LITMIR.BIZ

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up her butt about how I should be making a play for her.”

      “A play?”

      “You know,” he said, growing impatient. “She wants me to—in her words—show some gumption and fight for her.”

      Peggy frowned. “She wants you to fight?”

      “Well, maybe not a knock-down, drag-out fistfight but… hell, I don’t know what she wants.” He assumed she was expecting him to come on bended knee and beg her forgiveness. He had too much pride for that. If she was interested in him, the same way he was interested in her, then that high-school, high-drama stuff shouldn’t be necessary. For a woman who supposedly knew so much about human nature, Olivia had fallen decidedly short on figuring this out.

      “You might send her flowers,” Peggy suggested.

      Jack had already thought of that. “I don’t have a reason.”

      “Reason? What do you mean, reason?” Peggy repeated.

      “You know…her birthday, Christmas, whatever.”

      “Jack, Jack, Jack,” Peggy said slowly. “You have a reason. You want her back, don’t you? This nonsense has gone on long enough. That’s all she wants to hear. She’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

      Yeah, well, Jack was waiting, too.

      “You’re at a standoff,” Peggy said. “If you don’t do something fast, you’ll lose her. If she intended to get together with her ex, don’t you think she’d be with him by now? Good grief.” She shook her head. “Stan must be overjoyed by all this.”

      Jack scowled ferociously. He’d thought plenty about that slimy bastard who’d once been married to Olivia, and heaven knew Jack didn’t want to do Stanley Lockhart any favors. “I suppose you think I should pour my heart out on one of those dinky cards, too.”

      “No,” Peggy said. “That wouldn’t be like you.”

      Thankfully she knew him well enough to recognize that. “What should I say, then?”

      “Why say anything? Just write your name.”

      “That’s it?”

      Peggy nodded. “All Olivia needs is some indication that you care.”

      It was that easy? Nah—couldn’t be.

      “Are you going to do it?” she pressed.

      “Maybe.” It sounded like good advice, and at this point, he was willing to try just about anything—especially if he could hold on to his pride at the same time.

      Peggy shoved the cookie plate in his direction and Jack took the last one. “I hope you do it,” she told him.

      Peggy had certainly given him something to think about, but now he was anxious to turn the subject away from Olivia. “I happened to run into Roy McAfee the other day,” Jack said. The retired Seattle police detective had put out his shingle as a private investigator shortly after he’d moved to Cedar Cove. Jack knew that Roy had talked to Bob and Peggy extensively about the John Doe who’d checked into their B and B—and never checked out. The medical examiner still hadn’t determined the cause of death.

      “Is Roy still working on our big mystery?” Peggy asked, her eyes troubled.

      “He didn’t mention anything, but I doubt it.”

      Peggy became quiet and thoughtful. “I wish he would,” she finally said.

      “Investigate your John Doe?” Jack prodded.

      “It’s almost as if…as if he landed here from another planet.”

      “You think Roy might be able to find out something the police can’t?” he asked.

      “I…I don’t know.” She shifted in her seat and suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “It’s just that…” Again she hesitated.

      “What?”

      “It’s Bob. That night, he casually said there was something familiar about our guest. But with the way he arrived, so late and without a reservation, Bob couldn’t put his finger on it. I think there might be more to this than meets the eye.”

      Bob and Jack were close. He knew Bob had scoured his brain looking for a connection and been unable to come up with one.

      “I’ve been married to Bob for over thirty years…” Peggy’s voice dropped to a whisper. She darted a glance at him. “Did he ever tell you about his nightmares?”

      He hadn’t. “We all have bad dreams at one time or another.” Jack hadn’t gone to Vietnam himself, but he knew plenty of men who had. Nightmares weren’t uncommon for a man who’d been to war.

      “Twice now…” She sighed. “Sometimes, through the years, Bob’s sleepwalked.”

      Jack leaned forward. “Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with your guest’s death?”

      “Oh, no.” Her eyes widened in horror. “It’s impossible! The bedroom door was locked from the inside.”

      But Jack knew they had a key, so that wasn’t a viable excuse.

      “And there wasn’t a scratch on him.”

      Jack nodded. That was true.

      “Besides, you know Bob. He can barely swat a fly. It just isn’t in him to purposely hurt anyone or anything.”

      Peggy was right. “Then why do you want Bob to talk to a private investigator?”

      “I just want Bob to talk, I guess. It doesn’t matter to whom. After I saw how upset he was over Dan’s death, coupled with the recurring nightmares—well, I just think it would do him good to get it off his chest. He’s always so afraid that he might start walking in his sleep again.”

      Jack could appreciate her concern. “Do you want me to say anything to him?”

      She shook her head. “It might do more harm than good. If he thinks I’ve been talking about him—even with you—he’d just get upset.”

      Jack noticed the way she clenched and unclenched her hands, and he realized that Peggy was afraid. Even though she’d denied it, she was afraid her husband might have had something to do with the stranger’s death.

      Was that possible? Could Bob be involved?

      Five

      Sunday afternoon, the day Katie turned one month old, Maryellen paced the living room floor, holding her daughter against her chest. The doorbell chimed and she froze. Jon had come for Katie, to take her home for the night. This was the first time since she’d been born that Maryellen had to surrender her to Jon. Until today, he’d visited almost daily, usually staying only an awkward few minutes. Now he’d be taking her on his rotation days off, returning the next afternoon. Already she knew that abiding by their agreement wasn’t going to be easy.

      Reluctantly, she set Katie back in her bassinet and opened the front door. Jon stood on the other side of the screen, dressed casually in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. His long dark hair was pulled away from his face and tied in a ponytail.

      “Hi,” he said. “You look great—both of you.”

      “Jon.” Despite her resolve not to be emotional, her voice trembled.

      If he noticed her distress, he ignored it. “Is Katie ready?”

      Maryellen swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She held the door open for him. “I’ve packed everything you’ll need.” She reached for the diaper bag and pulled out a container of breast milk she’d pumped and several empty bottles. “She only takes about three ounces, sometimes four, at a time. You’ll probably have to get up twice during the night, and she isn’t all that accustomed to the bottle, so I don’t know how she’ll do.” She swallowed

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