Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(23)

Knowing Peggy, she'd have dinner started. Since it was Monday, he guessed she'd probably prepared either stuffed green peppers or her fabulous meat loaf. Either meal suited him just fine.

Still whistling as he pulled into the driveway, he found his wife watering her herb garden. Any time of year, her gardens were something to behold. The name of their B and B, Thyme and Tide, had come from both their proximity to the sea and Peggy's herbs. And of course the old saying about time and tide waiting for no man...

Speaking of time, without guests, they both had plenty of that on their hands. Money was tight, but Peggy was as skilled at budgeting as she was at every other household task. Bob couldn't imagine how they'd manage their money situation otherwise, but thankfully Peggy had it all figured out.

He drove into the garage and then walked out to greet Peggy. Garden hose in hand, she smiled as he approached. The sun was still high, although it was almost six o'clock. According to the calendar, summer would officially arrive later in the month, but as usual it would take another six weeks to show up in the Pacific Northwest. August and September were almost always spectacular. Bob had to remind himself of that in February and March, when the constant drizzle dragged down his normally good spirits.

"Hi, honey," Bob said. He stood at the edge of her garden. The fennel bulbs were flowering, and the parsley and cilantro were just peeking up from the dark, rich soil. "What's for dinner?"

"Meat loaf. How'd the meeting go?"

"Just great." He couldn't contain his smile.

"What's that grin about? Are you keeping something from me?" She jokingly aimed the hose in his direction.

"Not a thing." He chuckled, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I was just thinking we'd probably have meat loaf tonight, is all."

Peggy walked over to the side of the house and turned off the water. "I'm about finished here."

Bob nodded.

"If you've got a moment, I'd like to talk."

He hesitated. When Peggy asked to speak to him in that formal way, it generally wasn't about anything pleasant.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not really."

She seemed rather closemouthed about it, which wasn't good. Now that he studied her, Bob realized he should have seen the signs earlier. Peggy was a talker, a natural conversationalist. She could—and did—talk to anyone about anything. Many of their guests were repeat customers Peggy now counted as friends.

Bob followed her into the mudroom off the kitchen. Peggy changed out of her rubber shoes and methodically put her gardening supplies on the shelf. The contrast between her highly organized work areas and his—well, sometimes it embarrassed him a little. He could be such a slob, he thought ruefully, and yet Peggy was so tolerant of his carelessness, for which he could only be grateful.

"What's going on?" he asked as they entered the kitchen.

Peggy automatically poured them each a cup of tea and set the mugs on the table. "I got a phone call from Hannah Russell this afternoon."

Bob felt the sudden need to sit down. He yanked out the chair and sat, reaching for his tea.

"I'm so worried," Peggy said, sitting across from him.

That got Bob's attention. "About what?" They'd been caught up in this nightmare for so long that he'd grown accustomed to the tension. It had become part of his reality and there was nothing to do but stand firm in the face of each new shock.

"Hannah," Peggy continued as if it should be obvious. "Her mother and father are both gone. She's like a lost soul. She's foundering, Bob." She paused for a moment. "I talked to Hollie today, and she said that in her opinion, Hannah needs a sense of security. I agree with her."

"1 suppose that's only natural when someone loses both parents in such a short time." Bob envied the closeness between his wife and daughter. He knew that during his drinking years, he'd lost an important part of his children's lives.

Peggy's hands tightened around her mug. "Hannah phoned to thank me for my letter."

Bob had forgotten that Peggy had written the girl. It was just the sort of thoughtful thing she'd do.

"She wanted to tell me she's moving."

"Where?"

"That's just it," Peggy said, and her face darkened with concern. "She doesn't know. She's sold everything she can. Hollie says that Hannah's running away from her pain—that she'll carry it with her wherever she goes."

Bob nodded. "Hollie's right. I'm not sure leaving California's a good idea for Hannah. She might regret it later, selling things she'll wish she'd kept."

"That's what I told her, but she said it was too late. What she didn't sell she gave away."

Bob's own concern grew. His unease didn't revolve solely around Hannah, either. She might inadvertently have sold something that would help solve this mystery.

"That's not all," Peggy said. "I got the impression that she's going to travel aimlessly around the country until she finds a place that.. .feels comfortable. That's how she put it."

Bob sat back in his chair and mulled this over. The young woman was vulnerable. Wandering from place to place wasn't what he'd want for his own daughter. "What about family? Surely she's got aunts and uncles and cousins?"