Winter Winds (21 page)

“He’s crazy,” Dori said. “That water’s got to be freezing.”

Jack came racing to them, his mouth open, his tongue lolling.

“Don’t you dare!” Trev ordered, turning his back.

Jack gave a doggie laugh and shook as hard as he could. The flying pellets of frigid salt water slapped Dori in the face.

“Jack!” she screamed, rubbing her coat sleeve over her face. “You rat.” She turned to Trev. “And you’re not much better. You turn your back but neglect to tell me to turn mine.”

“You’ve got a dog. I thought you’d know.” His eyes danced.

“Like Trudy would ever be so gauche.” Dori leaned over until she was nose to nose with Jack. “She’s going to eat you alive, big guy. You just wait. I’ll get my revenge.”

Jack wiggled with delight and kissed her.

She laughed and glanced at Trev to find him studying her.

“Phil told me you were prettier now than when you were young,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine how since I thought you were beautiful then. But he was right.”

“Trev.” She sounded breathless. “Don’t. This is hard enough without you playing the moonstruck swain.”

His eyes bored into hers. “Who says I’m playing?”

Suddenly it was too much—the emotion, the fatigue, the situation, even Ryan and the Graces. She felt her eyes fill and her chin quiver, and she folded her arms protectively about herself even as she told herself she would not, she absolutely would not cry.

“Poor Dori.”

Trev’s voice was so soft and kind that first one tear, then another and another slid down her cheeks. He reached for her, and she fell into his arms. She gripped him as tightly as she could.

“Oh, Trev, I’m so scared,” she whispered as the tears kept falling.

His arms tightened. “I know, sweetheart. I know. Me, too, if you want the truth. Oh, Father, we need You right now, both of us. Please teach us Your will. Please make something of this marriage.”

Dori froze. He was praying right here on the beach? Did he ever think she might feel awkward praying in public? And he wanted to make something of the marriage? What if she didn’t?

“Easy, Dori,” Trev whispered into her ear. “Relax. There’s no timetable, no hurry, no foregone conclusion. Just relax and we’ll see what happens.”

She nodded and forced the tension from her shoulders.

“We used to laugh a lot together,” he said. “Remember? Maybe we can learn to do it again.”

She sniffed. “Maybe.”

“That’s all I ask for now.” He rested his cheek on the crown of her head, and she relaxed into him. They stood that way for several minutes as Jack sat beside them, first merely curious, then whining with feelings of abandonment.

“Well, nothing I like better than seeing a happy couple wrapped in each other’s arms,” boomed a voice so near that Dori jumped. She pulled back to see a disreputable-looking man with a long gray ponytail sticking through the back of his baseball cap, a diamond ear stud blinking in the weak, lemony sun, and a metal detector in his hand.

Trev stuck out his hand. “Clooney.”

“Pastor Trevelyan.”

They shook hands somberly, Jack sticking his nose into the middle of the transaction.

“No need to feel jealous, Jocko.” Clooney rubbed the dog’s head until Jack’s eyes closed in ecstasy Then Clooney turned his attention to Dori who was busy trying to hide the evidence of her tears, scraping her gloves back and forth over her cheeks.

“So this is the much-talked-of bride, wiping away her tears of joy,” Clooney said.

As if he didn’t know they weren’t of joy, she thought.

“This is Dori,” Trev said. “And, Dori, this is Clooney, Seaside’s premier beach bum.”

Dori blinked. “Trev, what a thing to say.”

“Oh, no, not at all, ma’am, for that is exactly what I am,” Clooney said with a tip of his cap brim. He continued to study her, but he spoke to Trev. “I’ll say this for you, Pastor. You sure know how to pick ’em. This is one beautiful woman.”

Dori blushed, first at the compliment, then at Trev’s warm look of agreement. “Thank you,” she managed.

Clooney turned to Trev. “How’d you keep her such a secret?”

“If I tell you,” Trev said easily, “then it’s no secret anymore.”

Clooney nodded, content with the nonanswer.

“We missed you in chapel this morning,” Trev told Clooney.

Dori was surprised. She never would have expected Clooney to be a churchgoer of any sort.

“Just like you miss me every week, Pastor,” Clooney said without the slightest appearance of remorse. “And will continue to miss me. You know God and I don’t do well together.”

“Don’t you think it’s time to stop blaming Him for men’s sin and put the past away?” Trev asked.

Clooney gave him a sardonic look. “I can’t. My memories of ’Nam and of other injustices are always present.”

“Vietnam was thirty years ago, Clooney.”

“To you maybe. But I thank you for trying to change my rebellious heart. It’s kind of you.”

Clooney turned his attention back to Dori. “You got a good man here, Mrs. Trevelyan. He’s God’s man through and through, but he’s not obnoxious about it like some I could name.”

Dori glanced at Trev, uncertain what to say. Trev as a believer was an idea she had yet to come to terms with. He smiled back, that wonderful wry smile, and it struck her that Trev
was
a good man and always had been. One fall from grace didn’t nullify his overall character.

She took a deep, somewhat shaky breath.
All this time I’ve been dwelling on the one negative and ignoring the many, many fine qualities. I’m just like Clooney. He can’t get over Vietnam, and I can’t get over my hurt
.

M
AUREEN LOOKED UP
at the sign that read Seaside Pharmacy in big black letters on a white background. Each letter was outlined in crimson. Below the sign the brick wall was broken by a picture window that gave a clear view of the interior of the store. Since the store was on the corner, the entrance was angled for access from either street. A bell jangled when they entered.

“Look around for a few minutes.” Phil waved his arm. “I need to check with my pharmicist in the back.”

She was watching him walk down the aisle, thinking again about her certainty of his innocence, when he turned suddenly and caught her looking. He grinned and winked, and she flushed like she was back in junior high and got caught staring at the cutest guy in the class. She knew he thought she was interested in him
that
way when all she was doing was her job. He was whistling jauntily when he disappeared into the back.

Maureen wandered up and down the aisles, letting her flushed face cool. As she studied the shelves full of products, she suddenly found she needed lots of things. She had a collection of cosmetics, toiletries, and over-the-counter medications in her hands, everything from polish remover to sinus tablets, when Phil returned.

He glanced at her full arms. “On the house.”

“Oh, no,” Maureen began. Could this be construed—or misconstrued—as a bribe?

“Oh, yes.” He began placing her purchases on the checkout counter. “Hand me a bag, Midge,” he asked the Reba McIntire look-alike manning the register.

Maureen felt something close to low-grade panic. She couldn’t take these items as a gift. Even if she wasn’t a cop on the job, she couldn’t, but as a cop surveilling a suspect, she
really
couldn’t.

“Phil, I’m serious. I want to pay.”

“Nonsense,” he said, his arm extended to Midge for the bag.

“Phil.”

Something in her voice caught his attention, and he looked at her. “I like to give things. That’s all.”

She nodded. “I appreciate that, and I like to receive. But not today. I’m paying.”

He stepped back, clearly unhappy but acquiescing politely. As Maureen handed Midge her money, a woman who looked to be eighty if she was a day walked to the register, a bottle of over-the-counter pain medication in her hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Prescott,” Phil said, pitching his voice several decibels louder. “How are you today?”

“You don’t want to know, young man,” she said, her head shaking slightly on her thin neck.

“What are you getting today?” Phil asked.

She held up her bottle.

“And what’s your prescription?”

Reluctantly she held out the bag.

Phil shook his head. “Mrs. Prescott, what am I going to do with you?”

“You could mind your own business,” she answered tartly.

Phil grinned. “And miss sparring with you? Never.” He became serious. “You know that this over-the-counter medicine isn’t to be used with your prescription. They react badly to each other.”

“When I use them together, I never feel anything bad. In fact,” Mrs. Prescott stared him straight in the eye, “I always feel better.”

“For the moment, maybe,” Phil said. “But terrible things are
happening to your liver, and you won’t know it until the damage is done.”

“Prove it,” the old lady challenged.

Maureen watched, fascinated, as Phil thought for a minute.

“Aha!” He grinned at Mrs. Prescott. “Now don’t you go anywhere, my lovely. I’ll be right back. And, Midge, whatever you do, don’t let her buy that pain med.”

Mrs. Prescott folded her arms over her bony chest and watched Phil stride back up the aisle to the pharmacist’s working area. She gave a cackle of a laugh. “Ain’t he grand?” she asked Maureen. “Enough to get your blood pumping and your heart singing, no matter your age.”

Maureen started to laugh.

“But don’t tell him,” Mrs. Prescott ordered. “It’s too much fun fighting him.”

Phil returned holding a small computer in his hand. “This contains information about every drug out there, and it’ll tell us if you’ve got a bad combination there.”

“How do I know it’s not outdated information?” Mrs. Prescott demanded.

“Because it’s updated weekly.” He pushed some buttons, screens flickered, and he said triumphantly, “There! See?”

Mrs. Prescott squinted at the little machine. “Well, I’ll be. You’re right.”

Phil took the over-the-counter medicine from her. “Let me get you the kind that won’t have any bad reactions.”

As soon as he walked away, Mrs. Prescott looked at Maureen again. “Couldn’t see that blasted little print on that silly little machine if you paid me a million dollars. But don’t tell him. It makes him feel good thinking he’s got the upper hand.”

Finally Mrs. Prescott was checked out, proper medicines in her bag. Just before she walked out the door, she leaned to Maureen. “He always makes my Sundays. He’s more fun than any of them preachers on TV” And she was gone, hobbling down the street toward her home.

Midge looked at Phil from her station behind the cash register. “You were late today. She was getting tired of waiting.”

Phil nodded. “Service went longer than usual. My brother had
to introduce his wife to the congregation.”

Maureen noticed Phil didn’t say new wife.

“So the rumors are true? Paul got married?” Midge leaned forward with interest.

Phil nodded. “That he did.”

“Poor Angie.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Any romance with my brother was all in Angle’s mind, believe me.”

“Oh, I know that. Most people do.” Midge straightened the counter as she spoke.

“Did Mrs. Prescott chew your ear off before we got here?” Phil asked.

“No worse than usual. But I’ll need a raise if you’re late next week.”

Maureen shook her head. “She thinks she’s pulling one over on you, but you’ve been onto her all along, haven’t you?” She buttoned her royal blue coat, the one that made her eyes more vivid than they were naturally.

Phil shrugged as he led her outside. “That’s the fun of a small town pharmacy. You get to know your clients, even the nutty ones. Do you like seafood?”

“Um, love it.”

The air was damp and chill with just enough wind to rearrange her curls. She very much feared her nose was turning as red as Rudolph’s, not that it mattered, of course. She was merely conducting police business.

“Let’s go get some, either a late lunch or an early dinner, however you want to look at it.”

He took her Seaside Pharmacy bag from her and stopped to put it in his car. Then he took her hand and led her across Ninth Street. Maureen slowed and peered into the window of the store directly opposite Phil’s, a Christian bookstore named Harbor Lights. An old-fashioned children’s sleigh sat in the window, and colorful children’s books filled the sleigh, tumbling out onto the artificial snow to mingle with little mittens, boots, and hats. Maureen turned her head this way and that to read the titles and authors.

“You like to read?” Phil asked.

“Love it, especially fiction.” She turned to him and grinned. “It’s one of my biggest weaknesses. I can’t imagine a worse fate than having nothing to read.” She went back to the books, making a mental note of titles she wanted to remember for later purchase for her little nieces and nephews. “I stopped here several times last week because I wanted to get a new novel, but the store was always closed. I ended up at the library.”

“It’s cheaper,” Phil said.

“But you have to give the book back.”

He laughed and squeezed her hand, but she was barely aware. She finally heard what she’d said. She just indicated she lived here in Seaside or at least shopped here.
Ack. Ack
. She froze, waiting for Phil’s reaction.

He didn’t seem to notice her slip. He continued to peer in the window, shaking his head.

“What?” she forced herself to say. “You don’t like books?” How could she ever like a man who didn’t like books?

He shrugged. “I like them as well as the next man. I was thinking of Mae Harper, the lady who owns the store. She fell a couple of weeks ago right there behind that second shelf.” He pointed through the window, and Maureen squinted to see where he meant. “She was up on a ladder changing some lighting and boom! She did a real job on her hip and leg. I don’t know when she’ll be able to work again.”

Maureen made a sympathetic noise.

“She was alone at the time,” Phil continued. “No one, including Mae, is quite certain how long she lay there before old Mrs. Prescott walked in and found her.”