8 Sandpiper Way
Page 12

“You don’t seriously think I’d steal from Martha, do you?” Anger rose to the surface and he struggled to disguise how insulted he was by such an accusation. Getting upset might imply guilt, however, so he held on to his temper.
“No one’s saying anything.”
“I didn’t even know Martha had a lot of expensive jewelry.” It wasn’t as if he’d searched the old woman’s cupboards or dresser drawers.
“I believe you,” Allan said, “but the family insists everything was there on Friday evening, when they visited her.”
“If they were so concerned about the jewelry, why didn’t they put it in a safer place?”
Allan shrugged. “I asked them the same question. I gather they weren’t comfortable suggesting it to their mother.”
Dave could understand that. Once Martha made a decision she wouldn’t budge. If she felt her jewelry was perfectly safe at the house, then little would persuade her otherwise.
“None of it was locked up?” Dave asked. He knew Martha kept at least some of her jewels hidden in the freezer; she’d told him so. But he’d certainly never looked.
“Apparently not,” Allan said. “She liked things done her own way.”
Dave was well aware of that, too. “I’m sorry I can’t help you any more. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He refused to answer anything else. He didn’t like Allan’s implications or the tone of his questions.
Geoff was in the hallway outside the office when Dave opened the door. He seemed startled to see Dave and moved quickly out of his way.
“I’ll call you soon,” Geoff told him. “About those marriage counseling sessions,” he added.
Dave responded with a nod, happy to be about his business. Because he was irritated and needed to calm down, he pulled out his cell and called home. Emily answered almost right away.
“How’s your Monday going?” he asked.
“Okay.” She sounded depressed.
“Just okay?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“It’s Monday, all right.”
“How about lunch?” she said. “We could meet at the Pot Belly Deli or the Wok and Roll.”
Both were favorites of his but Dave automatically declined. “Not today.”
“Fine.” Her voice was reluctant; she wasn’t pleased and let him know it.
Dave hated disappointing her. “Maybe later in the week.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Where’ve you been all morning? You left the house with barely a word.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I had to get to the hospital. Olivia Griffin was going in for cancer surgery. Her family’s pretty shaken up, and I felt I should stop by. The morning got away from me because I had to meet with Allan Harris right afterward.”
“Allan Harris?”
“Martha’s attorney. I thought—” He paused, feeling stupid now and annoyed with himself. “I thought she might’ve left something to the church in her will and that was the reason Allan wanted to chat.”
“She didn’t?”
“No…not that I’m aware. Of course, I would never have suggested it to her, but I had the idea in the back of my mind.” His presumption embarrassed him, and he felt guilty for having entertained the notion.
“So what did he want?”
Dave debated how much to tell his wife. He didn’t want her to worry about any of this. “He had a few questions for me.”
“Such as?”
“It was nothing important,” he said dismissively, unwilling to lie.
“You’re sure?” she pressed.
“Absolutely.” Rather than launch into a lengthy discussion, Dave made an excuse and got off the phone. He had somewhere else he needed to be—a place he didn’t want Emily to know about.
Nine
Moving back to Cedar Cove was a mixed blessing, Faith Beckwith decided as she prepared for her first day of work. The Cedar Cove medical clinic had advertised for a part-time nurse and she’d been hired right away. Her entire life had changed in the blink of an eye—or so it felt. It’d all begun with the sale of her home in south Seattle.
A widow for three years, Faith had rattled around the big house in the Seattle neighborhood where she and Carl had raised their family. It really was time to downsize, but she’d assumed that because of market conditions the sale would take months. Instead, the first family who’d stepped over the threshold had made a full-price offer with the stipulation that she be completely out of the house by Thanksgiving. If not for the help of her two children, Scott and Jay Lynn, Faith would never have been able to make the transition to Cedar Cove so quickly. Thinking about the last few weeks—and the way her whole life had changed—gave her a breathless feeling.
Faith would’ve preferred to start her new job after January first, but it became apparent that if she didn’t accept the position now, the clinic would hire someone else. Faith chose to start work.
With her children’s assistance, she’d unpacked nearly forty years of her life in a rental house on Rosewood Lane, one that belonged to her high school friend, Grace Sherman. Except, as Troy had reminded her, it was Grace Harding now.
While Faith enjoyed living near her grandchildren, it also meant she was in close proximity to Sheriff Troy Davis. Her encounter with him Thanksgiving week had upset her. Living in a town the size of Cedar Cove made such meetings inevitable, she supposed. Still, she didn’t expect to see Troy very often—especially if she was careful and Faith fully intended to be. She hoped to avoid any and all contact with Sheriff Davis.
The man had broken her heart, not once but twice. Okay, to be fair, her mother was responsible for the circumstances that had led to their breakup the first time. They’d been young; nevertheless, she still felt shocked that Troy could ever have believed she’d casually dump him for someone else after he went into the service. In retrospect, she wondered if he’d been so willing to accept her mother’s lie because he was looking for an excuse to break off their relationship. Her mother had made it easy.
The second time she’d mailed him a sympathy card after hearing about the death of his wife, and they’d reconnected. Just when she’d made a commitment to him, to their relationship, he’d ended it. Well, enough was enough.
None of that made any difference now, she reasoned, annoyed that she was thinking about Troy at all.
Faith parked in the clinic lot, collected her purse and her lunch and walked inside, feeling excited—and a little nervous—about her first day. She was assigned to Dr. Chad Timmons, whom she’d liked on sight. He was certainly attractive, and she imagined he’d broken more than one heart.
Thinking about broken hearts brought her right back to the sheriff. Faith had to forcefully stomp on that thought. It might take some doing, but she was going to put him completely out of her life.
The morning went smoothly, and Faith discovered that she fit in well with the rest of the staff. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were apparently the least busy at the clinic, which was why she was scheduled for those two days this month. After the first of the year, she’d be working Monday, Thursday and Friday.
Her morning consisted of routine cases, innoculations and paperwork. She had one last patient to see before lunch—a twenty-nine-year-old woman by the name of Megan Bloomquist. Apparently Megan was distraught because she thought she might be pregnant. It seemed to be a case more appropriate for Pregnancy Crisis than the medical clinic.
“Hello,” Faith said, opening the exam room door. “I’m Faith Beckwith.”
“Hello.” The young woman sat in the chair with her ankles crossed. Her red-rimmed eyes were fearful. “You’re not the doctor, are you?”
“I’m Dr. Timmons’s nurse.”
The young woman nodded, clenching and unclenching her hands.
“I’m here to take your blood pressure and your temperature and find out how Dr. Timmons can help you,” Faith explained. She pressed the thermometer lightly against Megan’s forehead. Her temperature registered and Faith noted it on the medical chart—normal.
Megan sniffled. “I think I’m pregnant and I…don’t know what to do.”
Faith noticed the wedding ring on her finger. “You don’t want the baby?”
“I do…” She covered her face with both hands and started to sob. After a moment she regained some control of her emotions. “Craig and I want children, but…but I had a miscarriage three months ago. I’ve only had one period since then.” She took out a small day planner to check the dates.
Faith felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she noted the details of Megan’s last period. Troy’s daughter was named Megan and she’d recently miscarried. Could it be? How was it that her very first day on the job, Faith would run into Troy’s daughter? She struggled to hide her dismay.
“I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive.” Slowly Megan straightened. “But I just need to be sure, and my own doctor’s booked solid.”
Faith didn’t bother to point out that home tests were pretty reliable these days. She could understand Megan’s uncertainty after having a miscarriage.
She was startled to hear Megan say, “Craig and I decided that it might not be a good idea for me to get pregnant again.”
“Ever?” That seemed a rather drastic decision.
“Well, certainly not this soon,” Megan told her. “We…we were hoping for some definitive word on my health.”
“In what way?”
Megan lowered her head. “I might have MS. It’s in the family and because there might be a genetic link…”
This could only be Troy’s daughter. Looking away, Faith reached for the blood pressure cuff. “There are tests you can have that will reassure you,” she said briskly.
“Oh, I’ve had those tests.”
Faith waited.
Megan’s shoulders drooped. “The MRI was inconclusive. You see, my mother was diagnosed with it when I was young, and it was after she’d miscarried several times. When I lost my pregnancy it occurred to me that it might be for the same reason.”
Faith checked Megan’s blood pressure and wrote it down. Again, normal. After Troy had used his daughter as an excuse to end the relationship, Faith had done a bit of research on MS, looking at reputable Internet sites and talking to a few doctors she knew.
“It’s funny you should mention MS, because I recently read an article about the latest findings and heredity as a potential cause.” Faith did her best to sound professional.
“You did?” Megan’s eyes widened with interest.
“The article’s about a University of Washington study. It states that the children of people with MS have a one percent chance of inheriting it.”
“Only one percent?”
“The Mayo Clinic site says the chances are four to five percent. Either way, those odds are in your favor.”
The young woman stared at her intently.