Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(103)

“And the baby?” He focused on her stomach.

“She’s developing nicely.”

“She?”

Maryellen nodded. “I’ve had periodic ultrasounds because of my age.”

“You knew all along?”

“No—I had them tell me just recently.”

“A girl.” He said it as if in absolute awe. “Have you picked out names yet?”

“I was thinking of Catherine Grace.”

His face softened. “My mother’s name was Katie. She’d be very pleased if she knew.”

“You can tell her.” She didn’t think he intended to keep the baby a secret. Perhaps this small concession on her part would convince him of her good faith.

“My mother’s been dead fifteen years.”

“I’m sorry.” Maryellen instantly regretted saying anything.

“I want my daughter in my life,” Jon said, his voice firm.

“Perhaps we could reach a compromise.” It hadn’t been part of her plan, but she didn’t want to drag this through the courts, either.

“Such as?”

“Weekends?” she suggested.

His face as void of emotion as he considered her offer.

“I don’t want to shuffle the baby back and forth—days with you, nights with me,” she explained nervously. “I want her life to be stable and full of love. Please try to understand.”

His reluctant nod followed. “All right. But my weekends sometimes aren’t the same as yours.”

“We can work around that.”

“Then we’re in agreement about the baby and me?” he asked, as though he wanted to be sure there was no misunderstanding. “She’ll be with me two nights a week.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He seemed relieved and perhaps even moved by her compromise. “I plan on being a good father.” He turned toward his truck, his reason for stopping at the café apparently forgotten. “Go easy on the salt, you hear.”

“Yes, sir.” Maryellen gave a mock salute and smiled, and to her astonishment, Jon smiled back. He got into his truck and drove off, but as his vehicle disappeared from view she realized that she’d done Jon Bowman a disservice. He genuinely cared for their unborn child—and for her. Throughout this ordeal he’d been honorable and kind. She was the one who’d mistreated him.

Maryellen’s appetite vanished, and she pushed her meal away. The baby fidgeted inside her, stretching and kicking as if to remind her that every child deserved a mother and a father.

“All in due course, Catherine Grace,” she murmured, rubbing her abdomen, “all in due course.”

For five months Roy McAfee had searched for information on the John Doe who’d died at the Beldons’ bed-and-breakfast. So far, he’d learned that the airline ticket had come from a small town in southern Florida. This same town was where “James Whitcomb” had lived, according to his counterfeit ID. Roy had traveled there, showed the man’s picture to authorities in the area and come back with nothing.

His next angle had been to contact plastic surgeons in Florida, but none recognized the work or knew of the case. One physician suggested it seemed to have been done twenty or thirty years ago, as techniques had changed over time. While that was interesting, it wasn’t especially helpful.

Six months after his death, the John Doe had yet to be identified. And despite the days and nights he’d logged on this case, Roy was no further ahead. The toxicology report had revealed nothing to unravel the mystery. Because of budget restraints, Troy Davis hadn’t ordered more extensive tests.

Roy knew the county didn’t have a lot of extra cash—and curiosity was definitely not an item in their budget. With no clear evidence of foul play, there was nothing to investigate.

Corrie came into the office carrying a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “You’re thinking about the dead guy again.” Because they still didn’t have a name for him, his wife referred to him as “the dead guy.”

Roy growled something unintelligible under his breath. “I’m not dropping it.”

“Troy doesn’t have the money to continue funding the investigation.”

“You don’t need to remind me of that.” After his last report, in which he had little information to add, Davis had said to let it go. Roy didn’t like hearing that, but there were plenty of other cases that needed his attention. Still, this one nagged at him, much the same way Dan Sherman’s disappearance had.

“We’ve already put out more money than we’ve taken in.”

Roy had heard that before, as well. From the beginning, Corrie hadn’t been keen on his delving into this investigation. He didn’t think she could explain her reasoning any more than he could rationalize the time and expense he’d poured into the case.

“I can’t stop thinking the dead guy came to Cedar Cove for a specific reason,” Roy murmured, turning the puzzle around in his mind. He didn’t believe for a moment that this was a random visit. Something else that had bothered him was how the man knew about Thyme and Tide. The bed-and-breakfast wasn’t on a main road. He had to go off the freeway and down several side roads in order to find it.

Either the John Doe had gotten completely lost in the storm, or he’d specifically chosen the Beldons’ place. If so, why?