Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber
of death?”
“According to Joe, it looks like he died in his sleep shortly after he arrived at the Beldons’ place.”
Roy had to admit to being more than curious now; this case was downright fascinating. “I don’t think you made this appointment just to discuss ideas with me. How can I help you?”
Troy Davis removed the toothpick and discarded it in the garbage can next to Roy’s desk. “I can’t classify this as homicide, but nothing’s adding up here. He carried fake ID, but then a lot of people do.” He sighed loudly. “I don’t have the manpower to invest in this case. I was hoping to hire you as an independent contractor to help us identify our John Doe. And if you happen to come across any other information, so much the better. We’d be grateful to find out anything we could.”
“What else can you tell me?” Roy asked. He’d already made his decision—this was the kind of assignment he savored—but thought he should know exactly what he was up against before he said yes.
“Just that our John Doe was meticulous in everything he did. His stuff was neatly packed inside his bag. It looked like something out of a military school. His clothes are the highest quality, top-of-the-line. Expensive. His raincoat was some Italian brand I can’t even pronounce. Cost more than I make in a month.”
“What kind of car did he rent?”
“Funny thing—you’d expect a Lexus or something, considering the expensive clothes, but it was a Ford Taurus. Interesting, eh? You’d assume he could afford to rent whatever he wanted, but he chose about as inconspicuous a vehicle as you can get.”
That brought up another question. “What kind of cash did he have on him?” Roy asked.
“Just a couple hundred dollars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Okay,” Roy said firmly. “Count me in.”
“Great.” Troy stood and offered Roy his hand. “If you’ll stop at the office, I’ll give you copies of our files, and you can go from there.”
Roy could hardly wait. As Troy left, Corrie hurried into the room, her eyes questioning. “He has a case for you?”
“Not just any case,” Roy said. He stood at the window, watching the sheriff step out of the building and head toward the parked patrol car. This John Doe was as intriguing as any case he’d ever handled.
Olivia had bran muffins baking in the oven—her mother’s recipe—and was singing along with a tape of the Broadway musical The King and I while she washed dishes. The doorbell rang, and she shook soapsuds off her hands as she went to answer it. She didn’t bother to turn down the volume.
Still humming, she opened the door to find Jack Griffin on the other side. He was hours early.
“Hello, young lovers, wherever you are,” she sang, pulling the door wider and motioning him in.
“Lovers? Did I hear someone mention the word lovers?” He wagged his eyebrows playfully and stepped into the house. The music swirled around them and taking Olivia by the waist he bent her dramatically over his arm, then brought her upright.
“Oh, my,” she said, playing along. “You do make my heart beat fast.”
Taking her by the shoulders, Jack faced her and his smile slowly faded. “I want you to go back to the word lovers.”
“It’s young lovers.”
“No,” he said, taking her fully into his arms now. “Forget young. The word is simply lovers, as in you and me.”
His eyes grew darker and more intense. Olivia realized this wasn’t a joke anymore but a question that Jack—her fun-loving, anything-for-a-laugh companion— was presenting to her. “I…” All of a sudden life seemed very complicated. Jack had phoned earlier in the day and suggested they get together; he wanted to talk. He’d sounded lighthearted for the first time in months. Olivia guessed that it had something to do with Eric. A few weeks ago, Jack had mentioned that his son had requested a job transfer and would be moving out shortly. He said he’d miss the boy, but he’d sounded pleased about Eric’s resolve and renewed energy—and no less pleased about having his house to himself again.
Before she was forced to reply, the timer on her oven rang, offering Olivia the perfect excuse to escape Jack and his question.
“The muffins,” she said, and hurried into the kitchen. She grabbed two crocheted potholders and pulled out the tin. She set the muffins on the counter to cool.
When she turned around, Jack stood in the entryway. His eyes met hers. “Eric’s moving out this weekend.”
“I thought that must be it.”
“I didn’t mean to start off with that question about us, but you presented the perfect opening when you waltzed up to the door singing about lovers.”
She’d been caught up in the song and hadn’t meant to suggest they fall into bed together.
“Olivia, listen,” Jack said, slowly advancing toward her. “I adore you.”
She felt the same way about him, but she also felt afraid. She hadn’t been with a man since her divorce, sixteen years before, and she trembled at the thought of sexual intimacy. Her hesitation frightened her, too; if she wasn’t ready after all these years, then she might never be. And yet she wanted passion and that kind of closeness.
Feeling as though it was now or never, she threw open her arms. “Kiss me, you fool,” she intoned dramatically. All at once, her life had become the lyrics to a Broadway musical—and she loved it.
Jack reached for her and their lips met in a wild and thoroughly passionate kiss. Her legs were shaky and her head was swimming. It’d been a long time since they’d kissed with such abandon, almost as if they both understood that true intimacy was irrevocable. Making love meant everything between them would change….
Jack shuddered as he wrapped her completely in his arms. The music had ended, so when his cell phone rang, it startled them both. He ignored it. Instead, he kissed her again, with the same frantic need as earlier. “Come to my house,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I changed the sheets this morning.”
“Jack!” This was supposed to be seductive?
“I’ve dreamed about us there, overlooking the Cove, making love.”
The phone rang five more times before it finally stopped.
The silence seemed louder than the ringing phone. Olivia took his face between her hands and gazed deeply into his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with Stan?” she asked, needing to know.
They’d argued over Stan, and in her opinion, Jack was being utterly unreasonable. He seemed to think Stan wanted her back—which would be news to Marge, who’d been married to him for more than fifteen years.
“No,” he said, kissing her. “It has to do with you and me. Leave Stan out of it.”
“Why now?”
“Why not now?” he countered.
She wasn’t sure how to reply. As she tried to think clearly, to emerge from the fog of kisses and music, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell—again.
When she hurried to open the door she found Jack’s son, looking flustered, still leaning on the doorbell. “Dad?” he shouted urgently.
“Eric, what is it?” Jack asked, appearing behind Olivia.
“Shelly. She’s in labor. She doesn’t have anyone.”
“She phoned you?”
“No, a friend did. Her water broke last night and she’s about to deliver. Could be anytime now. Her friend couldn’t stay.” He paused. “I should be there, don’t