16 Lighthouse Road

Walking into the house, Grace quickly dispensed with the mail. Two bills went into a pile to join the others on Dan’s old desk. Money was tight. Bob had mailed her Dan’s last check made out to her. Frankly she was surprised Dan hadn’t collected that when he left, but then he had his credit cards.



Credit cards.



Grace hadn’t even thought to look at the VISA bill until now. She raced into Maryellen’s old bedroom, which had been turned into a den, and shuffled through the stack of unpaid bills on the desk until she reached the VISA statement still tucked inside the envelope.



Her hand shook as she tore it open and quickly scanned the list of charges. They all seemed to be in order with the exception of one. When she saw where the card had been used, her legs gave out. Bracing her back against the wall, she sank to the floor.



How long she sat there, staring at nothing, Grace couldn’t guess. She finally gathered the courage to call Olivia.



“Can you come over?” she asked. Her voice, which sounded scratchy, must have conveyed her urgency.



“I’m on my way.”



Less than ten minutes later, her friend was at the front door. “What is it?”



“The son of a bitch,” Grace cried, so furious she could barely contain herself. “Look at this!” She thrust the VISA statement at Olivia.



Olivia glanced at it and raised questioning eyes to Grace. “What?”



“Berghoff Jewelers in Bremerton. I didn’t buy myself any jewelry.”



“Dan?”



“Who else?” Grace raged.



“What would Dan buy there for 250?”



“A little trinket for his girlfriend, no doubt,” she snapped.



“Well, let’s find out.”



Olivia was always sensible. It hadn’t even occurred to Grace to contact the store. She hadn’t cancelled the credit card, either, which was a mistake she planned to rectify first thing in the morning.



While Grace paced the living room, Olivia found the phone number and dialed. When she’d finished, she handed the receiver to Grace.



Anger shot through her. “Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound calm and reasonable. “My name is Grace Sherman and I have my credit card statement here in front of me.” She went on to explain the charge. “They’re looking up the receipt now,” Grace said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.



In thirty-five years of marriage Dan hadn’t once bought her a piece of jewelry. He considered it frivolous. She wore a plain gold band—the same ring he’d placed on her finger the day of their wedding. Over the years, the band had worn thin and should have been replaced, but never was. Her husband didn’t wear a wedding band at all, not after he got out of the military. Working with heavy equipment made it dangerous for a man to wear any sort of ring.



The woman from Berghoff’s returned with the requested information. “Mrs. Sherman,” she said.



“Yes.” Grace was instantly alert.



“The VISA charge is for a ring.”



“I beg your pardon?” This was as strange as everything else about her husband’s disappearance.



“A ring. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t say what type.”



Grace felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “That’s all right. Thank you for your trouble.” Quickly she replaced the receiver, then collapsed into a chair.



“What?” Olivia was at her side.



Grace stared down at the thin gold band on her left hand. She’d suspected for a long time that there was another woman; now she had proof. “He bought a ring.”



“A ring?” Olivia said. “But why?”



“Isn’t it obvious?” Grace cried. “That’s why he left me his last paycheck,” she added.



“It was supposed to pay for the ring?” Olivia asked.



“Apparently so.” This was just like Dan and his twisted sense of honor. He thought nothing of walking out on her, without a word of explanation, turning her life into a living hell. Yet he made sure the last charge on their VISA account, one that had apparently paid for another woman’s ring, had been covered.



“The other day,” Grace whispered, struggling to hold on to her inner strength, “I came home from work and had the oddest sense that Dan had been in the house.”



“You changed the locks, didn’t you?”



“No.” Maryellen and Kelly had talked her out of that. Both of them were convinced their father would return soon and explain everything. In the beginning Grace had thought so, too, but no longer. She didn’t want him back. But if Dan ever did return, she wanted the distinct pleasure of telling him to his face that she was divorcing him.



“You think Dan was in the house?” Olivia asked.



“I’m almost positive….”



“Something was missing?”



If so, Grace couldn’t detect what it was, although she’d torn through every room, searching. She shook her head.



“Then how did you know?” Olivia persisted.



“I could smell him.”



“Smell him?”



“Working with trees all day, he often came home smelling like a freshly cut Christmas tree. The scent was there, I swear it, Olivia.”



“I don’t doubt you.”



“I didn’t tell the girls. They’re upset enough as it is.”



Olivia sat across from her. “Have you thought about talking to Roy McAfee? He has an excellent reputation.”



“A private detective?” That sounded outrageously expensive, and living on one income was already stretching her budget.



“It won’t hurt to consult with him and find out what he’d charge to find Dan.”



Grace nodded. Olivia was right.



The following day, Grace scheduled an afternoon appointment with the investigator. She’d met Roy a couple of times, and Corrie was a regular library patron.



Corrie was polite and friendly when Grace arrived, immediately putting her at ease. She led her into Roy’s office and brought each of them a cup of coffee before gently closing the door.



“I understand Dan is missing,” Roy said, getting directly to the point.



Grace could be equally blunt. Her patience with the situation was gone, especially since she’d learned about the ring. “How much would it cost to find him?”



“That depends on how long it takes.”



Grace glanced down at her folded hands. “I don’t think it’ll be that difficult.”



“Do you have any idea where he might be?” Roy asked.



“No. But I suspect he’s with another woman.”



Roy nodded. “Okay,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “How badly do you want to find him?”



“I don’t. I mean, I don’t want him back.” Sadness settled over her. “I’d just like to see him long enough to slap the divorce papers in his hand.”



Eleven



Cecilia had dreaded this day for weeks. May first. Her wedding anniversary. A year ago, on this very day, she’d stood with Ian before a Justice of the Peace and they exchanged heartfelt vows. In a matter of minutes, they’d joined their lives for what she’d believed would be forever.



The pregnancy was just beginning to show, and Cecilia had felt it was silly to wear white. Instead she’d chosen a lovely soft-pink dress and made a matching veil herself.



Her mother had flown to Washington for the ceremony, brief though it was, and taken them both out for dinner afterward. Bobby had slipped a fifty-dollar bill in Cecilia’s hand. Ian had insisted they have a honeymoon, and despite their lack of extra money, he’d found a way. They’d spent two glorious days on the Washington coast, the Long Beach peninsula. They’d explored the beach and the small historic towns, like Oysterville and Seaview. At night, they’d cuddled together in front of the fireplace in their rented cottage and discussed the future. Everything had seemed so perfect then. It was on their honeymoon that they’d decided on names for their unborn child and talked about Ian’s Navy career and Cecilia’s role as a Navy wife. She hadn’t understood everything that would require, but had been willing to follow her husband to the ends of the earth.



She’d followed him to the end of her sanity. Cecilia couldn’t possibly guess that within a few months their child would be dead. She couldn’t have known that all joy and purpose would disappear from her life.



A year later, May first was just another workday. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. As much as possible, she intended to ignore its significance, the same way she’d been ignoring Ian.



For a while, they’d been e-mailing back and forth—until she’d faced up to the reality of their situation. They remained legally bound, but they were no longer husband and wife, despite her lapse in judgment when they’d made love. Their separation had lasted longer than their marriage. What she’d said to him was true; he deserved to be a father. But as she’d told him in her last e-mail, he needed to accept the fact that she would never again risk that kind of heartache.



Ian’s return e-mail had suggested she was overreacting. He’d said she would feel different eventually, that she’d want to have another child. He didn’t understand. She didn’t try to explain, because any response would’ve been an invitation for him to argue—and to continue their correspondence. So she’d stopped e-mailing him, stopped going to the library, stopped caring.



Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she’d managed to rid her thoughts of Ian. It’d been a mistake to write him, a mistake to get involved with him again, even through that series of short e-mails. No, her decision was made. As soon as she could afford it, she was going ahead with the divorce, which would be the best thing for both of them. In time Ian would see that, and in time, he’d find it in his heart to forgive her.



When she’d worked all of that out, she’d parked his car, refusing to drive it again.



Knowing what the future held for her and Ian, Cecilia couldn’t allow the significance of May first to distract her. She headed for her advanced algebra class early that morning, driving her own car, determined to make the best of the day. This was the next level of algebra and far more challenging than her first course. It helped that Mr. Cavanaugh was teaching this one, too. She liked him a great deal.



Despite her efforts to concentrate during class, her mind drifted in various unsettling directions, finally landing on the very subjects she’d wanted to avoid. Ian, her dead baby and the hopelessness of ever getting an education one course at a time. When she finally graduated with any kind of useful degree, she’d be old enough to collect Social Security.



Feeling depressed, she waited to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh after class. Holding her books tightly against her, she walked to the front of the room.



“Yes, Cecilia,” he said, giving her his attention.



“I…I thought you should know I’ve decided to drop out of class.”



He didn’t reveal any overt disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a particular reason?”



Several, but none she could mention. Hanging her head, she shrugged. “I’m not sure where I’ll use this knowledge. I’m a restaurant hostess, not some brainy type who’ll have a career in math.”