311 Pelican Court (Cedar Cove #3)

Zach didn’t understand what that had to do with anything. He murmured a noncommittal response, hoping she’d enlighten him.

She did. “Cecilia had him sign an agreement before she’d marry him. Then later, when they were in the court and the judge read the agreement, she wouldn’t let them get rid of it.”

“So this judge gave them a reason to stop and think about what they were doing.”

“Right,” Allison said.

“Smart judge,” Zach said, wishing the one who’d been assigned his divorce suit had shown the same wisdom in dealing with him and Rosie. If someone had stepped in and talked sense to him and his ex, it might have saved his family a lot of grief.

“You know her,” Allison said next.

“Who?” Zach asked as he turned off Harbor Street and headed toward Pelican Court.

“The judge.” The look his daughter flashed him said that should be obvious. “It’s the same judge who was in court with you and Mom.”

“Judge Lockhart?” He supposed he should’ve known; unusual verdicts seemed to be her trademark.

“I think she must be righteous cool.”

Zach barely managed to suppress a smile. Righteous cool was something his daughter might’ve said last year. For a moment, it was almost like having her back again, the girl she’d been before the divorce.

“I like her,” she said, adjusting the seat belt strap to a more comfortable position. “And before you ask, I’m talking about Cecilia, not Judge Lockhart.”

“I know you do.” He would be forever grateful for the way Cecilia had taken his daughter under her wing.

“I didn’t in the beginning, but then she told me what it was like when her parents divorced.” Allison glanced in his direction and sighed. “She was just a kid, too.”

“Bad, huh?”

Allison nodded. “Her dad took off. Her mom didn’t get any child support, either. Cecilia never really knew her dad when she was growing up. He’s the reason she moved to Cedar Cove. She wanted to get to know him, so she got in touch with him once she finished high school. He said he could get her a job, and she came here. She did get a job at the same restaurant where her dad worked, but it wasn’t what she’d expected. By then it was too late to move back home.” Cecilia’s contribution to the firm was valuable—but her relationship with Allison was worth even more to him.

Whatever had brought Cecilia to Cedar Cove, he was grateful she’d come.

“It didn’t work out with her and her dad, though,” Allison said absently.

“How come?”

Allison shrugged. “Sounds like he’s a real flake.”

Zach felt his daughter’s eyes on him. “Am I a flake?”

She shook her head. “You can be, but overall you’re okay, I guess.”

Such overwhelming praise was almost more than he could bear. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Her dad moved to California when The Captain’s Galley sold. The new owners didn’t offer him a job, which was probably for the best. Cecilia said her dad was drinking up the profits.”

“Oh.” That sounded like a direct quote. “This must’ve been about the time her baby died.”

“Somewhere around then,” his daughter informed him. “Ian was the one who encouraged Cecilia to take accounting classes. That’s her husband, in case you forgot.”

“Good for him.”

“He was at sea, and they were e-mailing back and forth, getting to know each other again.”

“That’s good.” Perhaps if he’d had the opportunity to e-mail Rosie, to correspond with her, they might’ve had the same chance. Somehow, putting words on paper gave a person time to think about what he or she was really saying.

“Cecilia said that the minute she met me, she knew I was special.”

“Why’s that?” He didn’t mean to sound skeptical, but he wanted to know what Cecilia had seen in his daughter. It seemed important to find out.

“Haven’t you been listening?”

Zach had. To every word. “Yes, I have.”

“Because of her baby,” Allison said. “Her baby’s name was Allison, too.”

Nineteen

As he walked into the Cedar Cove sheriff’s office, Roy McAfee looked around. The room was full of activity; several men and women sat at desks and a dispatcher handled the switchboard. There was a sense of urgency, of purpose, as deputies—uniformed and not—spoke on the phone, carried on conversations or typed at computers.

Damn it all, this was exactly the atmosphere Roy loved. He wanted to close his eyes, breathe in the scent of stale coffee, the sounds of cops at work. There was an excitement here. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to play an active role in law enforcement and he missed it. Except for the paperwork, he reminded himself. When he was on the force, he’d spent more than half his time filling out forms.

“How ya doing, Roy?” a uniformed woman asked when he approached.

Roy didn’t recognize her. “I’m good. I’m here to see Sheriff Davis.”

She smiled. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Roy had phoned soon after the first of the year, after he’d done everything he could on his end of the investigation. Today he’d give the sheriff what he’d learned. He liked and trusted Troy Davis; the man was no one’s fool. Roy was walking a tightrope, though. Officially he’d been employed by Grace Sherman and more recently Bob Beldon. His first priority was to look after his clients’ interests. If a crime had been committed, his job was to do everything he could to keep his clients clear of the law.

The female deputy returned. “Sheriff Davis will see you now.”

Roy followed her to the small office. Davis was sitting behind his desk, frowning at something on his computer screen, when Roy entered the room. Troy stood, and the two men exchanged handshakes. Roy took a seat and so did the sheriff.

“What can I do for you?” Troy Davis asked, leaning back in his chair, giving a relaxed impression.

Roy wasn’t deceived. The lawman was intensely interested in his visit. “Like I said when I called, I came to talk to you about the John Doe.”

“You know something I don’t?” Davis asked.

Roy considered the question. “I might.”

“Tell me.”

That, of course, was the reason Roy was here, although he probably wouldn’t share everything he knew, and where he’d gotten his information would remain with him. Davis understood and accepted that, although Roy knew he’d do his best to trick him into revealing his sources.

“During your investigation, did you run into the names Max Russell or Stewart Samuels, by any chance?” Roy asked. Those were the other two men who’d been with Dan Sherman and Bob Beldon in that patrol in Vietnam. Bob had told him how the four had become separated from their squad and stumbled into the village. Four men, four lives, each marked by that afternoon. Roy had located Samuels, who’d remained in the military and had a distinguished record of service. Of the four, he seemed the least affected by the events in Nam. Russell, however, had lived a troubled life after his release from the army. Like Beldon and Dan Sherman…

“I might have.” Davis leaned across his desk, nudging a stack of files that tilted precariously.

Roy was sure Davis couldn’t have heard about the men and had to be bluffing.

Davis riffled through the files until he found the one he wanted and flipped it open. Roy wasn’t surprised that Davis kept the John Doe case file close at hand. The sheriff leafed through it, then raised his eyes to meet Roy’s. “Are you going to tell me where you came up with these names?”

Roy grinned and slid down in his chair, crossing his arms. “No.” He had to protect Bob as much as possible. Even now, he couldn’t be sure of the extent of the other man’s involvement. He wanted to believe Beldon was an innocent bystander, but too many of the dots still didn’t connect.

The sheriff chuckled. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

Roy didn’t bother to answer.

“Can you tell me why I have the sneaking suspicion either Max Russell or Stewart Samuels is going to be listed as a missing person?”

Making an effort not to look self-righteous, Roy shrugged.

“Help me out a little, if you would,” Troy muttered, turning to face his computer screen. “Can you at least give me a state?”

“I could do that, but I’d hate to see you miss out on the fun of the chase. You might want to start with Russell, though.”

Troy glanced up, frowning darkly.

“California,” Roy said.

“Not Florida?” The dead man’s false ID had given a Florida address. Davis looked surprised as he punched a few keys, stared at the screen and then peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Are you planning to tell me how you got Russell’s name?”

“No.”

Troy exhaled slowly. “This is our John Doe?”

Roy couldn’t be sure of that, but he had his suspicions. “Might be.”

Troy continued to study the screen. “When did you find all this out?”

Roy gave him a halfhearted smile. “A while back. I dug up what I could and now I’ve decided it’s time to bring you into the investigation.”

Davis snorted. “I appreciate that, but I wish you’d come to me sooner.”

Roy still wasn’t a hundred-percent sure he was doing the right thing, as far as Bob or Grace Sherman were concerned, but withholding material information put him at risk of committing a crime himself. In his view, everything revolved around what those four men had done in Vietnam.

Troy tapped his fingers on the desk. “Before I go making an idiot of myself, did you talk to anyone in California?”

“Like who?”

His gaze went back to the computer screen. He did some more typing and glanced at Roy again. “Hannah Russell,” he said. “Says here she’s the one who filed the missing person’s report.” He scrolled down. “Probably the wife.”

“Daughter,” Roy corrected.

“Did you talk to her?” Davis demanded. The friendly pretense was gone now.

“And step into the middle of your investigation, Sheriff?” he asked. “Would I do that?”

“I hope to hell not, but I thought I’d better ask.”

“She’s all yours,” he said. His purpose in making this visit had been achieved. He’d leave the rest in Sheriff Davis’s capable hands. “I don’t suppose you’d like to thank me.”

“No,” Davis barked. “I’d like to know how long you’ve been holding on to this information.”

That wasn’t a question Roy wanted to answer. He’d kept it to himself as long as he dared. If possible, he wanted to keep Dan Sherman’s family out of this.

“Any idea why our John Doe arrived in Cedar Cove carrying false identification?”