman was demanding responses to questions he simply couldn’t answer. Judging by the angry look on the mayor’s face, Troy’s day was about to get even worse.
“What can I do for you, Louie?” Troy said.
“I just got off the phone with Kathleen Sadler.”
Troy wanted to close his eyes and groan. When he hadn’t supplied the information she was after, the reporter had obviously called Louie. No wonder the mayor was in such a state.
“Kathleen Sadler,” Mayor Benson repeated. “I thought you were going to take care of it. I already told you how important it is that we keep this story out of the public eye.”
“I did speak to her,” Troy said. “She refused to accept what I told her. She kept saying there has to be more to the story.”
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Louie clenched and unclenched his fists.
“If you wanted to avoid her, you should’ve forwarded the call to me.” Troy didn’t understand why Louie felt obligated to talk to the woman, especially since she seemed to be making a pest of herself. If there was a story behind those remains, the facts would come out eventually. But at this point, there was nothing either of them could tell her.
“I did suggest she contact you,” Louie said, “only it turns out you were at the Rotary meeting and, fool that I am, I took the call.”
In Troy’s opinion, that was the mayor’s problem. “I’ll talk to her again, if you want.”
“I do. Apparently she’s coming to Cedar Cove on Wednesday and wants to interview the teenagers who discovered the body.”
“That is not going to happen.” Troy would do everything within his power to make sure of it. Philip Wilson, better known as Shaw, was of legal age but his name hadn’t been released to the press. Tanni Bliss, the other teenager, was still in high school. He’d contact their parents and give them a heads-up about this reporter. Both kids had been pretty shaken, as Troy recalled—Tanni more so than Philip.
“Good,” Louie said and gave a satisfied nod of his head. “You deal with this.”
“I will.”
“Do it fast. I gather she’s bringing a photographer to take a picture of the cave. She’s writing a feature story on this, and with our tourism initiatives, the timing couldn’t be worse. You’ve got to convince her there’s nothing to report.”
Troy shrugged. “Why do you suppose she’s so interested?”
“How would I know?” Louie flared. “Like I said earlier, this is bad timing. Jack’s doing a feature on tourism for the Chronicle that we hope will get picked up across the state, and this woman’s article is bound to overshadow his. Cedar Cove could do without the negative press.” He shook his head. “That’s not the half of it, either. The council just put together a request for state funds to enhance tourism in our area.” He looked up at the heavens. “Why is all of this happening now?”
Troy didn’t have an answer for him. “I’ll do my best to make it go away.”
Louie seemed slightly mollified. “I’d appreciate that.” He handed Troy a slip of paper. “In case you need it, here’s that reporter’s phone number. You try and reason with her.”
Troy sighed. The thing he’d noticed about reporters was that the more fuss he made, the keener their interest. Any bit of information he fed them was never enough; they demanded more. Then they’d dig around until they found what they wanted—or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Over the years, Troy had learned that the best policy was to say nothing, or at least nothing of substance. He was polite and cordial, but his lips were sealed.
After the mayor left, Troy hurried to his office. He’d just sat down at his desk when his cell phone chirped. He rarely received personal calls. A quick check told him it was his daughter.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
“Hi, Daddy. I wanted to tell you I saw Faith.”
Hearing