Debbie Macomber: 204 Rosewood Lane

Sitting on the end of the king-size bed, Zach yanked off his jacket and laid it beside him. Unfastening the buttons at his wrist, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and headed into the bathroom.

He was running hot water for a shave when Rosie came into the room. “Do you have enough cash for the pizza guy?”

“I think so,” he said. “Check my wallet.”

His wife met his gaze in the mirror. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“You’re busy.”

“It was crazy today,” Rosie said, sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub. They’d special-ordered it when the house was built three years earlier and it’d taken months to arrive. Rosie had wanted it badly enough to give up using tile on the hallway and kitchen floors. Zach would have opted for the tile floors but he hadn’t been able to refuse his wife this small luxury. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time Rosie had actually used the tub. Like him, she was in and out of the shower, rushing from one obligation to the next.

She went on to tell him about her day, the committee meetings, Allison’s dental appointment and some library function she’d agreed to coordinate. “I don’t know how mothers who work outside the home get everything done.”

“I don’t, either,” Zach said, although he suspected that his associates’ wives put dinner on the table at night and still managed to work forty hours a week. He also suspected those other wives were better organized than Rosie.

“I’ll cook dinner tomorrow night,” she promised.

Zach spread shaving cream across his face. “Meat loaf and mashed potatoes?” He didn’t hold out much hope, but it sounded good to hear the promise.

“Whatever you want, big boy.”

Despite his irritation, he grinned. Maybe he was just being difficult.

Two

The credit card must belong to the woman who’d sat across the restaurant from him last Monday, Cliff Harding decided. He’d noticed her. It wasn’t like he could have missed her; they were the only two people in the Pancake Palace that afternoon. The lunch crowd had left and it was too early for dinner.

She was attractive and about his age, but she seemed distracted, caught up in her own thoughts. He’d be surprised if she even remembered he was there. They’d paid for their meals at about the same time and that was when it must have happened. His bill was correct, but it was Grace Sherman’s credit card he’d slipped back inside his wallet. She apparently had his.

All week he’d gone about his business, oblivious to the fact that he was carrying someone else’s VISA card. If an attentive clerk at the pharmacy hadn’t pointed it out, he might not have noticed for that much longer.

As soon as he was home, he’d looked up Grace Sherman in the phone book with no luck. However he did find a listing for a D & G Sherman at 204 Rosewood Lane, Cedar Cove. The voice on the answering machine was that of a woman, so he left a message and waited for her to return his call. Thus far, no one had phoned and he suspected he had the wrong Sherman. What he should probably do was give the credit card to the manager at the Pancake Palace and request a replacement for his own.

Lately Cliff had found plenty of reasons to drive into Cedar Cove. Charlotte Jefferson had called him in June regarding the grandfather he’d never known. Cliff certainly didn’t have any warm feelings toward Tom Harding, even if he was the famous Yodeling Cowboy, popular from the late thirties to the mid-fifties. Tom Harding had deserted Cliff’s father and grandmother in his quest for fame. Toward the end of his life, Tom must have regretted the pain he’d caused his family but by then it was much too late. Cliff was his only grandson and—at least according to Charlotte Jefferson—the old man had intended to contact him.

Charlotte had to be in her seventies, but she was a woman with plenty of spunk. She’d befriended his grandfather while doing volunteer work at the Cedar Cove Convalescent Center and had taken a liking to the old man. They were friends, Charlotte explained.

Old Tom had lost his ability to speak after a massive stroke, but apparently Charlotte was able to communicate with him just fine. She told Cliff that Tom had given her a key shortly before he died. Upon investigation, she’d found his personal effects in a storage unit and concluded that Tom was the onetime movie and television cowboy star. As Tom’s only surviving relative, Cliff was entitled to these mementos.

In the beginning, Cliff wanted nothing to do with the old man, but Charlotte wouldn’t hear of it. She’d made it her mission to make sure Tom’s things, which included posters, scripts and his six-shooter—were delivered to Cliff, whether he wanted them or not.

Once he met Charlotte, Cliff understood why his grandfather had felt so comfortable with the older woman, and over the course of the summer, they’d become quick friends.

He made a habit of stopping in to see her or giving her a call every couple of weeks. She appeared to enjoy these visits and bragged proudly about her two children and her grandchildren. Her son, William, lived somewhere in the south, if he remembered correctly, and a daughter, Olivia, was a family court judge right here in Cedar Cove. Cliff had yet to meet Olivia, although he did wonder if any woman could live up to everything her mother had said about her.

Now that Cliff had spent some time studying the items Charlotte had rescued from the storage unit, he’d come to appreciate what she’d done. He could think of no better way to thank her than by giving her one of the movie posters, which he’d had mounted and framed. Charlotte had genuinely loved Tom Harding and that was before she’d identified him as The Yodeling Cowboy.

Cliff parked his truck on the steep hill above the cove, angling his tires into the curb. Carrying the unwieldy poster, he walked up the few steps that led to the large family home. As usual, Harry, her “guard cat,” was curled up asleep in the living-room window. Even before he had a chance to ring the bell, Cliff heard Charlotte turning the door locks.

He’d never had the opportunity to count how many locks Charlotte had, but he suspected Houdini couldn’t have gotten inside. He wasn’t sure what she had hidden that was so valuable; he did know that anything precious was likely to be buried underneath a pile of panty hose. He was also aware that at some point in their conversation Charlotte was likely to ask him about his bowels.

“Cliff,” she said happily, unlatching the screen door, first one and then a second lock. “This is a pleasant surprise. I wish you’d let me know you were planning to stop by. I would’ve baked you a batch of cookies.”

That was exactly the reason he hadn’t phoned ahead. The woman was intent on fattening him up. Cliff didn’t need any assistance in that area—he already had a paunch that had come with middle age and he was trying hard to lose it. So far he was down ten pounds from the first of the year, although he swore it would’ve been easier to chip away rock. Until retirement, he’d never had to worry about his weight.

“I brought you a little something,” he said as she swung open the screen door for him. Harry raised his head, stared at him and apparently decided Cliff was a friend. The cat closed his eyes and resumed his nap.

“Sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea,” Charlotte said. “And I’ve got some pound cake.”

“Don’t go to any bother.” He knew it wouldn’t do much good to protest, but he tried anyway. He was only going to stay for a few minutes. After leaving Charlotte’s, he’d drop off Grace Sherman’s credit card at the Pancake Palace. He might ask Charlotte if she knew Grace, since the older woman seemed acquainted with nearly everyone in Cedar Cove.