Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)(56)

Charlotte frowned back. “I’m going to track down his people and—”

“What people? Even if he’s got family, where are they? Why was he a ward of the state?”

“I don’t know. But Janet told me Tom was transferred to Cedar Cove at his own request—it was his original choice. My guess is he’s got family in the area.”

“If that’s the case, then why didn’t Tom contact them himself?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said again.

“My point exactly.”

Charlotte didn’t see it that way. “He trusted me,” she said stubbornly. “Tom wanted me to make sure all of this is properly distributed.”

“Mother—”

“Furthermore,” she continued, cutting Olivia off, “he knew he could count on me.” That, as far as she was concerned, said it all.

From this point forward, Charlotte was a woman on a mission. She’d figured out how to make up to Tom for neglecting him the last few weeks of his life. As a woman of honor, she swore she’d do everything within her power to find Tom Houston’s family. She wouldn’t give up, nor would she rest until his legacy was passed to those who had the right to own it.

On her way home from the library, Grace collected the day’s mail. That used to be Dan’s task because he generally arrived at the house before she did.

It was three weeks to the day since his disappearance. Three hellish weeks, in which she’d been confronted by all the unanswered questions, by doubts and guilt and mounting frustration.

The little everyday things distressed her. Taking out the garbage, bringing in the mail, fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom. All the things Dan used to do. Her fear and resentment intensified with each task.

At first Dan’s employer refused to believe he’d simply walked away from his life. Grace could hardly believe it herself, but all the evidence pointed toward the likelihood of exactly that. Dan was gone. No one had come up with any reason for it, any hows or whys. Grace had questioned Bob Bilderback, Dan’s boss at the tree service, at least five times, certain that he had some clue—even if he didn’t immediately recognize its significance. Bob was as bewildered as Grace.

Walking into the house, Grace quickly dispensed with the mail. Two bills went into a pile to join the others on Dan’s old desk. Money was tight. Bob had mailed her Dan’s last check made out to her. Frankly she was surprised Dan hadn’t collected that when he left, but then he had his credit cards.

Credit cards.

Grace hadn’t even thought to look at the VISA bill until now. She raced into Maryellen’s old bedroom, which had been turned into a den, and shuffled through the stack of unpaid bills on the desk until she reached the VISA statement still tucked inside the envelope.

Her hand shook as she tore it open and quickly scanned the list of charges. They all seemed to be in order with the exception of one. When she saw where the card had been used, her legs gave out. Bracing her back against the wall, she sank to the floor.

How long she sat there, staring at nothing, Grace couldn’t guess. She finally gathered the courage to call Olivia.

“Can you come over?” she asked. Her voice, which sounded scratchy, must have conveyed her urgency.

“I’m on my way.”

Less than ten minutes later, her friend was at the front door. “What is it?”

“The son of a bitch,” Grace cried, so furious she could barely contain herself. “Look at this!” She thrust the VISA statement at Olivia.

Olivia glanced at it and raised questioning eyes to Grace. “What?”

“Berghoff Jewelers in Bremerton. I didn’t buy myself any jewelry.”

“Dan?”

“Who else?” Grace raged.

“What would Dan buy there for 250?”

“A little trinket for his girlfriend, no doubt,” she snapped.

“Well, let’s find out.”

Olivia was always sensible. It hadn’t even occurred to Grace to contact the store. She hadn’t cancelled the credit card, either, which was a mistake she planned to rectify first thing in the morning.

While Grace paced the living room, Olivia found the phone number and dialed. When she’d finished, she handed the receiver to Grace.

Anger shot through her. “Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound calm and reasonable. “My name is Grace Sherman and I have my credit card statement here in front of me.” She went on to explain the charge. “They’re looking up the receipt now,” Grace said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

In thirty-five years of marriage Dan hadn’t once bought her a piece of jewelry. He considered it frivolous. She wore a plain gold band—the same ring he’d placed on her finger the day of their wedding. Over the years, the band had worn thin and should have been replaced, but never was. Her husband didn’t wear a wedding band at all, not after he got out of the military. Working with heavy equipment made it dangerous for a man to wear any sort of ring.

The woman from Berghoff’s returned with the requested information. “Mrs. Sherman,” she said.

“Yes.” Grace was instantly alert.

“The VISA charge is for a ring.”

“I beg your pardon?” This was as strange as everything else about her husband’s disappearance.