Rainier Drive (Cedar Cove #6)(7)

“You’re not withholding evidence, are you?” Cecilia asked urgently. “Because that would change everything.”

“No! I couldn’t do that.”

Cecilia sighed with relief. “Good, because that would make you an accessory.”

Sheriff Davis and her parents had already explained this. “I answered all his questions truthfully,” she said.

Cecilia frowned. “This was a sin of omission, then?”

Allison slowly released her breath. “That night…when Anson knocked on my bedroom window.”

She glanced up and Cecilia nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We talked, and…and then he came into my room.” Her mother had been really upset when Allison admitted that; she could only imagine what Rosie would say if she knew the rest.

“Yes?”

Allison hesitated again. “He…he was in my room for a few minutes and then he left and when he did—” She nearly choked on her words.

Cecilia leaned closer.

Allison could hardly make herself say it. “I…I could smell smoke.” Her throat was painfully dry. “Not at first, I didn’t, because all I could concentrate on was not letting him leave. I noticed a smell but I didn’t think about it. Later I did, and when I realized what it was, I cried myself to sleep.”

“Anson smelled of smoke?” Cecilia whispered the question.

“Like that other time,” Allison said shakily. “As if…as if he’d been standing close to a bonfire.”

Cecilia’s shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes.

It was just as Allison had feared. Now even Cecilia believed Anson had burned down The Lighthouse.

Three

Arching her back, Maryellen Bowman shifted positions on the sofa, her temporary bed. The family living room had become her prison as the pregnancy moved into its final trimester. Jon was gone for the afternoon with Katie, their three-year-old daughter, so the house was quiet, peaceful. Maryellen knew she should try to rest. The problem was, she couldn’t.

Worries assailed her from all sides. She worried about her unborn baby and this difficult pregnancy. She worried about the pressures her husband was under as he struggled to support their family now that The Lighthouse, where he’d once worked as chef, was gone. She worried about his photographic career, her marriage and all the mistakes she’d made. The worst one had come from the best intentions. Maryellen had tried so hard to heal the rift between Jon and his parents, and it had nearly destroyed her relationship with her husband.

She found it impossible to rest, and yet that was what the doctor had ordered—bed rest for the remainder of this pregnancy. She was forbidden to climb stairs or exert herself in any way.

Yet how could she lie around when so much needed to be done? Leaning against the sofa, she closed her eyes and fought back depression. It’d never been like this when she carried Katie. That pregnancy had been normal in every respect.

Then she’d miscarried their second child. The emotional costs of this third pregnancy had yet to be calculated. Still, they both desperately wanted their child. All Maryellen could do was follow her doctor’s instructions, try not to worry and pray that the baby would be born healthy and whole.

Because she was bedridden, everyone had pitched in. Her mother, especially, helped as much as she could, coming by twice a week with dinner and looking after Katie as often as her own busy life would allow. This gave both Jon and Maryellen a much-needed break. She hated to intrude on her mother, since Grace and Cliff were newly married and just now setting up house together. Grace had her own adjustments to make without taking on Maryellen’s problems.

The phone rang and Maryellen grabbed it, eager for any distraction.

“Hello,” she said, hoping her voice disguised the self-pity she’d fallen into.

“It’s Ellen Bowman. Is everything all right?”

Her mother-in-law’s sympathy nearly overwhelmed her, bringing her close to tears. Maryellen felt dreadful, about as low as she’d been in her entire life, other than during her brief first marriage. “I’m okay,” she managed to tell her.

“And Jon?” Ellen asked hesitantly.

“He’s…” Maryellen was willing to stretch the truth about her own state of mind and health, but she couldn’t lie about her husband’s. “Not well, Ellen. He’s not doing well at all.”

Her mother-in-law grew quiet. “Joseph and I thought that might be the case. I know Jon’s angry. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with either of us. His attitude’s killing his father. But I know you’ve tried to talk to him, and we both appreciate your efforts more than we can say.”

Maryellen had paid a high price for interfering between Jon and his parents and she dared not do it again. She and Jon had actually separated for a time, just before the miscarriage, because of her attempts to effect a reconciliation. Afterward, they’d sidestepped the whole issue. But earlier in the month, soon after she’d begun her regimen of bed rest, Jon had conceded that they didn’t have any choice other than to ask his family for help.

Yet he hadn’t made the phone call, hadn’t contacted them in any way, at least not that Maryellen knew about. Instead, they struggled from day to day until she feared their lives were about to implode. Neither Jon nor Maryellen could continue living with this constant, unrelenting stress.