January’s late afternoon sky was as gray as the ocean, making it difficult to see where the horizon began or ended. Standing alone at the end of the pier, wrapped in her wool jacket, Claudia looked out to sea and for a brief moment felt compelled to simply jump into the icy waters and end it all. This was not how it was supposed to go down. She had fully expected Clint to simply write her a check and send her on her way; the old Clint would have done that.
Claudia did not want to go to jail, but the walls were closing in on her, and without money to help her start a new life, in another country—like Clint was going to do—then she could possibly face ruin. If Dirk hadn’t shown up, it might have been easier. Dirk complicated matters and made her nervous, never knowing what he was going to tell people. Then to make everything worse, Albert Hanson was in Frederickport. Who else from her and Clint’s past would be showing up?
It was all Clint’s fault. It had been his idea, all of it. Looking back, it was actually pretty cheeky of him to approach her with the idea, especially after what he had done to her in Mexico. Of course, Clint never understood why she had been so upset at the time. He had accused her of lacking a sense of humor.
A gust of wind made her shiver. Seeking warmth, she dug her hands into her coat’s pockets. Her right hand hit something cold and hard, and then she remembered she had put it there. Her small pistol. Wrapping her hand around the gun, keeping it in her pocket, she wondered if she had the courage to take care of those who threatened her freedom.
“Where did Clint go?” came a familiar voice behind her.
Startled, she twirled around to face the person and without thought pulled the revolver from her pocket.
“How did it go with Claudia?” Danielle asked Walt when he returned to Marlow House.
“Not good. Maybe we should go up to my room and talk?” he suggested.
“Why? We’re all alone in the house.” Danielle smiled. Sitting on the parlor sofa, she closed the book she had been reading and patted the empty spot next to her.
“Where is everyone?” Walt asked as he sat down.
“Well, I haven’t seen the Russoms since they left early this morning. They must be having fun with their family; they never stick around here. Rachel isn’t back from the movies yet. I assume Tanya is still in Astoria, and Dirk took off not long after you left with Claudia. Where is she, by the way?”
“She was pretty upset. I left her down at the pier.”
“So it didn’t go well?”
“According to her, I might have more problems than just an unwanted marriage.” Walt leaned back in the sofa and put his arm around her. “Remind me, the next time I move into someone’s body, make sure I thoroughly check them out.”
Danielle chuckled and leaned back into Walt, resting her head against him. She propped her feet on the coffee table. “Don’t make me laugh; none of this is funny.”
“Remember what I told you, sometimes we just have to—”
“Laugh,” she finished for him. “Yes, I know. So what did Clint do?”
“I have no idea. According to Claudia, it’s something that I could spend the next two decades in prison for.”
“Considering Dirk is intending to blackmail you about something, I suppose we shouldn’t be too surprised. We’re supposed to be planning our wedding, not dealing with all this.”
“I’m sorry.” Walt kissed the top of her head and hugged her briefly.
“Walt, it’s not your fault. You are hardly responsible for anything Clint did.”
“I understand that. But it is strange, sometimes I do feel responsible.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“I just heard someone at the front door,” Walt whispered in Danielle’s ear.
The next moment someone called out from the entry hall, “Hello?” It was Rachel’s voice.
“We’re in here, Rachel, in the parlor!” Danielle called out.
“Didn’t I ever tell you it’s unladylike to scream in the house?” Walt teased.
Gently elbowing Walt, Danielle countered with, “Oh hush!”
“Hi,” Rachel said when she walked into the parlor a moment later.
“How was your movie?” Danielle asked.
“It was okay.” Rachel shrugged. “I wish Claudia had come with me. Is she upstairs?”
“I don’t think she’s back yet,” Walt told her.
“Back from where?” Rachel asked.
“Rachel, maybe you can come sit down for a minute. I’d like to talk to you before Dirk and his wife get back,” Walt told her.
“Umm…okay.” Rachel looked curiously from Walt to Danielle and then sat down.
“I just thought you should know, I told Danielle everything your sister told me about us being married.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “You did?”
“He told me on Friday, right after your sister told him. I knew all along,” Danielle said, still snuggled up at Walt’s side.
“But you said you hadn’t told her,” Rachel said.
Walt flashed her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I lied. But I preferred to play my cards close to the vest until I figured out what I intended to do.”
“And what do you intend to do, if I may ask?”
“I’m going to let my lawyer take care of it.”
“Your lawyer?” Rachel squeaked. “You haven’t told Claudia that yet, have you?”
“Yes. We had a little talk this afternoon, and I told her what I had decided to do. I really don’t know why I waited so long to come to that decision; it was the obvious one. But I will admit, your sister’s announcement came as a complete shock, and it took me a few days to process it.”
“What did she say? I don’t think she wanted to use a lawyer.”
“Maybe not, but I certainly would not handle an annulment any other way.”
“Annulment?” Rachel asked.
“If possible. If not, then a divorce,” Walt said.
Chris had to give Heather credit. The two restaurants she had selected each had excellent ocean views. Maybe he was partial to his view back home, but this second restaurant was even nicer than Pearl Cove. He had ordered a cocktail while waiting for the real estate agent to arrive. It didn’t take long.
“Chris Johnson?” the agent greeted him, extending his hand.
“I assume you’re Andrew Drake?” Chris countered as he stood up.
The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. While briefly discussing what Chris might be in the market for, Andrew confessed that he—as had the prior agent—had Googled Glandon Foundation. By his attitude and enthusiasm, Chris knew the man was impressed—and willing to do about anything to garner the foundation’s potentially lucrative business.
“May I ask how you happened to call me?” Andrew asked.
“Actually, an acquaintance recommended your office,” Chris explained. “He used to work with you.”
“Really? Who is that?”
“You knew him as Clint Marlow. He goes by Walt Marlow now,” Chris explained.
“Seriously? I heard Clint has amnesia or something. He must not if he recommended the office. How can you recommend something you don’t remember?”
Chris shrugged. “He says he doesn’t remember.”
“You don’t think he has it?” Andrew asked.
“He’s engaged to a good friend of mine. I just find it odd he can’t remember anything. When I told him I was coming down here, he mentioned your office and suggested I call. I suppose he might have just recommended it because he knows he used to work there—not that he actually remembers.” Chris picked up his cocktail and took a sip.
“Maybe he does have amnesia.” Andrew chuckled. “When Clint left, he had a few choice words for our broker. They had some issues. So I don’t imagine he would actually recommend us. But I hope you won’t hold that against us.”
“Of course not.” Chris smiled. “Were you friends?”
“Colleagues.”
“According to my friend, another one of your colleagues is staying at the same B and B where Clint is currently living. A Dirk Thorpe?”
“Dirk?” he practically choked out.
“I haven’t met him,” Chris said. “Danielle just mentioned he was staying there.”
“Well, that should be interesting.” Andrew took a swig of his drink.
“Interesting how?”
“Clint and Dirk were not exactly friends. Not saying they had some feud going on or anything. Actually, I don’t remember them even talking to each other. But Dirk was pretty critical of Clint.”
“Critical how?”
“Let’s just say Dirk didn’t believe Clint had his clients’ best interests at heart. But hey, from what I understand, Clint is no longer in the business, and from what I hear, he’s doing pretty good as an author. Which I think is great!”
Getting ready to go home, Carla started to remove her apron. While checking her pockets, she found the wallet she had put there—and had forgotten.
“Dang, he didn’t come back for it,” she grumbled. Opening the wallet, she looked through it. Tucked in with the bills was a credit card receipt for the Seahorse Motel. “Well, at least I know where you’re staying—” Carla pulled out his driver’s license and looked at it “—Mr. Hanson.”
Twenty minutes later, Carla was walking into the office of the Seahorse Motel. She found Sam sitting at the front desk.
“Since when do they have you working in the office?” Carla asked Sam.
He shrugged. “I’m just helping out for a couple of hours. What can I do for you, Carla?”
“I’m looking for one of your guests, an Albert Hanson. He left his wallet in the café, and I want to give it back to him. I can’t believe he hasn’t missed it yet.”
“Hold on…” Sam punched a few keys on the computer and then looked up at Carla. “He’s staying in room seven.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
A few minutes later, Carla stood in front of room seven and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. Holding the wallet, she looked down at it and asked herself, “Do I leave it with Sam or take it with me? Or maybe I should take it back to the café?”