It was ten in the morning on Christmas Eve, and everyone seemed to have places to go. So did Mary Jo, except that she was in no hurry to get there, and who could blame her? This was likely to be a painful confrontation.
Not sure where to start searching for David’s family and desperate to collect her thoughts, Mary Jo stopped at a coffee house called Mocha Mama’s about a block from the waterfront. This, too, was decorated and redolent of Christmas scents—fir, cinnamon, peppermint. And the rich, strong aroma of fresh coffee. The place was nearly empty. The only other person there was a young man who stood behind the counter; he was writing or drawing something in a sketchbook and appeared to be immersed in his task, whatever it was.
“Merry Christmas,” Mary Jo said cheerfully, wondering if her words sounded as forced as they felt. She pulled off her wool hat and gloves, cramming them in her pockets.
Her presence startled the young man, who wore a name tag that identified him as Shaw. He glanced up, blinked in apparent confusion, then suddenly smiled. “Sorry. Didn’t see you come in. What can I get you?”
“I’d like one of your decaf candy cane mochas, Shaw.”
“What size?”
“Oh, grande—is that what you call it here? Medium. One of those.” She pointed at a stack of cups.
His eyes went to her stomach, which protruded from the opening of her wool coat. She could no longer fasten more than the top three buttons.
“You’re gonna have a baby,” Shaw said, as if this information should be a surprise to her.
“Yes, I am.” She rested a protective hand on her belly.
Shaw began to prepare her mocha, chatting as he did. “It’s been pretty quiet this morning. Maybe ’cause it’s Christmas Eve,” he commented.
Mary Jo nodded, then took a chair by the window and watched people walk briskly past. The town seemed to be busy and prosperous, with people popping in and out of stores along the street. The bakery had quite a few customers and so did a nearby framing shop.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” Shaw said. He added whipped topping and a candy cane to her cup and handed it to her.
“I’m visiting,” Mary Jo explained as she got up to pay for her drink. Shaw seemed to be full of information; he might be just the person to ask about David. She poked a folded dollar bill into the tip jar. “Would you know any people named Rhodes in this area?” she asked speculatively, holding her drink with both hands.
“Rhodes, Rhodes,” Shaw repeated carefully. He mulled it over for a moment, then shook his head. “The name’s familiar but I can’t put a face to it.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t quite hide her disappointment. Carrying her mocha, she returned to the table by the window and gazed out at the street again. Her biggest fear was that her three brothers would come rolling into town in their huge pickup, looking like vigilantes out of some old western. Or worse, a bunch of hillbillies. Mary Jo decided she had to get to David and his family first.
“Just a minute,” Shaw said. “There is a Rhodes family in Cedar Cove.” He reached behind the counter and pulled out a telephone directory.
Mary Jo wanted to slap her forehead. Of course! How stupid. She should’ve checked the phone book immediately. That was certainly what her brothers would do.
“Here,” Shaw said, flipping the directory around so she could read the listings. As it happened, there was a B. Rhodes, a Kevin Rhodes and three others—and Mary Jo had no way of knowing which of these people were related to David. The only thing to do was to call every one of them and find out.
“Would you mind if I borrowed this for a few minutes?” she asked.
“Sure, go ahead. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thanks.”
“Consider it a random act of kindness.”
“Not so random.” Mary Jo smiled as she brought the phone book back to her table. She rummaged for her cell phone; she hadn’t remembered to charge it before she left and was relieved to see that she had nearly a full battery. She dialed the number for B. Rhodes and waited through several rings before a greeting came on, telling her that Ben and Charlotte weren’t available and inviting her to leave a message. She didn’t. She actually spoke to the next Rhodes, who sounded young and didn’t know anyone named David. Of the last three, the first had a disconnected phone line and the other two didn’t answer.
Mary Jo had assumed it would be easy to find David in a town as small as Cedar Cove. Walking down Harbor Street, she’d seen a sign for Roy McAfee, a private investigator. She hadn’t expected to need one, and even if she could afford to pay someone else to search for David Rhodes, it wasn’t likely that Mr. McAfee would accept a case this close to Christmas.
“Any luck?” Shaw asked.
“None.” Without knowing the name of David’s father, she couldn’t figure out what her next step should be. There were three, possibly four, potential candidates, since she’d managed to rule out just one. Her only consolation was the fact that if she was having trouble, so would her brothers.
“I can think of one person who might be able to help you,” Shaw said thoughtfully.
“Who?”
“Grace Harding. She’s the head librarian and she knows practically everyone in town. I’m not sure if she’s working this morning but it wouldn’t do any harm to go there and see.”
“The library is where?” Being on foot and pregnant definitely imposed some limitations, especially now that it had started to snow.
“How’d you get here?” Shaw asked.
“Foot ferry.”
He grinned. “Then you walked right past it when you got off. It’s the building with the large mural on the front. You won’t have any trouble finding it.”
Mary Jo had noticed two such murals. She supposed it wouldn’t be difficult to distinguish which one was the library. Eager to talk to Grace Harding, she left the remainder of her drink behind. She put the wool hat back on her head and pulled on her gloves. It was cold and the few snowflakes that had begun to drift down seemed persistent, like a harbinger of more to come. The Seattle area rarely experienced a white Christmas, and under other circumstances Mary Jo would’ve been thrilled at the prospect of snow.
As Shaw had predicted, she didn’t have a problem locating the library. The mural of a frontier family was striking, and the library doors were decorated with Christmas wreaths. When she stepped inside, she saw dozens of cut-out snowflakes suspended from the ceiling in the children’s area, as well as a display of seasonal picture books, some of which—like A Snowy Day—she remembered from her own childhood. A large Christmas tree with book-size wrapped gifts underneath stood just inside the small lobby. One look told Mary Jo that this was a much-used and much-loved place.
She welcomed the warmth, both emotional and physical. There was a woman at the counter, which held a sign stating that the library would close at noon. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Mary Jo was surprised to see that it was already ten-forty-five.
She approached the front counter. “Excuse me. Are you Grace Harding?” she asked in a pleasant voice.
“Afraid not. Should I get her for you?”
“Yes, please.”
The woman disappeared into a nearby office. A few minutes later, she reappeared with another middle-aged woman, who greeted Mary Jo with a friendly smile. She wore a bright red turtleneck sweater under a festive holly-green jumper. Her right arm seemed to be thickly bandaged beneath her long sleeve.
“I’m Grace Harding,” she announced. “How can I help you?”
Mary Jo gave the