Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(43)

In other words, she shouldn't call him unless absolutely necessary.

"Okay."

"What time will you be home?"

She smiled at the question because she got there within the same ten-minute period every afternoon. "Five-thirty-one," she teased.

"Cute, Maryellen."

"I can be even cuter if you want."

"What I want is you. All of you, all the time."

"That's good to know because I'm more than willing to give you all of me."

Jon laughed. "I'll be waiting for my two favorite women at five-thirty-one."

"Aye, aye, captain." Maryellen smiled as she replaced the receiver, warmed by their brief conversation.

A short while later, while her assistant was on her lunch break, an older couple came into the gallery. The building itself, more than a century old, was a historic site in Cedar Cove. As always, the wide wooden floorboards creaked as she moved out of her small office to greet the customers. The walls of the gallery displayed a variety of artwork— paintings and photographs—by several local artists, but the three pieces Jon had brought in earlier that week had already been sold.

Maryellen watched as the man and woman, arms linked, glanced about the room. They didn't seem typical of the normal tourist traffic. The man wore slacks and a short-sleeved plaid shirt, while the woman had on a rather old-fashioned shirtwaist dress. It looked as if they were on a church outing rather than visiting a small town.

"Hello," Maryellen said warmly. "Welcome to the HarborStreetArtGallery. Is there anything I can help you find?"

"Hello." The woman smiled and turned to her husband, apparently waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, she said, "We've heard there's a very talented nature photographer from this area whose work is displayed here."

"That would be Jon Bowman." It never failed to thrill Maryellen when a customer inquired about him. "I'm afraid the gallery has sold out of Mr. Bowman's photographs. I'll have more in later in the month."

"Oh." The woman was clearly disappointed.

"His photographs are also available in a gallery in Seattle. I'd be more than happy to give you their name and phone number if you'd like."

She nodded eagerly. "Yes, by all means."

Maryellen walked over to her desk and retrieved a business card from the gallery that displayed Jon's photographs. The man, who was quite tall and formal in his manner, accepted the card. He bowed his head in thanks and stared at it intently.

Something about him caught Maryellen's attention, but she couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

The woman moved closer to her husband. "We heard correctly then? Jon—Mr. Bowman does live in the area?"

"Yes, he does. As it happens, I'm his wife." Maryellen said this with a great deal of pride.

"I thought you might be," the man said, speaking for the first time. His tone was low, a bit gruff, as if he didn't speak often.

Again the woman turned to her husband.

"If you're interested in seeing any of his work—"

"We'd like that very much," the woman said, cutting Maryellen off. "That would mean a great deal to both of us."

Maryellen walked over to the window. "If you stop at The Lighthouse Restaurant, which is just down the street, you'll see several of Jon's photographs on display." She pointed out the window. "Until recently, Jon supplemented his income by working at the restaurant."

"Doing what?" the man asked, sounding shocked.

"He was the chef."

"Jon?" The woman's tone was equally puzzled. "I... didn't realize."

This couple seemed to know Jon. "My husband is a man of many talents." Maryellen hesitated, almost afraid to ask if they were Jon's parents, uncertain what would happen if her suspicions proved to be correct.

"I—" The woman stopped abruptly and clamped her mouth shut.

Maryellen noticed how the man's arm tightened around his wife's; he seemed to be warning her that she was saying too much.

"Jon's an innovative chef. He could've made a name for himself in that field if he'd chosen to do so." Maryellen knew she was chattering, but it was the result of nerves.

"That's wonderful."

"Is there anything else I can show you?" Maryellen asked. 'There are several talented local artists whose work we have in the gallery."

"We were only here about Jon's," the man said, starting toward the door. "Thank you for your help."

"You said Jon's your husband?" The woman lingered as if she wasn't ready to leave.

"We need to go," her husband insisted.

"In a minute, dear."

Maryellen studied them, wondering about the silent tug-of-war going on between the older couple. It was clear the woman had more questions, no less clear that the man was eager to be on his way.

"Do you have children?" the woman asked.

Maryellen nodded. "A daughter named Katie."

The woman placed her hand over her heart. "I'm sure she's a delightful child."

"Oh, yes. In looks she resembles my side of the family more, but she has Jon's temperament and his personality." Maryellen gently tested the waters. The woman certainly was curious. "I suspect Katie possesses her father's artistic eye, as well, but only time will tell about that."