Why else would her husband, the minister, the pastor of their church, lie to his wife?
“Mom?” Matthew stood in the kitchen doorway. “Is everything okay?”
She forced a smile. “Of course. Why not?”
He frowned. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”
“I do?” She tried to relax. “How would you boys like to go out for dinner tonight?”
Mark joined his brother. “McDonald’s?”
“Sure.” She eyed the sauce cooling on the stove and the pile of grated mozzarella cheese.
“Mom?” Matthew asked when she started running water and turned on the garbage disposal. “What are you doing?”
“I…I ruined dinner,” she said as she dumped the entire pan of sauce down the disposal. It made a disgusting gurgling noise as it ground up the meat, onions, tomatoes and herbs that had been simmering for hours. She followed that with the mozzarella, then painstakingly fed in the wide noodles.
“Mom,” Mark said loudly. “I really like lasagna.”
“I’ll make it again soon,” she promised, but just then it gave her a perverse kind of pleasure to discard the whole meal. Despite the waste—and she knew she’d feel guilty later—she needed the angry satisfaction of doing this. “The three of us are going out to McDonald’s, remember?”
“What about Dad?” Matthew asked.
“He can fend for himself.”
“But…”
“He’s going to be late,” she informed her sons.
“Again?” both boys chimed.
“Get your coats.” Emily made an effort to sound excited. She grabbed a tissue to dab her eyes, which had begun to brim with tears.
This would never do. She squared her shoulders and determined then and there that she wasn’t going to cry. She would hold her head up and give the performance of her life. Her husband had lied. He might well be with another woman this very moment, but Emily would see to it that anyone looking at her, including her sons, would never guess. She refused to act devastated—or worse, humiliated.
“Hey, boys,” she said, collecting her coat and purse. “What would you think of me as a blonde?”
“You mean your hair?” Matthew asked.
“Yes, my hair. I’m going to have it dyed blond.”
“How come?” Mark studied her inquisitively.
“Because blondes have more fun.”
The boys turned to each other and Matthew shrugged.
“I’m going down to the mall to see if Get Nailed can squeeze me in.” On Thursdays the shop was open until eight. With luck one of the stylists had a cancellation.
“I’ll get you each a roll of quarters and you can play at the video arcade while I’m in the beauty salon.”
“Okay.” Neither boy seemed enthusiastic, however.
“Would you rather stay with Mrs. Johnson?” she asked. The woman served as their babysitter on the rare occasions Dave and Emily left their sons for a night out. It’d been weeks since they’d last had a “date.” No wonder, she thought bitterly. Dave was apparently dating someone else these days, while his wife sat home, cooking lasagna for him and ironing his shirts.
“I’d rather come with you,” Mark said.
Emily looked at her oldest son. “What about you?” she asked.
Matthew shrugged again. “Me, too, I guess.”
“You guess?” she said with a flippant air.
The boys silently followed her to the garage and slid into the backseat of the SUV. Christmas music was playing on the car radio but none of them sang along the way they usually did. The boys’ mood seemed to reflect hers, and their skepticism was all too apparent. Impulsive spending wasn’t normal behavior for Emily and they knew it. She wanted to reassure them but couldn’t. She felt as if her entire marriage had been a sham.
“We’ll check to see if I can get a hair appointment first,” she told them.
“Okay,” Mark murmured.
They stopped at Kitsap Bank for quarters, then drove to the mall. Everyone at Get Nailed was busy and Emily had to wait at the counter for several minutes before the receptionist reappeared.
“I was wondering…” Suddenly she wasn’t so certain anymore. Her anger, which had kept her determination alive, had begun to dissipate and she felt deflated.
“I realize it’s last-minute and everything, but is there anyone available to color my hair this afternoon?”
The young woman checked the appointment book. “Rachel had a cancellation earlier. I can ask her.”
“She did?” Emily took this as a sign. “Please check. It would be great if she could fit me in.”
The receptionist returned a moment later. “She said that would work.”
“Wonderful!”
Emily handed each of her sons a roll of quarters, with instructions to make the money last until her hair was done. They tore off for the video arcade across from the salon as the receptionist led her to Rachel’s station. Fortunately Emily could keep an eye on them from her chair.
“I’m Rachel,” a dark-haired woman introduced herself, draping a plastic cape around Emily’s shoulders.
“Emily Flemming,” she said. “We haven’t met before. Teri did my previous cut—” she frowned “—sometime this summer.”
Rachel ran her fingers through Emily’s hair. “So you want to be a blonde?”
“Yes. I hear they live life to the fullest and that’s exactly what I intend to do.” It was a flimsy reason, at best, and a silly one at worst, but at this point Emily didn’t care.
Soon she was at the shampoo bowl and her hair was lathered and rinsed twice. While the water sprayed her hair, Emily closed her eyes, trying not to think but unable to stop the thoughts from tramping through her brain, one after the other.
It didn’t hit her until the coloring process was underway that she’d forgotten a crucial part of the conversation with Judge Griffin.
Dave didn’t own a gold watch.
At least not one that she knew about. Since it was unlikely he’d purchased it for himself, that left only one other option. Someone else had given it to him.
A woman.
Fine, she decided furiously. She’d ask him about it. She was through letting her husband ruin their lives. Through with pretending nothing was wrong. Through with turning the other cheek. The pride, the pretense of indifference, was for public consumption. But Dave—she was going to confront him with the truth. Demand answers. Then she’d figure out what to do next.
When Rachel was finished, Emily barely recognized herself. Her straight dark hair was gone, replaced with a shorter, more stylish do. She was blond, all right. Very blond.
“This is a good color for you,” Rachel was saying. “I was a little concerned when you wanted to go this light, but I have to admit it looks really nice.”
“Thank you.” Emily swallowed hard. The style and color were certainly…different. Eventually she’d get accustomed to this new look and so would everyone else. And when it grew out, she could always revert to her natural color. Depending on how she felt at the time…
She paid the bill, wincing at the cost. Well, one extravagance wasn’t going to ruin them. Dave would just have to live with it. She suspected he didn’t have any qualms about spending money, even if it wasn’t on her or the boys. In fact, she planned to check his credit card statements at the first opportunity, an idea her mother had suggested and she’d initially rejected.
Matthew and Mark stood outside Get Nailed, waiting for her as she left the salon. Neither said a word.
“Well?” she asked them, patting the side of her head. “What do you think?”
“It’s, um, different,” Matthew ventured.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Emily turned to Mark for confirmation.
“You don’t look like my mom anymore,” her younger son declared.
“But I am your mom. Now let’s go have dinner. I bet you’re hungry.”
Matthew and Mark wolfed down their hamburgers and f
ries and then chased each other around the play area. Emily couldn’t eat. Her stomach was in knots. She’d ordered a burger but after a single bite set it aside.
When they returned to the house, she saw Dave’s car in the garage. She wasn’t ready to see him yet, but as soon as she’d pulled in beside his car, he opened the door from the kitchen and stepped out.
The boys leaped from the backseat and ran toward their father. Dave hugged each of his sons in turn.
“Where were you? You didn’t—” He stopped abruptly and a shocked look came over him. His head reared back as he stared at her. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”
“Mom colored it,” Mark said.
“But…why?” Dave asked.
“You don’t know?” She kept her voice casual as she entered the house. “You asked me where I was and the answer should be obvious. I was at the hairdresser’s.”
“Mom took us to McDonald’s for dinner.”
“Go to your rooms now, boys,” Dave said curtly. “It’s time for your homework.”
“Aw, Dad,” Mark whined as Matthew groaned. “But we just got home!” One look from Dave quelled their protest.
Sensing that it was probably best to do as they’d been told, Matthew and Mark moved sluggishly toward their bedrooms. Emily walked to the far side of the kitchen with Dave on her heels.
“Why did you change your hair?” he asked again.
“Why did you lie?” she fired back. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she glared at him.
“Lie? About what?” he asked with an innocence she found a little too practiced.
She whirled around. “You told me you were visiting Judge Griffin, and you implied it was this evening.”
“Yes…”
“You weren’t there.”
“How do you know?” He raised his voice in defiance.
“As it happens, Judge Griffin phoned the house. Apparently you left your gold watch there when you went to visit early this afternoon.”
His reaction was immediate. She saw the alarm flash in his eyes. She didn’t know why it surprised her.
“You have a gold watch? This is news to me. Exactly where did you get it?”
“Emily, it’s not the way it sounds.” He sat down at the table, rubbing his face.
“Are you going to tell me there’s no other woman in your life, Dave? Because if you do, that’ll just be another lie.”
The expression on his face was one of horror. “How can you even suggest such a thing? There’s never been anyone but you. Never!”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not as naive as you seem to think,” she muttered.
He sighed. “Believe what you want, Emily, but there’s no one else.”
“Oh, I suppose that same no one is responsible for the gold watch you had on?”
His hand went to his left wrist. “Does Olivia have it?”
The concern in his voice cut her to the quick. “She does, so don’t worry about it.”
With that, she walked out of the kitchen and into their bedroom, closing the door with a resounding bang—a clear signal to her husband not to follow.
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel Pendergast’s schedule at Get Nailed was booked for the entire month of December. It seemed that every woman in Cedar Cove—and some of the men—had decided to cut, restyle, perm or color their hair.
She got to work early each morning and often stayed late. Bruce, her fiancé, and his daughter, Jolene, both complained that they missed her, but for the time being that couldn’t be helped. The extra money she earned would go toward their February wedding.
The buzzer on the dryer went, and Rachel folded a load of towels. When she’d put away the last one, she saw that it was already nine-fifteen. The mall had closed at nine. Earlier Bruce had phoned to say he’d take her to dinner, and while she appreciated the thought, all Rachel wanted to do was put her feet up and relax.
“I’m finished here,” she told Jane on her way out the door. Jane usually stayed the longest, since she and her husband owned Get Nailed.
With the mall closed, the hallway leading to the exit was semidark and deserted. The dim light wouldn’t have bothered her as little as two months ago, but everything had changed the night she was kidnapped.
Being abducted by two thugs had been the most frightening experience of her life. The bizarre thing was that they’d gotten the wrong woman. The kidnappers assumed they had Teri Polgar because Rachel was in the limo driven by James Wilbur. Teri hadn’t been ready to leave and had offered Rachel a ride. When the kidnappers discovered that, the terror level had escalated by several incalculable degrees.
For a short while Rachel had been convinced they were going to kill her and James and dump their bodies somewhere. They spoke in a language she didn’t understand—Russian, she’d later learned—and frankly, she was grateful for her lack of comprehension. She was terrified enough.
Knowing she might be dead within a few hours, Rachel analyzed her life. Well, not analysis exactly; more like an instantaneous assessment. Oddly, she remembered thinking she hadn’t made her bed that morning because she was running late. The one time she’d left her bed unmade! After her body was found, or her disappearance noticed, all those deputies would traipse through her bedroom and figure she was a slob.
With that rather trivial concern established, her mind had immediately shifted from the mundane to the momentous. All at once it came to her that she might never see Bruce Peyton or his twelve-year-old daughter, Jolene, again. That was when she knew with complete certainty that she loved Bruce. At the time she’d been practically engaged to Nate Olsen, a navy chief. Only it wasn’t Nate who flashed into her mind. Suddenly it became crucial to stay alive. She needed to tell Bruce she loved him. She wanted to be Jolene’s stepmother and have other children with him and spend the rest of their lives together.
Once they’d admitted their love, everything had fallen swiftly into place. When they’d discussed a wedding date, Jolene, with a young girl’s sense of the romantic, had chosen Valentine’s Day.
Rachel wasn’t sure she could get everything organized by then and favored a spring wedding, but Bruce insisted they should be married and living as husband and wife before the end of the year.
So Jolene was campaigning for February, Bruce said December and Rachel wanted April. In a spirit of compromise Rachel and Bruce agreed on Valentine’s Day. Jolene felt vindicated.
Lately, however, two and a half months seemed too far away. Rachel was ready to be Bruce’s wife and Jolene’s full-time mother. Now.
A shadow moved and Rachel automatically tensed. She quickly realized the movement came from a security guard rounding the corner. Exhaling sharply, she walked toward the exit at a faster pace.
Bruce stood waiting for her at the outside entrance, pacing back and forth. When he saw her approach, he smiled—a slow, easy smile that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes and heightened the appeal of his all-American good looks.
“You’re later than you said you’d be,” he told her when she stepped into the cold night air, the mall door swinging shut behind her. The lights in the parking lot shone with a steady, reassuring glow. “I was getting worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Rachel hated the thought of him waiting in the cold. She’d told him she could make her own way home, but Bruce came for her as often as he could, intent on making sure she got to her car safely. The kidnapping had frightened him as much as it had her.
She’d suggested he come inside the mall to wait, but he declined, preferring to sit in his car and listen to the radio until Rachel finished work.
Rachel cupped her warm hands over his cold ears and reached up to kiss him.
“Mmm,” he whispered. He brought her close and clung to her for a moment before reluctantly letting her go.
“I missed you,” Rachel said.
“I missed you, too,” he murmured, taking her hand. �
��How much longer are you going to be working these late nights?”
Rachel knew he’d rather she spent the evenings with him and Jolene, but this time of year was just too hectic.
“After Christmas everything slows down,” she said. She assured him of this at least once a day.
Bruce tucked her arm in his and they walked to her car. It was silly for him to come at all, and yet she appreciated his vigilance. Eventually he would believe she was safe. Eventually she’d feel safe again, too. The trauma of the kidnapping would stay with them both, but the possibility of anything like that happening again was remote at best.
“Christmas.” Bruce gave a disgruntled sigh.
“Don’t bah-humbug me, Bruce Peyton. I love Christmas and Jolene does, too.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand why women are so crazy about holidays. Especially Christmas.”
“It isn’t necessary that you understand.”
He laughed. “You’ve had quite an influence on my daughter. She said almost the identical thing to me.”
Jolene and Rachel had shared a special relationship for years. Because she’d grown up without a mother, too, Rachel recognized the girl’s need for a close connection with an adult friend who could occasionally act as a maternal figure. She’d willingly stepped into that role when Jolene was in first grade, six years ago.
Rachel slipped her arm around Bruce’s waist and leaned against him.
“Have you had anything to eat since lunch?” he asked.
At his question Rachel realized how hungry she was and her stomach growled in response. “No, I didn’t.”
“The Taco House is in business now,” he said. The restaurant, formerly The Taco Shack, had reopened earlier that week, and long lines had been reported. Rachel was eager to try it, but not late on a Friday night when she’d been on her feet most of the day.
“No, thanks. I’m too tired. Maybe next week?” She’d read in the Chronicle that the new restaurant was owned by the same couple who’d run The Taco Shack, which had been one of their favorite places to eat. When it closed, Rachel had been extremely disappointed. It had seemed to echo the end of her relationship with Bruce, too.
“What do you want to do about dinner?”
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