that’s—” Dylan paused to clear his voice which seemed unusually dry and squeaky. “And that’s no mean feat, considering Ms. Anderson’s front yard is more than an acre.”
“But Dylan has been coming up with marvelous ideas. I hope you don’t mind how much time he’s spending on my project, Mrs. McGrath.”
Cotton-mouthed, Cathryn replied, “No. Why should I mind?”
The woman laughed, shaking back her hair, and suddenly Cathryn discovered there was a very good reason why she should mind.
There on Zoe Anderson’s earlobes sparkled Cathryn’s Valentine earrings.
She lost her ability to speak, to move, even to breathe. All she could do was stare at the familiar eight-hundred-dollar earrings. And there was no doubt in her mind they were the same ones. The setting was just unusual enough to be distinctive.
All at once Cathryn remembered the card, the intimate verse, the romantic phrases, and nausea brought the taste of bile to her mouth.
Someone touched her arm and quietly asked, “Are you all right?”
Mechanically she turned and saw that the person addressing her was Tucker. Remembering where she was, she concentrated on composing herself and nodded with a reassuring smile. “Just a little queasy. I…I’ve been fighting symptoms of the flu all morning.”
“Come sit down,” Tucker said, urging her toward the sofa.
“No, I think…” She glanced at Dylan and caught him exchanging a look with the other woman that seemed too familiar, too fraught with communication. “I think I’ll just go home.”
Dylan escorted her to the van with a solicitous arm around her waist, but it wasn’t concern she saw in his handsome, square-jawed face. It was fear. And guilt.
“Who is she?” Cathryn asked, her voice as shaky as her legs.
“Who?”
“That woman. Zoe Anderson.”
“She’s…a cottager. From New York. Weren’t you listening?”
“Yes, but who is she to you?”
He pulled in his chin, in innocence and perplexity. “To me? She’s a client, Cath. A client with a job big enough to pay for that sunroom you’ve always wanted.” He helped her into the van, went around to the driver’s side, and they started toward home under a cloud of tension, which he tried to dispel by turning on the radio and humming along with the song that was playing.
I should let it go, Cathryn thought. I could’ve made a mistake. Zoe Anderson might very well own earrings exactly like the ones I found. Although they were unusual, surely they weren’t unique. Besides, this is Dylan I’m having doubts about. Dylan.
But the windshield wipers hadn’t even had enough time to clear a decent wedge of road grit off the window when Cathryn decided she had to keep asking. She had to find out for certain who Zoe Anderson was. She wouldn’t rest easy until she did.
By the time Dylan was steering into their driveway, Cathryn had her answer. She stumbled from the van, heading for the house, but made it only as far as the walkway before doubling over and throwing up.
LATE THAT AFTERNOON Tucker set off with the back seat of his rental car rattling with cookware and serving dishes. Sarah had suggested waiting. She said he was tired and should get some rest. The neighbors who’d brought over food were bound to drop by eventually to reclaim their dishes. And even if they didn’t, he could always return them later in the week.
Trouble was, Tucker wasn’t planning to be around later in the week. There was a little woman in St. Louis who needed to be sweet-talked into marrying him, and the sooner he got to it the better. Right after Sarah had wrapped the last leftover, declared the kitchen suitably neat, buttoned up her overcoat and toddled on home, he’d put himself in gear and packed the car. There was still too much to do.
Returning cookware was the least of it. Far more complicated was the chore of sorting through his uncle’s belongings and deciding what to keep, what to throw out, what to sell or give away. That could drag on for days. Then there was the house itself. Walter had left it to him, and while Tucker was deeply moved by his generosity, the gift didn’t come without its problems—most notably, selling it. The garage presented problems, too, maybe more so than the house. Finding a buyer for a house wasn’t unusual. But for an auto repair shop?
Sure, he could put off returning pans and dishes, but anything he could knock off the list now would be one less thing standing between him and his leaving Harmony.
Tucker decided to drop off the items that belonged to Cathryn McGrath first, since they took up most of the back seat. He was also a little curious to know how she was feeling.
With an up-to-date map of the island on the seat beside him and West Shore Road highlighted with yellow marker, he set off toward what should have been a setting sun. Unfortunately a gloomy gray blanket of mist continued to muffle the island, and the only evidence he saw of the sun existed in a paler shade of gray to the west.
Still, the landscape wasn’t without its beauty, in a stark and empty way. Tucker turned off the radio and cracked open a window to better enjoy the mellow two-note bellowing of Harmony’s competing foghorns and the screeching of its gulls. The cold brine-scented air blowing in invigorated his body. The long vistas, both seaward and skyward, invigorated his soul.
He used to loathe this time of year when he was a kid. There was a stillness to February, a nothing-happening hush as nature hung idle between winter and spring, that used to drive him crazy. Funny, how time could alter a person’s perspective.
Tucker found Cathryn’s address with minimal trouble. She lived in an area of new midpriced homes, each set on at least two acres, with SUVs in the driveways and swing sets in the yards. The McGraths lived in an extended Cape Cod house with white shutters, natural cedar shingles, and well-tended shrubs out front. Kid-made paper hearts, framed by ruffled curtains, decked the windows. Cupids lined the walk, and a red-and-pink Valentine flag hung by the front door. There were window boxes stuffed with pine and holly, flower beds waiting for spring, and tucked here and there, stone squirrels and bunnies and ducks. It was picture-perfect. And perfectly Cathryn.
Tucker was standing at the door before he realized he should’ve called before coming over. Although it was nearly dinnertime, the house was eerily still. He heard no children’s voices within, no TV gabble, no clatter of pots or plates. He didn’t even see any lights.
He stepped back, peering toward the attached garage. The double door was raised, revealing only one vehicle. Maybe the family had gone visiting. Or maybe to a restaurant…although Tuesday was an odd night to go out to eat, and Cathryn had been feeling sick.
For a brief moment, Tucker worried about Cathryn. Something wasn’t right with her. She’d claimed to be fighting off flu symptoms all morning, but he’d seen her eating and nothing had been wrong with her appetite. He’d also noticed the abrupt change in her expression while the Anderson woman talked with her.
With a shake of his head, he tossed aside his suspicions. He was an inveterate cynic, seeing trouble where none existed, and that was all there was to it. Tucker set down the urn on the doormat where it couldn’t be missed, then returned to the car for the rest of Cathryn’s things.
With
