50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [35]
“Maryellen!” Her mother’s protest was accompanied by a glare. “I’m sure Cliff has more important things to attend to than making me dinner.”
“I’d like to do it,” he countered, a smile twitching at the edges of his mouth.
“What date were you thinking of?” Maryellen was finding pleasure in this. It was a fitting turnabout, considering all the times Grace had tried to match her up after her divorce. She’d resented it back then, never suspecting that the day would come when she’d play matchmaker for her own mother.
“Thanksgiving,” Cliff said.
That astonished them both, and they stared at him.
“Thanksgiving,” Grace repeated softly. “I’m sorry, I already have an invitation.” She sent a triumphant look in Maryellen’s direction.
“To my house,” Maryellen said. Feeling she needed to explain the situation to Cliff, she added, “Kelly’s going to be at her in-laws’, so Mom was planning to join Jon, Katie and me.”
“Aren’t you flying out to be with Lisa?” Grace asked.
“Lisa was here earlier in the year,” Cliff said, and of course Grace knew that. “I thought I’d stay home. I don’t pretend to be much of a cook, but I can probably manage a turkey and fixings.”
Maryellen watched the lowering of her mother’s guard. No matter how hard Grace tried to convince herself the relationship was over, she couldn’t do it. In a matter of minutes, her resolve was visibly crumbling.
“I appreciate the invitation,” her mother said, her eyes warm with longing, “but I’m already committed to my daughter.”
“Mom, it’s all right, really. Jon and I won’t mind.”
“Nonsense,” Cliff said quickly. “I was hoping Maryellen, Jon and the baby would come, too.”
Grace met Maryellen’s eyes.
Maryellen felt a sense of satisfaction steal over her. “I’ll have to check with Jon, of course, but I imagine he’d enjoy the opportunity not to cook this Thanksgiving.”
“Then you’ll both be joining Cal and me,” Cliff said, as he got to his feet. He reached for his hat and when he smiled, it seemed to Maryellen that there was a new lightness in his expression. His habitual look was one of gravity and she’d rarely seen this kind of…elation on his face before.
She noticed that her mother was smiling, too.
Fourteen
The ringing of the phone destroyed the calm of the afternoon. Corrie reached for it on the second ring. “Roy McAfee’s office,” she said in her professional voice.
The lack of response caught her attention. “This is Roy McAfee’s office,” she repeated.
Silence again.
Sighing, she replaced the phone. When she looked up, Roy was standing in the doorway leading to his office, his arms crossed. He glowered at the phone as if it were guilty of some unspeakable crime.
“How many hang-ups have we had in the last couple of weeks?” he asked.
Corrie hadn’t counted them. “Two or three,” she said, but she knew it was more. She shrugged, making light of it. “I think the phone company must’ve issued a number similar to ours to a pizza parlor or something.”
“How many hang-ups did we get in October?”
“Oh, honestly, Roy, you don’t expect me to remember that, do you?”
His eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact, I do. I don’t know anyone who has a better mind for details. How many, Corrie?”
She swallowed hard. “None.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“In other words, you think whoever’s been mailing these postcards is switching to phone calls?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any more postcards recently?” Corrie hated to ask, but she needed to know. She hadn’t seen any, and Roy hadn’t mentioned getting even one in quite a while. Still, she was afraid he might be hiding them from her—for her own protection, of course.
He shook his head. “The last card arrived on October sixth.”
Corrie smiled, not that she found it humorous. She did feel a little relieved, yes. But her amusement, such as it was, came from Roy’s claim that she had a head for details, although he was the one who categorized every fact, no matter how minute. If it hadn’t been for Roy, the murder at the Thyme and Tide might never have been solved. Little things like the