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50 Harbor Street
Debbie Macomber
Perfect for fans of Maeve Binchy' - CandisWelcome to Cedar Cove – a small town with a big heart! There’s a mystery to be solved in Cedar Cove. Local private detective Roy McAfee and his wife Corrie have been receiving anonymous postcards with messages asking if they “regret the past. ” What does it mean? On a more positive note, Roy and Corrie’s daughter Linette is now working at the new medical clinic and is very taken with the new doctor.But where does this leave doting Cal Washburn, who works for Cliff at the horse farm? Speaking of Cliff, it looks like the romance between him and Grace Sherman is back on. Could a wedding be on the cards?There’s so much to discover in Cedar Cove. Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.The Cedar Cove series is now a hit Channel 5 TV series, appearing on UK screens on CHANNEL 5USA
Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.
CEDAR COVE
16 LIGHTHOUSE ROAD
204 ROSEWOOD AVENUE
311 PELICAN COURT
44 CRANBERRY POINT
50 HARBOR STREET
6 RAINIER DRIVE
BLOSSOM STREET
THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET
A GOOD YARN
OLD BOYFRIENDS
WEDNESDAYS AT FOUR
TWENTY WISHES
SUMMER ON BLOSSOM STREET
HANNAH’S LIST
THURSDAYS AT EIGHT
CHRISTMAS IN SEATTLE
Dear Friends,
Welcome to the fifth instalment of the Cedar Cove series. Whether this is the first Cedar Cove book you’re reading or the fifth, my hope is that you’ll feel right at home.
Like some of the residents of Cedar Cove you’ll find a few surprises – and a new romance in the making. And I hope there’ll be a lot of smiles and a laugh or two along the way.
I always enjoy hearing from my readers. You can reach me through my website by signing the guest book at debbiemacomber.com. Click the Cedar Cove button and you’re in for some fun. If you aren’t online, you can write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA. Three or four times a year I provide updates on the characters – letters from the characters themselves – and they often have a recipe they want to share.
So make yourself a cup of tea and settle down with your friends from Cedar Cove. Olivia, Jack, Grace, Charlotte, Ben, Roy, Corrie and everyone else – they’re all eager to fill you in on what’s happening in town. They’re delighted you’re back. And so am I!
Warmest regards,
Debbie Macomber
50 Harbor Street
Debbie Macomber
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
To Mary Lou Carney whose friendship and wisdom have been a special blessing to me.
Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington
Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family court judge in Cedar Cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin. Lives at 16 Lighthouse Road.
Jack Griffin: Newspaper reporter and editor of The Cedar Cove Chronicle. Recovering alcoholic. Married to Olivia. Father of Eric, who lives in Nevada with his wife, Shelly, and their twin boys.
Charlotte Jefferson: Mother of Olivia. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes.
Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Married to Seth Gunderson. Mother of Leif. The Gundersons live at 6 Rainier Drive.
Seth Gunderson: Justine’s husband. Co-owner, with Justine, of The Lighthouse restaurant.
James Lockhart: Olivia’s son and Justine’s younger brother. In the navy. Lives in San Diego with wife, Selina, and daughter, Isabella.
Stanley Lockhart: Olivia’s ex-husband and father of James and Justine. Now lives in Seattle.
Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Married and lives in Atlanta.
Grace Sherman: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Involved in an on-again, off-again relationship with Cliff Harding. Lives at 204 Rosewood Lane.
Cliff Harding: Retired engineer and now horse breeder living near Cedar Cove. Divorced father of Lisa, who lives in Maryland.
Cal Washburn: Horse trainer, employed by Cliff Harding.
Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie. Married to Jon Bowman.
Jon Bowman: Photographer, married to Maryellen. Father of Katie.
Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox, aged seventeen and eleven. Lives at 311 Pelican Court.
Anson Butler: Boyfriend of Allison Cox.
Cecilia Randall: Navy wife, living in Cedar Cove. Accountant, working for Zach Cox. Married to Ian Randall, submariner. Lost a baby (Allison). Is now pregnant.
Rachel Pendergast: Works at the Get Nailed salon. Friends with Bruce Peyton and his daughter, Jolene. Romantically involved with sailor Nate Olsen.
Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own the Thyme and Tide Bed & Breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.
Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children, Mack and Lynnette. Married to Corrie.
Corrie McAfee: Roy’s wife and office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.
Lynnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Moves to Cedar Cove to work as a nurse practitioner in the new medical clinic.
Gloria Ashton: Police officer for Bremerton force. Lynnette’s friend and neighbour.
Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff.
Pastor Flemming: Local Methodist minister.
One
Corrie McAfee was worried. And she knew that her husband, Roy, was too.
Who wouldn’t be? Starting in July, Roy—a private investigator—had received a series of anonymous postcards, and while the messages weren’t overtly threatening, they were certainly distressing.
The first communication, which had been mailed to the office, spoke of regrets. During the intervening weeks, there’d been several others. Corrie had read each postcard so often she’d memorized them all. The first one stated: EVERYONE HAS REGRETS. IS THERE ANYTHING YOU’VE DONE YOU WISH YOU COULD DO OVER? THINK ABOUT IT. There hadn’t been a signature then, or on any of the other cards. They’d arrived at infrequent intervals and been mailed from different locations. The cryptic messages kept playing in her mind. The passing of time hadn’t helped; she was as much in the dark now, in October, as when she’d seen that first postcard.
There was a final gasping, gurgling sound as the coffee drained into the glass pot. The noise distracted Corrie from her worries for a moment—long enough to glance out the wide office window that overlooked downtown Cedar Cove, Washington. Serving as Roy’s secretary and assistant had its advantages, and in this instance, disadvantages. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss; the current situation was definitely one of those cases. She’d sleep better if she’d never learned about the mysterious postcards.
And yet…even if Roy had managed to keep them hidden from her, she would still have known—because the last message had been hand-delivered, at night, to their front door. Not to the office like the others, but to their home. Late one evening, someone had walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch of their house. As it happened, Roy and Corrie were entertaining dinner guests that night—and had opened the door to discover that an unknown person had left a fruit basket and an accompanying note. Chills raced up Corrie’s spine at the thought that this person knew their home address.
“Is that coffee ready yet?” Roy called from inside his office. Apparently she hadn’t delivered it fast enough.
“Hold your horses—it’s coming.” Corrie didn’t mean to snap at her husband. Normally she wasn’t short-tempered. This uncharacteristic outburst revealed how upset she was by everything that was happening to them. Sighing, she filled a clean mug for Roy and carried it, steam rising, into his office.
“Okay, that does it,” she said, putting the coffee on the corner of his desk. “We have to talk.”
As if he didn’t have a care in the world, Roy leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. They’d been married for twenty-seven years, and Corrie found him as attractive now as she had in college. Roy had played football for the University of Washington and been a “big man on campus,” as they used to say. He was tall and broad-shouldered, still muscular, his posture as straight as ever. He stayed in good shape without apparent effort, and Corrie envied, just a bit, the fact that he’d never gained any weight. His dark hair had thinned and was streaked with gray, which only added a look of dignity to his appearance.
Of all the women he dated during college, he’d fallen in love with her. Theirs hadn’t been an easy courtship, though. They’d broken up for more than a year, and then reunited. Once they were back together, they realized how much they loved each other; there’d been no uncertainty about their feelings. They were married shortly after graduation and their love had endured through trials and tribulations, through good years and bad. They’d had plenty of both.
“Talk about what?” Roy asked casually.
His nonchalance didn’t fool Corrie. Her husband knew exactly what was on her mind. “Does THE PAST HAS A WAY OF CATCHING UP WITH THE PRESENT tell you anything?” she murmured, sitting down in the chair normally reserved for clients. She wanted Roy to understand that she wouldn’t be put off easily. She was afraid he knew more about these postcards than he’d let on. It would be just like him to try to protect her.
Roy frowned. “Those messages don’t have anything to do with you, so don’t worry about it.”
His answer infuriated her. “How can you say that? Everything that happens to you affects me.”
He seemed about to argue, but after all these years, he recognized that she wasn’t going to be satisfied with glib reassurances. “I’m not sure what to tell you. I’ve made enemies and, yes, I have regrets, but who doesn’t?”
Roy had reached the rank of detective for the Seattle Police Department and been forced into early retirement because of a back injury. In the beginning, Corrie had been excited to have her husband at home. She’d hoped they’d be able to travel and do some of the things they’d always planned, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Roy had the time now, but their finances had been adversely affected when he’d had to take early retirement. Their income was less than it had been by at least twenty percent. In a money-saving effort, they’d moved from Seattle and across Puget Sound to the community of Cedar Cove. The cost of property was much more reasonable in Kitsap County, which also offered a slower pace of life. When the real estate agent showed them the house at 50 Harbor Street, with its wide front porch and sweeping view of the cove and lighthouse, Corrie knew immediately that this house and this town would become their home.
They’d moved from the big city, and it hadn’t been as much of an adjustment as Corrie had feared. Folks in town were pleasant, and Roy and Corrie had made a few good friends—notably the Beldons—but kept mostly to themselves. They knew their neighbors’ names and exchanged greetings, but that was about it.
To Corrie’s disappointment, Roy had grown restless with retirement. His moods had reflected his boredom, and he was frequently cantankerous. Everything changed when he decided to rent office space and hang out his shingle as a private investigator. It was a decision Corrie had encouraged. Soon her husband was busy and looking forward to each day. He took on the cases that suited him and turned down those that didn’t. Corrie was proud of Roy’s skills, proud of his success and the way he cared about his clients. Never did it occur to her, or apparently to Roy, that one day he’d be solving his own mystery.
“You could be in danger,” Corrie murmured, letting her anxiety show. She refused to hide her feelings, refused to pretend all was well when it wasn’t.
Roy shrugged. “I doubt I’m in jeopardy. If anyone wanted to do me harm, they would’ve done so before now.”
“How can you say that?” she asked irritably. “Bob was followed, and we both know it wasn’t Bob they were interested in. He was driving your car. They thought they were following you.”
Bob Beldon, together with his wife, Peggy, was the owner of the local Bed-and-Breakfast, Thyme and Tide. Bob had borrowed Roy’s car and phoned in a near panic, sure he was being followed. Roy had advised him to drive immediately to the sheriff’s office. As soon as Bob had pulled in to the station, the tail had left him. Only later did Roy and Corrie figure it out. Whoever had shadowed Bob had assumed it was Roy driving.
“The letter said we’re in no danger,” her husband reminded her.
“Of course! That’s what they want us to think,” Corrie argued. “Whoever’s doing this wants us to lower our guard.”
“Now, Corrie—”
She cut him off, rejecting any further attempts to pacify her. “That basket was delivered to our front porch. This…stranger walked right up to our home and left it, and now you’re telling me we have nothing to worry about?” Her voice quavered, and she realized how close she was to losing control of her emotions. She was tired of being afraid, tired of waiting for the next message—or worse. Tired of waking up with her eyes burning from lack of sleep. Her first conscious thought every morning was fear of what might happen that day.
“The basket came over a week ago, and we’ve heard nothing since.” Roy said this as if this was supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.
“There was no postcard in the mail today, was there?” he asked, and she heard an unmistakable hint of tension in his voice.
“No.” Corrie had collected the mail, flipped through it and tossed the bundle of bills and circulars on her desk.
Roy nodded, as if to say Well, then?
“Roy,” she said with deceptive calm, “I can’t remember the last time I slept a night straight through. You’re not sleeping well, either.”
He didn’t agree or disagree.
“We can’t go on pretending everything’s all right.”
Roy’s handsome features tightened. “I’m doing everything I can,” he told her curtly.
“I know, but it isn’t enough.”
“It has to be.”
Corrie wasn’t an expert in the area of investigations, but she knew when it was time to seek help, and they were well past that point. “You need to talk to somebody.”
“Who?” he asked.
The only person she could suggest was the local sheriff. “Troy Davis…”
“Not a good idea,” Roy said. “Whatever this is about happened long before we moved to Cedar Cove.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Regrets. Every postcard mentions regrets. There isn’t a cop who doesn’t have regrets—about things we’ve done or haven’t done or should’ve done differently.”
She thought—but didn’t say—that every human being had regrets. It wasn’t restricted to cops.
