Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(33)

“Because cookies aren’t good for you, stupid,” Matthew muttered.

When Emily didn’t instantly protest, Mark did. “Mom! Matthew called me stupid.”

“Don’t do it again,” she said halfheartedly. She set the napkins on the table and poured a pile of pretzels onto each. The juice she gave them was a special treat; it came in small boxes complete with their own straws.

“What time will Dad be home?” Mark asked, then stuffed his mouth full of pretzels.

“I…I’m not sure.”

“What’s for dinner?” Matthew wanted to know.

Emily glanced over at the stove. When the phone rang she’d been assembling a large pan of lasagna. After speaking to Judge Griffin, she’d gotten sidetracked. The sauce had cooled on the stove as she’d stood by the phone, trying to understand what she’d learned. This shouldn’t be happening, and yet it made a weird kind of sense. It wasn’t as if Emily hadn’t suspected Dave had been lying to her. She’d known all along.

“Mom?” Matthew asked her again. “What’s for dinner?”

“Food, stupid,” Mark said.

“Don’t call your brother stupid,” she returned automatically.

“He called me stupid first.”

Emily would go slowly insane if she had to listen to this constant bickering. “Both of you, to your rooms.” She pointed in the direction of the hallway. They had their own bedrooms since the move to Sandpiper Way, which had been one of the many attractions offered by this house.

“Mom!” Matthew shouted. “We just got home from school.”

“Do your homework!”

“What about study hour?”

“You can do homework then, too.”

“This sucks!” Mark dragged his feet and his backpack down the hallway. She didn’t bother to reproach him for using a word she hated.

Emily waited until her sons were well out of earshot. With her mind in turmoil, she walked over to the telephone and called the church office.

Angel, the secretary, answered right away. “Cedar Cove Methodist,” came her well-modulated voice. “Can I help you?”

“It’s Emily,” she said, trying to sound calm, despite the staccato beating of her heart. “Is Dave there?”

“Oh, hi, Em,” Angel said. “Sorry, he’s been out and about all afternoon. You might want to try his cell. He had it with him when he left the office.”

“He either has it turned off or the battery’s gone dead.” Emily hoped God would forgive her for that lie.

“Can’t reach him then?”

“Right.”

Emily could hear Angel flipping pages of what she assumed must be Dave’s appointment calendar. “It says here that he’s supposed to visit Judge Griffin. She’s home from the hospital now, but I guess you already know that.”

“Is there a time?” she asked.

Angel made a small humming sound. “Four, according to his calendar.”

“Four,” Emily repeated dully. “Four this afternoon?” The secretary’s words confirmed everything she suspected.

“Yup. That’s what it says,” Angel said cheerfully.

“Okay, thanks.” Emily quickly got off the phone. At first she was too numb to think. Then, marching over to the sink, she looked down at the lasagna noodles she’d cooked. Lasagna was one of Dave’s favorite meals. He’d asked her to make it again soon, and like a gullible, simple-minded wife eager to please her husband, she’d happily complied.

Four o’clock.

He’d written down that he’d be visiting Judge Griffin at four this afternoon.

Yet that very morning, Dave had made a point of telling her he’d be home late this evening. Late because he had an appointment with Olivia Lockhart Griffin at six o’clock. Not only that, he’d apparently gone to see her well before the scheduled time of four.

It wasn’t difficult for Emily to surmise what he was doing during those unaccounted for hours.

He was with another woman. Someone he didn’t want her or Angel or anyone in town to know about.

Why else would her husband, the minister, the pastor of their church, lie to his wife?

“Mom?” Matthew stood in the kitchen doorway. “Is everything okay?”

She forced a smile. “Of course. Why not?”

He frowned. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

“I do?” She tried to relax. “How would you boys like to go out for dinner tonight?”

Mark joined his brother. “McDonald’s?”

“Sure.” She eyed the sauce cooling on the stove and the pile of grated mozzarella cheese.

“Mom?” Matthew asked when she started running water and turned on the garbage disposal. “What are you doing?”

“I…I ruined dinner,” she said as she dumped the entire pan of sauce down the disposal. It made a disgusting gurgling noise as it ground up the meat, onions, tomatoes and herbs that had been simmering for hours. She followed that with the mozzarella, then painstakingly fed in the wide noodles.

“Mom,” Mark said loudly. “I really like lasagna.”

“I’ll make it again soon,” she promised, but just then it gave her a perverse kind of pleasure to discard the whole meal. Despite the waste—and she knew she’d feel guilty later—she needed the angry satisfaction of doing this. “The three of us are going out to McDonald’s, remember?”