by Irene Hannon
“No. That’s why I called. Her car’s not in front this morning. I was wondering if you or one of your officers could drive by and see if it’s at the motel.”
“Sure. But checkout isn’t until eleven. She might be sleeping in. Stand by.”
“Thanks.”
Ben slid the phone back in his pocket. If wishing could bring it about, this episode would end quietly—but he had a feeling Nicole’s absence today didn’t mean she’d called it quits.
Lexie confirmed his suspicion when she buzzed him back ten minutes later, while he was shaking some Cheerios into a bowl.
“She hasn’t checked out of the motel, nor given any indication she’s planning to. However, her car’s not there. Has she shown up at your place?”
He retraced his steps to the living room and surveyed the street again. “No.”
“She might have gone out to eat or do some shopping.”
A logical assumption—but nothing about Nicole was logical.
“That’s possible.”
Based on Lexie’s next comment, she shared his skepticism. “Given what you’ve told me about her, I’m not convinced, either. I’ll have the patrol officers keep an eye out for her.”
“I appreciate that. Sorry again to bother you so early.”
“No worries. Call anytime. Being police chief in a town this size is a 24/7 job.”
Ben wandered back to the kitchen and ate his cereal standing by the rear door. All quiet in the backyard too.
Considering his schedule for the next few hours, Nicole had picked an optimal window to disappear. Having her shadow him to his meeting at the orthopedic practice in Coos Bay would be more than a little disconcerting. Likewise if she followed him to his official interview this afternoon for the urgent care center position.
But unsettling as it would be to have her on his tail while he made his rounds, the question strobing across his brain like a red alert was just as unnerving.
If she hadn’t checked out of the motel . . . and she wasn’t watching him . . . where was she—and what was she doing?
Unbelievable.
Marci stared at the crowdfunding website tally for the lighthouse fund. Yes, she’d done a social media and PR blitz to announce the campaign—but could it actually have generated 20 percent of the funds needed to purchase the landmark in less than a day?
“I’m going to clock out, Marci, if that’s okay.”
She continued to ogle the screen as Rachel spoke. “Sure. Fine. Listen—take a look at this number and tell me I’m not seeing things.”
Her assistant circled the desk and leaned down to skim the screen.
Rachel’s jaw dropped.
“Wow! You only launched this eight hours ago.”
“I know. I can’t believe it. I mean, I was ready to move the minute Eric called to let me know all the foundation paperwork had been filed, but still . . .”
“You said all along people have a soft spot in their hearts for lighthouses. This proves it. Not to diminish the campaign you put together, of course. Your press materials and social media stuff were fantastic. They obviously piqued the public’s interest and drew attention to the crowdfunding effort.”
“I never expected such fast results, though. I’m stunned.” A wave of exhilaration swept over her—almost as heady as the one she’d experienced in the early hours of Monday morning, after Ben’s kiss.
Almost.
“Everyone will be thrilled when you tell them the news at the meeting tonight.” Rachel perused the screen again, as if she, too, needed to convince herself the number was real.
“I know. At this rate, we might get everything we need—and more—in the first few days. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Fantastic. Greg will be pumped.”
“Especially since he agreed to manage the site for the foundation.” It was mind-blowing how the campaign to save a lighthouse had saved so much more. “I can’t tell you how happy I am he took the job.”
“Not as happy as I am.” Rachel played with the hem of her knit top. “I want to thank you for offering him the opportunity—and for going out of your way to be kind to both of us. Also . . . once the lighthouse situation is settled, I’d like to cash in that rain check for a visit to the nursery down in Sixes and tea at the lavender farm. If you still want to go.”
“Absolutely. We’ll pick a date soon.”
“Well . . .” She took a step back. “I need to get going. Greg’s cooking dinner again tonight, and I don’t want to discourage his culinary efforts by being late.”
“He’s becoming quite the chef. What’s he making?”
“Stew.”
“Should be a tasty meal. I need to squeeze in dinner before tonight’s meeting too . . . if I can tear myself away from watching the crowdfunding results come in.”
Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth. “You know . . . Greg mentioned earlier that the recipe would leave us with leftovers for a week. Why don’t you join us?”
Well . . . how about that?
An invitation from the woman who’d seemed in such need of a friend.
Another prayer answered.
When she didn’t respond at once, Rachel spoke again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot—and to be honest, I can’t guarantee the results. But everything he’s concocted up to this point has been palatable.” A twinkle sparked in her irises. “I think he’s as surprised about that as I am.”
Much as she was tempted to accept, a fledgling cook might be upset about having an impromptu guest—and no way did she want to cause a setback in what appeared to be a robust reconciliation.
“I appreciate the offer—but Greg might not like having his talents on display at this early stage.”
“I’ll call him if you’d feel more comfortable, but I guarantee he won’t have a problem with it. And it would give you two a chance to talk about the lighthouse project before the meeting.”
“Why don’t you run it by him—but tell him it’s fine if this isn’t the best night.”
Rachel pulled out her phone and perched on the edge of the desk.
While her assistant relayed their discussion to her husband, Marci refocused on her computer screen. She didn’t try to listen as she jotted some notes for tonight’s meeting, but it was hard to tune out Rachel’s side of the conversation.
“Yes . . . That’s what I said . . . Oh . . . No, I doubt it—but I’ll ask. Hang on a sec. Marci?”
She turned. “Not the best night?”
“No. He said that based on a preliminary taste test, the stew is edible. But he wanted me to let you know he also invited Ben. Do you mind?”
Mind having dinner with Ben?
Was she kidding?
Of course, Ben might not be too thrilled about her visiting his neighborhood with Nicole lurking around—but when he’d called earlier, he’d said she hadn’t shown today. Meaning their dinner together shouldn’t be an issue.
“I don’t mind in the least.” Despite her attempt to contain it, a trace of excitement crept into her voice. Hopefully Rachel would attribute her enthusiasm to the lighthouse fund total.
“She’s in, Greg.”
“Tell him I’ll swing by Sweet Dreams and find something sinful for dessert. We deserve to splurge, with money already rolling in for the lighthouse foundation.”
“She’s bringing dessert to celebrate some exciting news.” Rachel smiled. “I’ll let her share it after she gets there. You’ll have to be patient.” As soft color rose on her cheeks, she angled slightly away and lowered her volume. “I know. Me too . . . Yes. I’m leaving now.” She ended the call and stood. “Greg told Ben six o’clock, but I think everyone’s flexible if that doesn’t work for you.”
“Six is fine.”
Rachel slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “If anything changes, let me know. Otherwise, we’ll see you soon.”
As the door shut behind her assistant, Marci swung back to the computer to marvel over
the donations again.
Another hundred dollars had come in over the past fifteen minutes.
Incredible.
Even more incredible?
She was having dinner with Ben.
Her mouth curved up.
This meal definitely deserved to be topped off with one of Sweet Dreams’s decadent double-chocolate flourless tortes.
There was a car parked on his street again—but it wasn’t Nicole’s.
It was Marci’s.
What was she doing here?
Frowning, Ben swung into the driveway, glanced at his watch, and blew out a breath.
If he’d known his meeting with the management of the urgent care center was going to last most of the afternoon, he’d never have accepted Greg’s invitation for dinner. After a full day of intense discussions, first in Coos Bay, then here, he was beat.
And now he had to worry about Marci.
He parked at the back of the house, let himself in, and strode to the window that offered a view of the front porch.
No sign of his favorite newswoman.
Might she be at Greg and Rachel’s house? A business visit, perhaps?
Didn’t matter.
If Nicole cruised by and happened to spot her—or her car—she’d assume Marci was here to see him.
And that would not be good.
After giving his hands a quick rinse and running a comb through his hair, he let himself out of the house and secured the front door. From behind the rose trellis, he checked both directions for any sign of Nicole’s car.
Clear.
He broke into a jog and covered the distance to his neighbors’ house in a few dozen steps.
Greg answered on the first ring and ushered him in. Women’s voices chatted and laughed somewhere in the background.
One of them was Marci’s.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got caught up in some meetings.” More laughter from the direction of the kitchen.
“No worries. The longer stew simmers, the better it tastes—according to the recipe. And Rachel and Marci need a few more minutes to finish the biscuits they’re making.”
“I saw Marci’s car out front. I didn’t know she was coming tonight.”
“Neither did we.” Greg grinned. “Rachel issued an impromptu invitation about two hours ago. But there’s plenty of food. Enough for a party.”
The man was in high spirits. And based on Rachel’s laughter, she was too.
Perhaps her parents’ visit had helped clear the air between the almost-newlyweds.
“Hi, Ben. Glad you could join us.” Rachel appeared in the doorway, Marci on her heels. Both women’s hands were dusted with flour.
“I’m always happy to have a home-cooked meal.” He shifted his gaze to Marci. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I appreciate a home-cooked meal too—and I have some exciting news to share. I’m glad you’ll be among the first to hear it.”
“Rachel told me that on the phone, but I haven’t been able to get her to spill anything.” Greg arched an eyebrow at his wife.
“The news is Marci’s to tell.”
“I won’t keep you waiting too long. Once we sit down for dinner, I’ll give you all the details.”
“In that case . . . let’s get this meal started.”
“The biscuits aren’t finished baking yet.” Rachel motioned toward the oven behind her.
“They will be by the time we fix drinks and say a blessing. Come on back, Ben, and claim a seat. Sorry it’s a little crowded. There’s supposed to be a leaf for the table somewhere in the house, but we haven’t found it yet.”
Ben followed him back to the kitchen. The round table was on the small side—but as long as Marci was beside him, that wasn’t a problem.
While Greg and Rachel finished the final meal preparations at the counter, he held out a chair for Marci. She sat, and he took the seat next to her.
As the younger couple conversed in subdued tones across the room, he leaned close to his dinner partner. “Coming here might not have been the best idea.”
“I drove up and down before I parked.” Her breath was warm against his cheek, like a Hope Harbor breeze on a bright summer day. “If I’d seen a car parked on the street, I would have called Rachel and bailed. But no one was here. Do you think she’s gone?”
“She hasn’t checked out of the motel.”
“Drat.” Her face fell. “Why do you think she backed off on watching you?”
“I have no idea. She must be changing her strategy.”
“Well, let’s not worry about it tonight. I, for one, am thrilled to have a chance to see you.” Her leg brushed his, and he hiked up his eyebrows. “Hey . . . it’s the best I can do in public.”
He smothered a chuckle with his napkin as Greg and Rachel joined them.
After a brief blessing, Greg dished up the savory-looking stew. The first bite verified that it tasted as good as it smelled.
Greg fielded the compliments, then turned the spotlight on Marci. “I’ve been waiting two hours to hear the news Rachel hinted at over the phone. Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“I won’t.” Marci buttered a flaky biscuit and set it on the edge of her plate. “I posted our campaign on the crowdfunding site this morning. You won’t believe how much money had come in by five forty-five, when I left the office.”
Greg tossed out a guess. Ben shrugged. He hadn’t a clue what to expect.
When Marci gave them the figure, he suspected his eyes were popping as much as Greg’s.
“You’re kidding.” Greg gaped at her.
“No. At this rate, we might not even need you to donate the difference between what we raise and your original offer, Ben.” Marci beamed at him.
“The donation stands. If extra funds come in, use them for restoration . . . or marketing . . . or to buy an adjacent lot or two for parking or any buildings that might be in the master plan. I want to contribute to Skip’s legacy too.”
“Thank you.” She gave his leg another nudge.
In response, he reached over and squeezed her fingers under the table.
A lively discussion about the lighthouse project dominated the conversation during the remainder of the meal, and once they’d all had a generous slice of the cake Marci had supplied, she and Greg had to make a mad dash to Grace Christian for the meeting.
Rachel walked her and Ben out while Greg went to the office to gather up his notes.
“Hold on a second.” Ben pressed a hand against the door to stop her from opening it and scanned the street through the sidelight.
No unfamiliar cars.
“We’re clear.”
Rachel’s eyes thinned. “Does this have anything to do with that blonde woman who’s been sitting in a car on our street?”
So far, he’d told only the police and Marci about his unwanted visitor—but it wasn’t surprising his neighbors had noticed her presence.
“Yes.”
“We spotted her on Friday. Greg reported her to the police later that night.” Rachel waited, giving him a chance to explain—or not.
Dredging up the overseas episode wasn’t on his agenda for the evening—but it wouldn’t hurt to give his neighbors a topline in case Nicole showed up at their door for some reason.
“I knew her during my army days in Germany. She has some serious emotional issues. I’m hoping she gets tired of whatever game she’s playing and goes away.”
Greg rejoined them in time to hear the abbreviated explanation. “If it’s any consolation, I haven’t seen her all day.”
“She’s still in town, though.” And probably up to no good. “If she comes around again and I’m gone, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”
“Sure. Sorry you have to deal with such a hassle.” Greg pulled out his keys. “If there’s anything else we can do to help, let us know.”
“I appreciate that. Marci, why don’t I walk you to your car?”
After another round of
thanks, they exited.
All was quiet in the neighborhood as they followed the flagstone path to the street. Two seagulls soared overhead. A child’s laugh floated through the salty air. From the jetty, the muffled, measured blare of the foghorn echoed.
It appeared to be a normal evening in Hope Harbor.
He hoped appearances weren’t deceiving.
Marci hit the autolock button and paused next to the driver’s door, swiveling away from Rachel and Greg’s house to hide her face from their view.
“I’ve missed seeing you.” He rested his elbow on the roof of her car and angled toward her.
“How long are we going to keep this up?”
“I wish I knew.”
She sighed. “Maybe we’ll have to arrange another midnight rendezvous.”
“I don’t know. I’d hate to interfere with your beauty sleep—and I’m not certain I trust myself alone with you in the middle of the night again.”
“I trust you.”
“That makes one of us.” He hitched up one side of his mouth to let her know he was kidding.
Sort of.
She slanted a look toward the house. “Do you think they’re watching us?”
“Hard to say.”
A raindrop landed on her cheek, and she lifted her chin, smiling. “Thank you, God.” She bent down, retrieved an umbrella from the passenger seat, opened it—and tilted it toward the house. “A rudimentary cloaking device.”
He grinned. “A fellow Star Trek fan. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“Yeah?” She gave him a saucy shoulder prod. “Prove it.”
Adjusting the umbrella, he dipped his head and stole a quick kiss that only left him wanting more.
But it would have to do for tonight.
For a long moment after he straightened up, her eyelids remained closed.
“Mmm. Too short.” Her lashes finally fluttered open.
“Sorry. Best I can do under the circumstances.”
“I know. I’ll take what I can get for now—as long as I can look forward to more later.”
“Count on it.” He closed the umbrella and handed it back to her. “Call me after you get home from the meeting?”
“Yes.” She slid behind the wheel. “Expect to hear from me by ten, unless we run long.”