“I heard Daisy barking and followed her,” Luke explained. “She led me right to him.”
“Lucky break,” Sanborn said, glancing up at him.
“Yes, it was. Lucky for Digger, I’d say.” He stared back at the police chief, who was the first to look away.
Just then Emily appeared, with Officer Tucker Tulley following closely behind her.
Emily came forward and stopped in her tracks, staring down at Digger.
“Thank God,” she said quietly.
Luke couldn’t agree more.
LUKE AND EMILY RODE TOGETHER IN HIS 4RUNNER, FOLLOWING THE ambulance to the hospital in Southport. Neither spoke for a long time. Then Emily said, “You were right to keep looking, Luke. I’m sorry I didn’t trust your judgment.”
Luke shrugged. “I just had a feeling he was there. I can’t say why. I could have been wrong.”
“But you weren’t. Digger and Grace owe you a lot.”
“Me? No way,” he said. “It was a group effort. You ought to get some credit yourself for giving me that whistle. Besides, if anyone should be singled out as a hero, it’s got to be Daisy. Poor dog nearly barked her head off.”
“Yes, she did, poor thing.” Emily shook her head. “The town should give her a medal. I’m going to look into it.”
Then they both smiled. Luke felt exhausted and chilled to the bone. His clothes were caked with mud, and his feet, wet and numb. But the relief of finding Digger had made him almost light-headed.
He was sure everyone in the search party felt that way right now. But Emily’s words had made him feel good, too, as if he had distinguished himself tonight. As if people in Cape Light might look at him differently from now on.
In his own eyes, the feeling was something he could only call redemption. As if in some small way, he’d made up for the missteps of his past. Not that searching for Digger could ever compare with the night that had left his partner dead and branded him a coward and a failure. But he felt as if he’d been given another chance tonight, and he had finally done all right. He sent up a silent prayer, thanking the Lord for His help, for Digger’s life, for this feeling.
Suddenly, all he could think about was Sara. He yearned to see her and tell her about what had happened and what it all meant to him. She was the only one he really wanted to be with right now. He smiled to himself, staring out at the dark, empty highway. She’d be back in three days. That wasn’t long at all. It suddenly seemed like his reward.
EMILY ENTERED THE HOSPITAL’S EMERGENCY WING WITH LUKE AND SAW a cluster of familiar faces gathered around Grace Hegman. Grace was wiping her red-rimmed eyes with a tissue, as Harry Reilly stood to one side, patting her shoulder. Carolyn Lewis sat beside her. Grace looked upset, as one would expect, but relieved as well.
“How are you doing, Grace?” Emily asked her softly.
“Not too bad, all things considered.” Grace shook her head. “At least he wasn’t lost out there all night. Doctor said he wouldn’t have had much of a chance then at all.”
The mere thought of such an outcome brought a fresh wave of tears to Grace’s eyes. Emily’s heart went out to her. “So you’ve already spoken to the doctor?”
“Just for a minute. He won’t say anything yet. They need to work on him, give him tests. More waiting,” she added, forcing a thin smile. “I don’t know what I would have done tonight, waiting to hear word, if it wasn’t for Harry and the reverend and Mrs. Lewis. I would have lost my mind, I guess. And if he wasn’t found . . . or didn’t survive . . .”
Carolyn reached out and took Grace’s hand. “We got through it, Grace. That’s all that matters now,” she assured her. “Don’t let your mind dwell on what might have been.”
While Carolyn comforted Grace, Reverend Ben steered Emily aside for a more private conversation.
“At least Digger is conscious,” Emily said.
“Yes, they let Grace speak to him for a moment when they wheeled him in. He even answered questions. He said he was going to the beach to do some clamming and lost his way.” Reverend Ben shook his head. “Digger knows every inch of the woods like the back of his hand. How could he have lost his way?”
“He got confused, I guess.”
“Yes, disoriented. The doctors don’t think he’s had a heart attack, but they’re checking him thoroughly.”
“Of course.” Emily paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, Reverend, but coming here, seeing Grace so upset and waiting for word about Digger—it reminds me of the fire last summer.”
“Yes, me, too. I had the very same thought.”
When a fire broke out at the construction site at the Cranberry Cottages, Digger had sounded the alarm and had later been treated for smoke inhalation. Although it was known to very few, an investigation found the primary cause: the old seaman’s charred pipe under the rubble. Emily had persuaded the fire chief to report that the fire had been due to accidental causes, which was true, and no charges had been brought against Digger.
But the incident had been a warning of Digger’s decline and need to be closely watched. Grace had done her best, Emily was sure. But clearly, her best efforts had not been good enough to protect her father.
“He’s survived. That’s the most important thing,” Reverend Ben told Emily.
“Of course. But I’m worried, Reverend. Something like this could happen again. Then what?”
The reverend removed his glasses, rubbing them clean with his handkerchief. “First we need to hear what the doctors say. Then what Grace says, of course,” he added, glancing across the room. “There are a lot of people in this town who care about Digger. I’m hoping that if people who care about him put their heads and hearts together, they can help the Hegmans work this out—find some way for Digger to retain his autonomy.”
Emily didn’t know what to say. While she agreed with Reverend Ben, she wasn’t sure such an ideal outcome was possible. She only hoped that Grace realized how far things had gone and the dire consequences if action were not taken.
She turned to see Luke talking to a few men from the rescue team, her brother-in-law, Sam Morgan, among them. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help overhearing them. “Come on, Luke,” Sam said. “If you hadn’t gone up against Sanborn, Digger would still be out there.”
Luke started to speak, but Harry Reilly interrupted him, “Sanborn’s all right. He can get on his high horse, though. Good thing you listened to your gut. You even brought Daisy home. That was the icing on the cake for Grace.”
Luke tried to downplay his part again, but Sam, Harry, and Jack Anderson wouldn’t deny him the role of Digger’s main rescuer. Emily turned away. She had heard enough.
Perhaps people just needed someone to be the hero tonight, she thought. Everyone deserved credit for finding Digger. Even Chief Sanborn had used his best judgment at the time. The entire group had worked together in a cooperative spirit typical of this town. But Luke’s knowledge and solitary stand had made all the difference. After all the ill will this town had shown him, she was glad to see him being appreciated.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON MONDAY MORNING AT THE CLAM BOX DINER, THE SCENTS OF strong coffee, hotcakes, and bacon filled the air, along with bantering conversation about Digger Hegman’s rescue. So many of the diner’s customers had taken part in the search, almost everyone seemed to have some interesting tidbit to offer.
Officer Tucker Tulley sat at the counter in his usual seat, just behind the grill, carrying on his usual, fractured conversation with Charlie Bates, as the diner’s owner dished up breakfast orders at a fast, and often furious, pace.
“You should have seen the look on Sanborn’s face when McAllister shouted out that he had found Digger,” Tucker told Charlie. “When we first heard all that whistling, Sanborn thought for sure McAllister had gotten into some kind of trouble and needed help.”
“I would have thought the same,” Charlie said, as he flipped a row of pancakes. “Him finding Digger, why that was just dumb
luck.”
“Come on, Charlie. I know you don’t like the guy, but you have to give him some credit,” Tucker prodded his old friend.
“I do not. No one’s going to make me, either.” Charlie glanced at Tucker over his shoulder, sending a warning look. Why, he would have won the election and been mayor, if it hadn’t been for McAllister and that infernal center for juvenile misfits of his. Charlie knew he’d never forget that, no matter what McAllister did.
“Seems to me, not too long ago, a lot of folks around here were ready to run that guy out of town. Now, all of a sudden, he’s a big hero. It’s the dog that’s the hero if you ask me,” Charlie griped.
“That’s exactly what the chief says,” Tucker replied, appeasing his old friend. Lucy Bates breezed by with the coffeepot and automatically filled his cup again.
“Don’t even waste your breath arguing with him. He thinks he’s right about everything. You ought to know that by now,” Lucy said, though she was talking more to Charlie’s back than to Tucker.
Tucker glanced up at her. “I ought to, but then what would we talk about?” he asked innocently.
“See, Tucker knows I don’t mean anything by it. Arguing is just my way, Lucy,” Charlie told his wife. “You got an order ready here,” he added, pointing at a fried-egg sandwich that the assistant cook, Billy, had just set out.
“You’d better call the new girl. I’ve got to go,” Lucy replied, as she briskly untied her apron and stuffed it under the counter.
“Got to go? Are you crazy?” Charlie stared at her, waving the metal spatula as his voice rose anxiously. “It’s not even eight. We’ve still got the morning rush coming in. You can’t go anywhere now.”
“I told you last night, Charlie. I’ve got to get over to school this morning by eight-thirty. There’s a review session for my art history course, and I can’t miss it.”
Lucy pulled her purse and a canvas tote filled with books out from under the counter. She stood there, glaring back at him with that hard “I dare you” look that Charlie had seen a lot of recently—and had come to detest. When she got that look in her eyes, there was no stopping her. He’d learned that the hard way these last few months. Still, he couldn’t help trying to appeal to some rational part of her—if there was one left.
“Lucy, come on now. Give me a break. It’s Monday morning. We’ve got a million people in here, waiting for their breakfasts and about a million more coming in. Can’t you just skip your review meeting and help me out?” he pleaded. “You can get the notes from someone else tomorrow, can’t you?”
Lucy’s mouth closed in a tight line, and she tucked her book bag firmly under one arm. “No, I can’t do that today, Charlie. Sorry. I need to go. Billy can come out and help serve, if you get too jammed up.”
She walked toward him, trying to get out from behind the counter, but Charlie blocked her way. He knew some customers were starting to watch, but he didn’t care.
“I need you to stay here, Lucy. Stay and do your job,” he insisted angrily.
They stood nose to nose. He stared down at her, feeling so infuriated he thought he might explode. Her eyes narrowed, and she pushed at him with her shoulder. “Let me by, Charlie. I have to go. You’re making a scene here,” she warned him, in a low tone. “Just let me pass.”
“No, I won’t.” Charlie crossed his arms over his chest, his feet planted in place. He watched as Lucy’s fair skin flushed red, a sure sign that she was mad as anything at him. Still, he didn’t budge, just waiting to see what she would do. Give in, he hoped.
“Okay, have it your way, then,” she said finally. She backed away from him, her head sagging. She sighed as if she were giving up. Then suddenly she hoisted herself up on the counter, and clutching her purse and book bag, she swung her legs to the other side.
“Now, just a minute. You—you can’t do that!” Charlie sputtered, starting after her.
He tried to grab her arm, but Tucker stood up and touched Charlie’s shoulder, the gentle but firm pressure holding him back. “Let her go, Charlie,” his old friend said quietly. “I think something on the grill is burning. You’d better take a look.”
Charlie watched as Lucy slid down to the floor, ran to the door, and made her escape, coat in hand. He turned to Tucker, about to complain, then just shook his head. “Something’s burning all right,” he muttered. “It’s my marriage. It’s turning into burnt toast, right before my eyes, and there’s not a thing I can do.”
“Come on now, Charlie. It can’t be that bad,” Tucker said. “You and Lucy are just hitting a little . . . rough patch.”
Charlie stalked back to the grill and turned a row of bacon strips. “It’s worse than that, Tucker. Much worse. Lucy is just not the woman I married. I hardly know what to expect from her one minute to the next. You saw the way she bolted out of here just now. Did you ever see anything like that? The old Lucy would never have done anything like that,” he grumbled.
“Well, people change. That’s true,” Tucker agreed. “But it can’t be easy for her, going back to college and working here. And taking care of the kids, too,” he pointed out.
“I never said it was. My row isn’t so easy to hoe, either, you know. But it all seemed to be working fine until she decided to go back to school. That’s when the old Lucy disappeared and this new, crazy one took her place. She doesn’t listen to a word I say. She doesn’t do her job around here, our house is upside down and inside out, and half the time I don’t know where she is or who’s watching our kids. It’s just sheer insanity. And for what? So my wife can study art history? What does Lucy need to know about that for?”
“Because . . . she really wants to?” Tucker offered.
“For goodness’ sake, what difference does that make? I really want to be an astronaut and fly around in the space shuttle. You think I ought to run down to NASA and volunteer myself?” Charlie retorted.
“Not unless they have a little grill on those birds,” Tucker said, laughing.
“I’m serious, Tucker. Our agreement was to see how this college thing worked out, then decide if she ought to continue. Well, it’s a plain disaster as far as I can see. I thought Lucy would come to her senses and give it up. But you can see what I’m dealing with here. I try to reason with her, and she just makes a break for it. Jumps right over the counter like a horse jumping the stall.”
Tucker thoughtfully chewed the last bite of his doughnut, then swallowed. “You’ve got a problem here, Charlie, no doubt about that. Seems to me the two of you have come to what I’d call a crossroads. Now you got to figure out which way to go and who’s going where and with whom.”
Charlie stared at him. Then looked back at the grill and pushed the potatoes around.
“Well, that makes some sense, I guess,” he said finally. “Maybe you can do me a favor and stand out there in that crossroads and direct the traffic. That ought to give me some chance of winning.”
He heard Tucker chuckle softly, trying to brighten the mood. Charlie forced a tight smile while inside he felt his gut still churning, his heart heavy with doubt. He didn’t know what was happening between him and Lucy. And for the first time, he honestly felt afraid.
SARA FRANKLIN ARRIVED AT THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE AT A QUARTER TO nine on Monday morning, thinking she was so early she might need to wait at the door for someone to let her in.
But the door was open, and she could see through the storefront-style windows that the office—a large room with a row of computers on desks—was already stirring. A woman about her age sat at the desk nearest the door, talking on the phone while she scribbled notes on a pad. Her head bobbed as she spoke, her long dark curls bouncing in time to the conversation. She took Sara in with a sweeping glance but didn’t pause to greet her.
Sara kept walking and came to a middle-aged man with a bristly gray crew cut who sat at a desk a bit farther back, against the wall. He stared intently at his computer screen, typing with just his two index fingers in staccato bursts, and he didn’t
look up as she passed. A bumper sticker on the bulletin board next to his desk read, “The difference between the right word and the wrong one is like the difference between ‘lightning’ and ‘lightning bug.’ ” The quote made her smile, despite the nerves jumping around in her stomach.
“Good, you finally got here.”
She turned to see who had greeted her and realized it had to be Wyatt Forbes. He seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Then she noticed a corridor at the back of the newsroom, which seemed to lead to some other, smaller rooms.
They had spoken once by phone but had never met in person. He looked a lot like his father, she thought, the same blue eyes and even features. But unlike Dan’s fair hair that had gone mostly gray, Wyatt’s was dark brown with a slight wave. The front fell down across his eyes, and Sara noticed him sweep it back with his hand in an impatient gesture. He was tall like his father, too, and when he stood next to her, she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.
“Sara Franklin, right?” he asked, holding out his hand.
She smiled and shook hands with him. “You must be Wyatt.”
“That I am. Though on a morning like this one, I’d love to deny it.” He walked over to his desk, the last one at the back of the room, and Sara followed. “Here, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair next to his desk. He sat behind his desk and began sifting through the papers and folders piled up there without looking at her.
“I read your clips. They were okay,” he said.
“Thanks.” Just as sparing with praise as his father, too, she thought.
“I know when my dad hired you, he said you’d be part-time, doing rewrites, public notices, that sort of thing. But we’re low on staff. Just lost two reporters to our competition, the Chronicle. It’s part of Crown News. Ever read it?” he asked abruptly.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” she answered, wondering if she was giving the wrong answer. Already.
“Well, you need to now. Need to keep up with their stories, make sure we’re not missing anything. They keep picking off our best reporters,” he continued. “And we’re down on office help, too. We could use you here full-time, if you’re available.”
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