To Honor

by Laura Scott

  Cassie was a good kid, yet far from perfect. She’d gotten into trouble when she’d punched a boy for calling her names. Cassie hadn’t hit him hard enough to bruise, but the boy’s mother had gone crazy demanding Cassie be expelled. Principal Thomas had stood up for Cassie, and she’d been grateful for his support.

  “Yeah, me, too.” Dean Thomas stared at her for a long moment, before turning and retracing his steps.

  Relief washed over her once he disappeared from sight. Hopefully, that was the end of it.

  But it wasn’t until later that it occurred to her that if Dean Thomas was on Main Street, then he could have seen her and Jesse talking together outside Gino’s.

  Was that the reason he’d dropped by to ask her out? Because of some weird sort of jealousy?

  If so, brushing him off like that probably only made things worse.

  4

  When Jesse woke up the following morning in the green room of the B&B, his headache was better. Not gone, but better. He followed the scent of coffee down to the dining room where he found the place mostly empty except for a young couple seated at one of the tables overlooking the lakefront. Were they scoping the place out as a potential wedding site? Maybe.

  Jazz came out of the kitchen carrying a pot of coffee. Her gaze brightened when she saw him, but then she frowned. “Jesse! What happened?”

  Lifting a hand, he gingerly touched his bruised and swollen temple. “Some sort of weird welcome back to McNally Bay.”

  She filled his coffee mug, then leaned down to examine the wound more closely. “Someone attacked you? Why?”

  “No clue.” He gratefully took a sip of coffee. “Happened outside Gino’s.”

  “Did you tell Garth?”

  “I spoke with a Deputy Waldorf.” There was no point in rehashing the fact that he had an enemy somewhere in town. “Would you tell Jemma I’d like the full Irish breakfast?”

  “Sure.” Jazz’s expression was still troubled. “But I don’t like this, Jesse. First your car, now this? What’s next?”

  It belatedly occurred to him that Jazz was concerned about something happening at the B&B. “Don’t worry, I’ll move to a motel first thing today. That way Jemma doesn’t have to rush to take over the garage apartment.”

  Jazz waved that off. “She and Trey are dying to get their things up there, so don’t think that you going to a motel will change that. Besides, it’s the Fourth of July weekend, you won’t find a place to stay at the last minute. Lastly, and I can’t stress this enough, we like having you here.”

  He was touched by her comments but knew that staying here may bring the danger dogging his footsteps to their door. And that was not acceptable.

  Jazz went over to chat with the young couple before disappearing into the kitchen. She emerged less than five minutes later with a warm-from-the-oven blueberry muffin and slice of chocolate zucchini bread. “Enjoy.”

  The zucchini bread and muffin were equally delicious. He had to hand it to Jemma, she was one amazing cook. He’d checked their website when he’d first arrived in town, making a few adjustments for them, but he had been impressed by the rave reviews posted online about the McNallys’ B&B.

  The twins were doing a great job running the place. And offering the gazebo wedding package was pure genius.

  The young couple left just as Jazz brought his breakfast. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Join me for a minute, would you? I have a few questions about the Tate-McNally family feud.”

  Jazz grimaced and sat. “Don’t tell me you’ve had a run-in with Leon Tate already.”

  “Not exactly a run-in, but he was gloating over my damaged car outside Daisy’s.” He paused for a moment to try his breakfast before continuing. “Garth mentioned that Leon and his daughter Mary are holding some lifelong grudge against us because of something Dad did a million years ago.”

  “That’s true.” Jazz hesitated and glanced at her watch. “Listen, let me give Jemma a hand in the kitchen, then we’ll both fill you in on what’s been going on.”

  He nodded and continued eating. It was almost five minutes before both Jemma and Jazz came out of the kitchen to join him. Jemma brought a cup of tea with her, while Jazz helped herself to coffee. Jazz pulled out a slip of paper and set it on the table next to his plate.

  “Here’s what we know so far,” she began. “We knew from day one of returning here that Leon Tate hated us. He made that perfectly clear, gloating over the vandalism here at the B and B the same way he did over your ruined Corvette. Jemma found this letter in the attic addressed to a girl named Lucy and signed J.”

  “Not helpful to sign with only a first initial,” he pointed out. “The McNallys went nuts on the J names.”

  “Right? But you’ll see it’s more recent than from our grandparents’ era.”

  Intrigued, Jesse leaned forward to read the letter.

  Dearest Lucy,

  My world is dark without you in it. I don’t understand how this happened, and I’m finding it difficult to move on without you.

  Life is so precious yet so brief. In one fleeting moment it’s gone, as if it had never been. I’ve searched the Bible for answers but have found no solace to ease my pain. Some would say I haven’t tried hard enough, and that may be true. It isn’t easy to dissect one’s mistakes, holding them up to the glaring light of day.

  This suffering is my price to pay.

  Always, J.

  “Wow.” Jesse glanced at the twins. “You think Dad wrote this? And who is Lucy?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Jemma’s expression was sad. “Jonas and Bella went to the library to find more information about Lucy and uncovered that her last name was Tate and that she was Leon’s younger sister. She died when she was sixteen years old.”

  Understanding dawned. “And Leon blames our dad for his sister’s death.”

  “Yes, because he was driving the speedboat when she fell into Lake Michigan and drowned.” Jazz picked up the story. “And worse, we heard a rumor that the Medical Examiner found a bruise on Lucy’s temple that was likely suffered prior to the drowning.”

  He whistled. “That’s not good.”

  “No,” Jazz agreed. “There were three other guys on the boat that night, so four boys and one girl. Dad was driving the boat, but we think it’s likely that there was some sort of argument between the other three boys and Lucy, which resulted in her being struck and ultimately contributed to her death.”

  He glanced between Jemma and Jazz. “But no one was arrested?”

  “Exactly.” Jemma sipped her tea. “All four boys stuck to the same story, the details of which we don’t know. Regardless, Leon has made it clear our father is responsible for his younger sister’s death.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense, he’s the one least likely to be involved,” Jesse pointed out. “He was driving the boat.”

  “And dating Lucy,” Jazz added. She gestured to the note. “Apparently they were in love, and that was the reason Lucy was on the boat in the first place.”

  In a warped way, it made sense. Not entirely logical, but emotions rarely were. One of the reasons he liked computer work was because it was cut-and-dried. Black-and-white. No in-between.

  “Mystery solved.” He stared down at the letter, wondering what his father would say about that night if he was still alive. Unfortunately, his dad’s secret died with him.

  “Not exactly,” Jazz said. “We don’t know the true story. Personally, I’d like to know who the other boys were on the boat that night. We may be able to learn the truth, which may in turn help put Leon Tate’s animosity to rest.”

  “Doubtful.” Jesse wasn’t convinced. “I mean, sure, we might be able to find out who the other three boys were on the boat that night, but if they’ve kept this a secret for all these years, why talk now?”

  Jemma frowned. “To clear their conscience?”

  He shook his head. “Not happening. But at least I understand why Leon was smirking at my damaged car. Maybe I n
eed to convince Garth to look closer at Leon and his daughter. Could be their anger is escalating.”

  “Maybe.” Jazz’s expression held doubt. “Although it doesn’t make sense that anger would be directed at you when Jemma and I are the ones living here in McNally Bay full time. Anyway, if you have some free time, we’d love your help in getting Jemma’s stuff moved to the garage apartment.”

  “Happy to help. But then I’m moving into a motel.”

  “Oh, please don’t.” Jemma’s expression displayed her disappointment. “We really want you to stay.”

  It was difficult to say no to his sisters. And if it wasn’t for Cassie, he’d pack up and head home. “One more day,” he promised. “But if something else happens, I’m out of here.”

  “Nothing more is going to happen.” Jemma sounded confident, but he didn’t believe it.

  After he assisted with moving Jemma’s things, he cleared his stuff out of the green room and into the master suite. Then he decided to head down to the sheriff’s deputy headquarters. There had to be a way to uncover who was responsible for these two events.

  He wanted things to be cleared up as soon as possible so he could focus his time and energy on Carla and Cassie Templeton.

  Carla headed to the grocery store, inwardly debating whether or not she should call Deputy Waldorf to let her know about how Dean Thomas had shown up at her house last night, within twenty minutes of Jesse’s attack. It didn’t make sense that the principal of Cassie’s school would do anything to hurt Jesse, but the timing was odd.

  Could be nothing more than a coincidence. Sure, Dean may have seen her and Jesse talking, but it wasn’t as if they’d embraced or shown any display of being close. And they’d spoken after the attack, not before.

  Yet the impending sense of doom wouldn’t leave her alone. She knew it was only a matter of time until the entire town of McNally Bay knew the truth. Seeing Jesse at the diner had reinforced the resemblance between him and their daughter. Especially their mannerisms and facial expressions.

  She needed to talk to Cassie before the gossipmongers like Betty Cromwell blabbed the news to anyone who would listen.

  Tonight. She’d talk to Cassie tonight, after she was finished with work. It wouldn’t be easy, but she hoped her daughter would forgive her.

  And that Cassie’s relationship with her father would turn out better than hers had been.

  The moment she entered the store, she was bombarded with problems. A food shipment hadn’t arrived as promised, their stock of Fourth of July sparklers was already gone, with two days before the holiday, and her early morning cashier was a no-show for work.

  In times like this, having an assistant manager would be helpful, but dreaming about what couldn’t be wasn’t going to get her through the day.

  By lunchtime, Carla felt as if she’d worked twelve hours instead of four. Despite her exhaustion, she headed over to Daisy’s Diner to have lunch with Cassie.

  She desperately wished she could spend more time with her daughter, especially during the summer months when Cass was out of school. Her little girl was growing so fast. She wanted to hold back the hands of time, already dreading the upcoming teenage rebellion she was certain loomed on the horizon.

  Cassie was outside the back of the diner, playing with Bucky, Daisy’s Goldendoodle puppy. Just watching them together, the sheer joy in her daughter’s carefree laughter, made her heart ache.

  This was what was important. For the first time, she wondered what her mother would think if she sold the grocery store. But if she did that, she’d need to find another job.

  “Mom! Isn’t Bucky amazing?”

  Carla nodded. As she approached, the Goldendoodle pup came rushing over, jumping up and down with excitement. “Get down,” she admonished.

  Bucky’s entire body wiggled with happiness as she scratched him behind the ears. The puppy was growing like a weed, and she knew he’d be a good eighty pounds by the time he was a year old.

  “Is the dog yours, Cassie?”

  The familiar male voice had Carla spinning around to face Jesse. The bruise on his temple didn’t look any better in the harsh sunlight, but any sympathy she may have had toward him evaporated at his unwelcome intrusion on their mother/daughter time. He didn’t seem fazed by the glare she sent him, his attention centered on their daughter.

  “Not mine, Mr. Jesse. Bucky belongs to Miss Daisy. But I’m helping her take care of Bucky while she works.”

  “I see.” Jesse’s smile was so much like Cassie’s she wanted to cry.

  “Why don’t you put Bucky in his crate?” she suggested. “I know Miss Daisy is saving us a seat inside.”

  “Okay. Bye, Mr. Jesse.” For once, Cassie did as she was told, taking the rambunctious Bucky inside the diner to put the dog in his kennel.

  “What are you doing here?” The instant her daughter was out of earshot she whirled on him. “I thought we settled this issue last night?”

  “We didn’t,” Jesse corrected. “You told me your opinion and then left without giving me a chance to respond.”

  “Really? Does that mean you’ve decided to move to McNally Bay?” She wanted to smack some sense into him. Why was he being so stubborn about this?

  “There are other arrangements we can make,” he countered. “I can come here to visit between jobs, and she can come and stay with me during some weekends where she might not have school.”

  “No.” The very idea of handing Jesse partial custody of their daughter made her break out in a cold sweat. “Cassie doesn’t even know you, what makes you think she’s going to feel comfortable spending weekends with you? Especially in a strange place far away from her friends?”

  “And whose fault is that?” He looked at her, and for the first time, she saw the stirring of anger in the depths of his eyes. “You could have called me, Carla.”

  This wasn’t the time or the place to rehash the mistakes of the past. Or to explain how her own father had reacted to the news. Announcing her pregnancy had caused her father to suffer a heart attack that had killed him.

  At eighteen, knowing she’d hurt her father while dealing with her pregnancy was about all she could handle.

  “Not now,” she hissed as Cassie returned.

  Jesse didn’t reply, but he didn’t back off either.

  “Miss Daisy has a table for us,” Cassie announced. “She said to tell you to hurry because the diner is filling up fast.”

  “May I join you?”

  Jesse’s soft question caught her off guard, despite the fact that she probably should have expected it. She wanted to refuse, but he’d asked in front of Cassie who watched the interaction between the adults with blatant curiosity.

  “Sure.” Feeling trapped, she relented. But if he so much as broached the topic of being Cassie’s father, she’d ruthlessly cut him off at the knees.

  “I’m going to try the fried chicken today,” Cassie said as they headed inside through the back door. The locals liked to stick together, and Daisy had pretty much adopted Cassie over the years. Hence the saving of a table for their daily lunches.

  “Is that your favorite?” Jesse asked, holding the door for them.

  “I have lots of favorites,” Cass confided as they went inside. “Miss Daisy’s fried chicken is just one of them. I like her apple pie, too. And her pork chops are yummy.”

  To his credit, Jesse hung on Cassie’s words, soaking up every morsel of information she doled out. The way he looked at Cassie with love and adoration made her remember how he’d once looked at her the same way.

  It hurt to remember how much she’d loved him.

  “What are your favorite subjects in school?” he asked after Ashley took their order.

  “Not math. I hate math.” Cassie wrinkled her nose at the thought of arithmetic and multiplication tables. “Reading and writing are my favorites. I want to be a writer someday.”

  “You do?” Carla hadn’t said much during the conversation between Jesse and their dau
ghter until now. “I didn’t know that.”

  “My teacher told me I have a good voice for telling stories,” Cassie confided. “Grandma takes me to the library every day because I read so fast.”

  “I knew you liked to read,” she responded dryly. “I just didn’t know you wanted to be a writer someday.”

  “Grandma told me I should take a job at the store with you because it’s hard being a starving artist.” Cassie wrinkled her brow. “I don’t get it. What does being a starving artist have to do with writing books?”

  “It means that making money isn’t always easy to do when you are painting or writing or doing some other form of art,” Carla explained. “You only make money if people buy what you’ve produced. If they don’t buy your items, you’ll starve.”

  “But everyone likes books,” Cassie protested.

  She had to smile. “I wish that was true, but not everyone enjoys reading the way we do.”

  “You work at the grocery store?” Jesse asked as Ashley brought their food in what seemed like record time.

  “Mommy is the general manager of the store,” Cassie said proudly. She took a bite of her fried chicken, then added, “Our family has owned the store for three generations, right, Mom?”

  “That’s right.” She could tell by the look of surprise on Jesse’s face that he hadn’t realized she’d dropped out of school. Idiot. Did he think she could attend U of I full time while caring for a baby? Yeah, not.

  Before she could say anything more, Mrs. Cromwell approached. “Look at how sweet you all look together, one big happy family.”

  Family? Her panicked gaze cut to Jesse who looked just as stunned by Betty Cromwell’s words.

  “We’re not a family,” Cassie piped up. “Mr. Jesse was a friend of my mom from a long time ago.”

  “I know that, dear,” Betty said, patting Cassie’s arm. “I remember how smitten these two were back then.”

  Smitten? No. Oh, no. She knew. Betty Cromwell had put the two pieces of the puzzle together and came up with the truth.