311 Pelican Court

Dave stood by the golf cart. “Is that what you’d like to discuss?”



Bob nodded and leaned heavily against the cart. “The event in the dream actually happened…I feel all the horror and panic, the numbing fear. I hear it and see it in graphic detail. I…live it all over again.”



He climbed into the golf cart and closed his eyes. “After Nam, I took to the bottle to forget.” His voice was so low it was all Dave could do to make out the words.



“You started drinking?” he clarified.



Bob nodded, opening his eyes. “After my tour of duty, I came back to Peggy. It didn’t take me long to nearly destroy my marriage and my life by hiding behind an alcoholic haze. For a few years I could forget, but soon even the alcohol didn’t help. That was when I went to AA. It’s the only reason I’m sober today.”



Dave was growing concerned. If possible, Bob had gone even paler. “What can I do?” he asked.



“As part of the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, we’re asked to make amends whenever possible. I can’t undo what happened that day in the jungle. Peggy’s the only one who knows all the details, the only one I’ve ever told. Dan might’ve said something to Grace before he—”



“Dan Sherman?”



Bob nodded again. “We enlisted for Nam after high school as part of the buddy program and went all the way through together.”



“So Dan Sherman was with you in the jungle?”



“Yeah.” Bob drew one hand along his face. “I suspect it’s the reason he shot himself. God knows I was tempted to do it myself, especially in the early days when I was drinking hard. From what I understand, a lot of men have taken that way out. Truth be known, I can understand it.”



“I didn’t realize you and Dan were such good friends.”



“Ever since then, we haven’t been. After the war, Peggy and I moved around a lot. I worked as a plumber on big construction sites. We’ve only been back in Cedar Cove for the last six years.” Bob leaned forward and his arms circled the steering wheel. He stared into the distance. “I don’t mean to burden you with this, but I think I might be in some kind of trouble here.”



“It’s not a burden,” Dave assured him. “Just tell me how I can help.”



Bob’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I need to know what I should do.”



“About what happened in the war?”



“Yes…and Dan.”



“There’s nothing we can do for Dan at this point.” Perhaps Bob was thinking he should somehow help Grace, but Dave doubted that.



Bob shook his head. “I know, I know…”



There was something Bob wasn’t telling him, something he was holding back. Dave decided not to pry. Bob would tell him when he was ready.



“Did I mention that sometimes, when I have this nightmare, I’ve gotten out of bed and walked around the house? A couple of years ago, Peggy found me getting ready to go outside. I was still in my pajamas and I was clutching the car keys—completely and totally asleep.”



Dave nodded, hoping his lack of comment would encourage Bob to continue. A lot of this didn’t add up, beginning with his talk about the dream, although that was obviously tied to whatever had happened in Nam.



Bob buried his face in his hands. “I hit Peggy when she tried to stop me from leaving the house. I swear to God I didn’t know what I was doing.”



“I’m sure that’s true,” Dave said, responding to his friend’s distress. “In a sleepwalking state, you’re not conscious of your actions.”



After a lengthy pause, Bob lowered his voice and whispered, “I had the nightmare the night of that big storm, when the John Doe arrived.” His jaw was clenched tight and Dave noticed a muscle spasm.



“Did you sleepwalk?”



Bob’s face twisted in torment. “I don’t know. Peggy doesn’t think so, but we were both tired and she can’t be sure. I can’t, either.”



The confusion was starting to clear. “Do you think you might’ve had something to do with that unfortunate man’s death?”



Bob was silent for so long that Dave wondered if he’d heard him. “Bob?”



“I don’t know,” he answered after a moment. “It doesn’t seem likely, but…” He let the rest fade.



“Have the police questioned you?”



“They did in the beginning and one time shortly after. But I think they might want to talk to me again.”



Dave didn’t ask how he’d come by that information. “You’re concerned about what they might learn?”



“I have no idea what happened that night. But it’s more than not knowing. It’s Dan’s suicide—and the fact that the stranger seemed…familiar.”



“Familiar? How do you mean?”



Bob turned his head and stared at the fairway. “I can’t help feeling that I knew him. I’ve gone over it again and again in my mind, but I can’t put a name with his face.”



“Have you mentioned this to Roy McAfee?” Dave asked.



Bob turned back and met his gaze. Dave could tell Bob was surprised by the suggestion.



“You think I should talk to Roy? Why would I do that?”



“Roy’s an ex-cop,” Dave said. “He’d be able to advise you a whole lot better than I can about what the police might be looking for. If you are somehow involved in this death, Roy can tell you about your rights and suggest an attorney.”



Bob’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “You really think he could help me?”



“I do,” Dave said. He slid into the golf cart next to his friend. “But we can both do something else that will help.”



“What’s that?” Bob asked.



“We can pray.”



Eleven



Grace Sherman’s step was lighter than it had been in nearly two years. She pushed her grocery cart down the store aisle and sashayed a bit to the piped-in music: a golden oldie from The Mamas and the Papas.



It wasn’t the music, however, that had put her in such a good mood. It was Will Jefferson, Olivia’s older brother. Tall, good-looking, successful—a nuclear engineer—and just…nice. He’d recently been in Cedar Cove during Charlotte’s bout with cancer, and Grace and Will had renewed their friendship then.



When Will had written her shortly after Dan’s funeral, he’d added his e-mail address. At first they’d left short messages for each other once a day, but lately that had changed. Now they chatted online far longer and far more often. The night before, they’d spent almost an hour on the computer with instant messaging.



Their “talking” had started out innocently enough. Cliff Harding had agreed to a suspension of their relationship. Once she’d learned about Dan’s suicide, she’d asked for time to deal with the complex emotions surrounding it. She hadn’t made a decision about his letter yet, but was inclined to leave it alone. No good could come of disrupting lives now. His secret was safe with her. Cliff phoned once or twice a week; he let her know when he was going out of town, and while she was always glad to hear from him, his phone calls didn’t excite her nearly as much as her online chats with Will.



She knew it was absurd to think their daily communications meant anything. Will was married—although Grace suspected he wasn’t happy. Of course, he was too much of a gentleman to say anything negative about his wife, but Grace read between the lines. Olivia had mentioned Will and Georgia’s marriage only a few months ago. She’d implied that there might be problems between her brother and his wife. And it did seem that if Will had this much time to spend on the computer every night, something must be lacking in his marriage.



They were friends, Grace told herself, nothing more. Friends becoming reacquainted. That was all. Still, she’d admit that “talking” to Will had become downright addictive.



Most nights she rushed home from work and hurried to log on to the computer because she knew he’d be waiting for her. With the three-hour time difference, he’d already had dinner and was as eager to exchange messages with her as she was with him.



Grace hadn’t told anyone about these daily “chats” with Will. Her daughters wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know him and might put the wrong connotation on their friendship. Kelly and Maryellen worried about her, and they’d certainly disapprove of her having an online relationship, especially since Will was married. She thought about mentioning her “Internet friend” in a casual way, then changed her mind.



Nor had Grace said anything to Olivia. It wasn’t that she was hiding the truth from her best friend. It was more—well, Grace couldn’t really explain why she hadn’t said anything to Olivia. Probably because she suspected Olivia wouldn’t approve, any more than her own daughters would. Grace enjoyed talking to Will so much that she didn’t want to feel guilty about this one small pleasure. He seemed to enjoy chatting with her, too.



There was one other person Grace felt bad about not telling—Cliff Harding. She liked Cliff and owed him far more than she could ever repay. He’d been patient and kind during the long months after Dan’s disappearance. He’d entered her life at the bleakest hour and lent her strength and emotional support when she’d needed it most.



When Cliff’s marriage had fallen apart some years ago, he’d taken early retirement from Boeing and purchased acreage in the Olalla Valley, a few miles south of Cedar Cove. He’d been breeding horses and was beginning to make a name for himself. This was an occupation Grace knew nothing about, but Cliff was completely absorbed in what had once been a hobby.



Hurrying the cart down the aisle, Grace collected the remaining groceries she needed, went through the checkout and drove home. The instant she was in the door, she turned on her computer and raced around putting the perishables in the refrigerator while she waited to log on to the Internet. Buttercup followed her, and at one point Grace nearly tripped over the dog. She stopped long enough to scold her, then dumped some kibble in the golden retriever’s bowl and continued with her task.



The phone rang. Balancing a quart of milk in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other, she awkwardly reached for the receiver.



“Hello,” she said, using her shoulder to press the phone to her ear. She opened the refrigerator door and thrust both items inside.



“You’re home,” Cliff said.



“That’s stating the obvious,” she teased. They hadn’t spoken for a couple of weeks. He’d gone to California and must have returned sometime in the last few days.



“Don’t you ever check your phone messages?”



“No, sorry. I haven’t yet.” She’d been in such a rush that it hadn’t even occurred to her. “You’ve been trying to reach me?”



“For three days now, ever since I got home. I was tempted to stop at the library. I would have, if I could’ve squeezed an extra moment into the day.”



“I’ve been busy, too.”