Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(87)

Somehow Maryellen made it through the rest of the day. The reception at The Lighthouse was elegant, with vintage wines and the best champagne—neither of which she touched—and a selection of delicious hors d'oeuvres. Several people asked about Jon, and Maryellen invented a convenient excuse. He was busy with a photographic commission and couldn' t come; he sent his best wishes. He had, in fact, given the newly weds a framed photograph of the lighthouse, one that Charlotte had long admired.

Knowing her mother wanted to spend time with Cliff, Maryellen drove back to the house on Rosewood Lane

. Katie was cranky and hungry by then, so Maryellen hurriedly heated her dinner. She was giving Katie a bath when she felt the first painful spasm. The sharpness of it caught her unawares and she nearly doubled over.

Kneeling on the floor in front of the bathtub, she watched as her daughter splashed joyfully, unconscious of the turmoil in Maryellen. No, please God, not the baby. Nothing else happened and she breathed easier.

After a few minutes, Maryellen lifted Katie from the tub. The pain shot through her and she gasped as the blood rushed between her legs. Holding Katie against her, Maryellen sank to the floor.

The front door opened a moment later and Maryellen sagged with relief. "Mom...help...oh, Mom."

Grace was in the bathroom in an instant; Cliff was with her. Her mother's eyes were wide with alarm.

Maryellen was weeping by then. Katie was screaming.

"I've lost the baby... I've lost the baby," she wailed in grief and pain, sobbing openly now.

After that, everything happened so quickly, Maryellen had trouble making sense of it. The next thing she knew, she was at the hospital in Bremerton and a doctor was telling her she'd suffered a miscarriage. As if she hadn't figured that out for herself. Maryellen barely heard a word he said, crying as hard as she was. He asked about her husband, but she shook her head. Jon didn't even know she was pregnant.

It was decided she should spend the night in the hospital and after the D&C, she was wheeled into a private room. A lone figure stood in the shadows. Jon. Apparently her mother had called him. Or perhaps Cliff had; it didn't matter. He was with her.

Maryellen looked at him and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. She turned her head away.

"Maryellen," he whispered, moving to the bedside. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She had no answer for him.

"I am so sorry." Each word was carefully enunciated.

Deeply depressed, Maryellen could only shake her head. She was sorry, too. Sorry about everything.

Jon sat down beside her and after a moment, reached for her hand and kissed it. She realized then that his eyes were bright with tears.

She started to sob again and stretched out her arms. Jon wrapped her in his embrace and together, with their arms securely around each other, they wept.

Forty-Four

Roy McAfee always checked his answering machine when he arrived at the office. There'd been a number of hang-ups recently. In light of the mysterious postcard he'd received a few weeks back, these hang-ups troubled him. He expected a few occasionally—any business got its share of wrong numbers—but his office had received more disconnected calls than usual in the last six weeks.

Corrie was making coffee after collecting the day's mail on her way into the office. Sitting down, Roy opened the drawer on the left-hand side of his desk and pulled out the cryptic postcard. He still didn't know what to make of it.

He heard Corrie moving around the outer office and realized she was about to deliver his coffee and the mail. Not wanting her to fuss over the postcard, he slipped it back inside his desk drawer.

Sure enough, Corrie entered his office, handing him a fresh mug of coffee. "There wasn't much mail this morning," she said as she placed a stack on the corner of his desk.

Usually she was the one who stopped at the post office.

It was pure coincidence that Roy had collected the mail the day that postcard arrived.

Corrie remained standing on the other side of his desk; she seemed to be waiting for something.

Roy anticipated a comment that didn't come. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Look it over," she said, gesturing to the few pieces of mail.

Roy reached for them and leaned back in his chair while he shuffled dirough the usual flyers, bills and—he hesitated when he caught sight of the postcard. He stared at the picture of the Space Needle.

"Read it," Corrie said.

Roy turned it over. The message was in the same block lettering as the first one. Only this time it read: THE PAST HAS A WAY OF CATCHING UP WITH THE PRESENT.

"What does it mean?"

Roy stared at the card, as perplexed by this message as he was by the first. "I haven't got a clue."

"There's no signature."

Roy set the card down on his desk. "People who send these kinds of messages generally don't sign their names."

Corrie walked over to the far side of the room and looked out the window. "This isn't the first one, is it?"

At times Roy swore Corrie should be the private investigator. She had real instincts about people, and a reliable sense of what was true and what wasn't.

"Is it?" she demanded, turning to face him.

Roy reluctantly shook his head. Slowly opening the drawer, he brought out the other postcard.

Corrie walked quickly to his desk and picked it up.