8 Sandpiper Way. Debbie Macomber

family are willing to pay for them—along with everything else.” This last part was said with some bitterness. “I don’t mind them picking up the cost of the wedding—that’s traditional—but for the rest, I believe Lori and I should pay.”

      Dave approved of his attitude. He speculated that while Geoff made a decent wage as a legal assistant, he couldn’t handle an extravagant lifestyle. But Dave liked the young man’s sense of honor, his determination to pay his own expenses.

      “If you want, I could set you up with a couple of sessions,” he offered. “You and Lori can meet with me and we’ll see how it goes.”

      “What would that cost?”

      “Nothing.” Dave shook his head. “You can make a donation to the church later if you decide it was worth your time.”

      Geoff looked shocked. “Really?”

      “Of course. I want you to start your marriage on the right foot.” He paused, thinking a moment. “It’ll probably be more convenient for you to do the sessions in Cedar Cove, anyway, rather than on Bainbridge Island, since you’re working here. What about Lori? Does she work in the area?”

      “She has a part-time job at a dress shop in Silverdale. This should be good for both of us,” Geoff said. “I’ll talk to Lori and get back to you.”

      “You do that.”

      Geoff returned to his desk, and Dave picked up the magazine again. He hadn’t read more than a few paragraphs of an article about steroid use in professional sports before the front door opened and Allan Harris exploded into the room. He was a burly, energetic man.

      “Dave, Dave,” he muttered, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

      Dave placed the magazine on the nearby table and stood. “No problem.”

      Allan shrugged out of his wool overcoat and hung it on the peg next to Dave’s. “Did Geoff offer you coffee?”

      “Yes. I’m full up, thanks.”

      Allan lifted the glass coffeepot, which sat in an alcove next to his office, and poured himself a cup. “It’s colder outside than a witch’s—” He stopped abruptly. “Beg your pardon, Pastor.”

      Dave didn’t bother hiding his amusement. People seemed to assume he’d never heard or uttered a swearword in his life, when in fact, he was as fallible and as prone to weakness as anyone else.

      Perhaps even more so, he mused, cringing at the thought. He hated what was happening between him and Emily but seemed unable to tell her the truth. After Christmas, he’d fess up. That was a promise he fully intended to keep.

      Carefully holding his mug, Allan led the way into his office. He motioned to the visitor’s chair across from his desk, then claimed his own.

      “I appreciate that you’re willing to meet with me,” Allan said, setting his mug on a coaster amid the clutter of papers and books.

      “I’ll admit I’m curious as to why.” Dave guessed this had something to do with Martha Evans. The elderly woman had died in September. During her last year, Dave had made a point of visiting her as often as he could. In many ways, she reminded him of his own grandmother with her indomitable spirit and sharp wit. She kept a Bible close at hand and had memorized large sections of Scripture.

      “I’ve been talking to the heirs,” Allan said.

      “Yes?” Dave couldn’t help noticing that the attorney suddenly seemed agitated, rolling a pen between his open hands.

      Allan stared hard at him. “Several pieces of Martha’s jewelry are missing.”

      “I know.” But Dave didn’t understand what that had to do with him. He’d already spoken to Sheriff Davis and told him everything he knew about the missing jewelry, which was next to nothing.

      “Would you mind going over the details of the morning you discovered her body?”

      “Of course not.” Dave hesitated. He’d described it to the sheriff more than once, and had the creeping sensation that Allan was viewing him as a suspect. That unnerved him. “I stopped by two or three times a week to visit,” he began.

      Allan nodded, encouraging him to continue.

      “That particular day was a Saturday.”

      “It was,” Allan concurred.

      “She didn’t respond to the doorbell. Martha no longer left the house for anything other than doctors’ appointments. When she didn’t answer, I was afraid something might be wrong.”