Mr. Cox was already in the office when Cecilia arrived. After a few minutes of their usual easy chat, she settled at her desk and immediately began her work. The nausea almost always abated by nine. The first hour of the morning was the worst and odd though it seemed, she felt sick some afternoons once she got home. The second bout was always less intense than the first.
At noon Mary Lou, the receptionist, came into her office.
"You have a visitor," she announced.
"I do?" This was unexpected. "Who is it?"
Mary Lou grinned. "Why don't you come and see?"
Cecilia walked to the front of the office and there stood Ian with a small bouquet of flowers. "Ian!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought we'd go to lunch, if that's okay?"
"Of course it's okay. Don't you have to work this afternoon?"
"I do, but I've got time to take my wife to lunch."
She was so pleased to see him, it didn't matter one little bit that she'd brought her lunch.
They got sandwiches and drinks at the Pot Belly Deli and walked to the WaterfrontPark, where they chose a relatively secluded picnic table.
"I have something for you," he said as she unpacked their lunch.
Ian reached inside his pocket and brought out a plain gold cross on a chain. "I want you to wear this, all right?" Cecilia was stunned. "Ian, it's beautiful. Thank you." He walked over to where she was sitting and placed it around her neck and secured the clasp.
"I haven't forgotten our anniversary or anything, have I?" she teased.
"Nope."
"Any special reason you're giving me a gift?" He shrugged and tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. He sat back on the picnic bench and unwrapped his veggie-and-cream-cheese croissant. "You're having my baby. Isn't that reason enough?"
Tears rose in Cecilia's eyes. Because of the pregnancy, all her hormones were out of control; the smallest thing set her off. Not that this was small. No, his gift, his acknowledgement of her pregnancy, was the most moving and important moment they'd shared in months. She waved her hand in front of her face, blinking rapidly.
"You're crying?" Ian sounded surprised. "I thought this would make you happy."
"I am happy."
"So why are you crying?"
Then she was laughing, almost hysterically—weeping and laughing at the same time. "Because I'm having a baby, silly."
"Oh." Ian took a bite of his sandwich.
"And I love my husband."
He grinned. "Who loves his wife and his baby."
Cecilia cried all the harder then.
"Honey, don't cry. Please."
"It's just that I was so afraid you didn't. Love us, I mean." She sobbed, hiccupped and curled her fingers around the small cross. "Everything's going to be just fine this time, Ian."
His smile slowly disappeared. "I'm trying to believe that."
"I know you are. I'll do everything I can—and I feel it will be fine, but there are no guarantees."
That was one thing Cecilia understood.
Thirty-Three
Bob Beldon glanced at the menu in the bowling alley's small restaurant, although it wasn't necessary. He knew what he wanted. Two eggs over easy, bacon, cooked crisp, and two pieces of sourdough toast with strawberry jam if they had it. For two-fifty it was the best buy in town.
The waitress strolled past and without asking, filled his coffee cup. "You waiting on someone, hon?"
Bob nodded. The instant he did, Roy McAfee stepped into the crowded restaurant.
"Right on time," Bob commented as Roy slid into the booth across from him.
"Have you ordered?"
"Not yet."
Pad in hand, the waitress returned, filled Roy's mug and stood waiting for their order. Bob went first. Roy asked for a short stack of pancakes. The woman sauntered off and barked the order to the cook.
"What's up?" Roy asked. Bob had called him last night to arrange this meeting.
"Peggy told me something interesting the other day. I've spoken to Troy Davis, but I wanted to get your opinion, too."
"Sure. What is it?"
"Seems Peggy and Hannah had a little heart-to-heart."
"Did you learn anything?"
"Yes." Bob added sugar and cream, then stirred his coffee. "Hannah let it slip that her father sometimes used false names. Peggy asked her about it, and I gather that through the years Max had amassed a whole slew of names and identifications."
Roy's eyebrows lifted. "It didn't occur to her to bring this up earlier?"
"Apparently not."
Bob reviewed what had led up to this confession. "She left the milk out all night and I got a little upset because it spoiled. After I went to play golf, Hannah came out of her bedroom and started talking to Peggy. From the way she described it, life with her father was no bed of roses, for her or her mother."
"She's never said anything negative about him before, has she?"
Bob needed to think about that. He shrugged. "Not that I can remember. It's like she's been living in a fantasy world. In the beginning she painted a picture of the three of them skipping through the years as happy as can be. Turns out life wasn't quite as blissful as she let us believe."
"Makes sense, I guess," Roy said, cupping his mug with both hands. "She lost both parents within a short period. In tragic circumstances people tend to recall the good times instead of the bad."
Bob supposed his friend was right. "Didn't Troy ask her if she knew anything about her dad using fictitious names?"
"I'm sure he did. Did she explain why she lied?"
"Peggy asked her the same thing. Hannah claimed she was afraid that if anyone found out, there'd be trouble and she couldn't deal with it. From what she said—and didn't say—trouble seemed to follow Max wherever he went."
Frowning, Roy sipped his coffee. "Did she happen to mention any of the names he used? Or where he got the various pieces of ID?"
"No, but if Peggy asks, Hannah will probably tell her." Bob didn't think Hannah trusted him enough to confide that information, but she had a close relationship with his wife.
"Have Peggy ask her and I'll find out what I can. It might give us a lead."
Bob nodded. He'd hoped Roy would volunteer to do exactly that.
"Did Hannah know anything about the fake ID her father carried when he died?"
"She says she didn't."
Roy studied him. "Do you believe her?"
Bob had considered that question carefully and the fact was, he couldn't be sure. He wasn't especially fond of the girl and couldn't account for it, even though he had no real reason to dislike her. Peggy had taken to her fast enough, and heaven knew the young woman needed his wife's affection. Hannah's nervousness and her jittery manner made him uncomfortable. If Bob raised his voice even slightly, she cowered as if she expected him to pounce. Of course, what she'd told Peggy explained a great deal.
"Anyone following you these days?" Roy asked just as the waitress delivered their breakfasts.
"Not that I can tell. Nothing since that night, anyway. I'm beginning to wonder if I imagined it. But I know I didn't. Maybe it's not even connected to Max. Maybe it was some random wacko."
Roy poured hot maple syrup over his pancakes. "You sound disappointed."
"I am. It's ridiculous to live the way Peggy and I are living. I want this resolved, one way or another. I'm also thinking it's time we started taking guests again. This whole mess has cost us thousands of dollars." He took a gulp of coffee. "If someone was really after me, wouldn't he have done something by now?"
Roy nodded. "I tend to agree with you. If someone was going to make a move, it probably would've happened already."
Bob grunted agreement through a mouthful of toast and jam.
"On second thought—"
"Come on, Roy," Bob protested, not giving the other man a chance to finish.
"You want my advice? Then I'll give it to you, and seeing that it's free, you should appreciate my generosity."
"All right, all right." He broke the egg yolk with a corner of his toast. "Share your wisdom."
Roy grinned. "Only accept reservations from people who've stayed at the B and B before. People you know."
"In other words, turn down strangers who arrive in the middle of a dark and stormy night."
His friend chuckled. "You got that figured out."
Bob finished his breakfast and reached for his recently refilled mug. "I have a theory I want to bounce off you."
Roy relaxed, leaning against the back of the booth. "Shoot."
"You know everything—what happened in Nam, right?"
Roy nodded, his expression serious.
"You remember that I didn't have an easy time after the war. I did everything I could to bury the memories. I sought oblivion. It was bad for everyone, especially Peggy and the kids." He paused. "Outwardly Dan Sherman seemed to adjust to civilian life. That's what I assumed, anyway. I didn't see him for decades. And even when I moved back to Cedar Cove, we tended to avoid each other. So I didn't know he struggled with demons, too."
Roy waited while Bob sorted through his thoughts. "From what Hannah told Peggy, Max didn't cope with life after the war any better than I did."
"He drank?"
"Some, I gather, but I don't think that was his only problem. He pretty much became an obsessive-compulsive, although that wasn't the term Hannah used."
"Remember how neatly everything was packed inside his suitcase?"
Bob nodded. They'd all been struck by it.
"What are you thinking?" Roy pressed.
"When I came back from Nam, I realized that someday, some way, I'd have to pay for what happened in that village. If I've learned anything about life these fifty-odd years, it's that there's a symmetry to things." He lowered his voice. "I...took lives, and now it seems someone wants to take mine."
With the words out in the open, Bob felt better. He'd been thinking about this ever since Max's death, but hadn't found the courage to verbalize it.
"Go on," Roy urged.
"I think Dan realized this, too. He preferred to take his own life, choose his own time."
"I __"
"Hear me out," Bob insisted. "I wonder if it's possible that a family member of one of our... victims has hunted the four of us down. He might have confronted Dan, forced him to take matters into his own hands. For that matter, what else would send Max rushing to Cedar Cove? I think whoever's responsible is looking for revenge."
Roy considered his theory. "I don't know. It could be, but I doubt it."
"Why? Plenty of Vietnamese have immigrated to the United States since the war."
"I think it's a bit far-fetched to believe one of them has a vendetta against four American soldiers after all these years. Why wait until now?"
Bob shrugged. "I don't know." Roy could be right; this scenario was probably a fantasy, something he'd invented in his own desperation.
But nothing else made sense, either.
Thirty-Four
Walking into the mall parking lot on Friday evening, Rachel hummed an old Eagles song, trying to get her mind off her pathetic love life. Her one date with bachelor Nate Olsen had been exactly that. One date. One expensive date. It depressed her that she hadn't heard from him in the two weeks since.
