Death on the Coast, M Comley [book club books TXT] 📗

Lucy took advantage of the time to clean her house. After the storm, everything outside was filthy. With a crowbar, she pulled down the plywood and dragged it back into the garage, ready for the next storm to show up. Next, she called the glass company to come and fix the broken window, and they promised to come as soon as they could. She accepted that—it wasn’t a priority.

She raked the yard and piled up the broken branches. A couple of them were large enough to require a chainsaw, so she left those where they were. She changed the beds, washed all the linens and hung them out in the post-storm sunshine to dry and smell fresh again. She continued her deep clean inside the house and decided to wash every pair of curtains. While the windows were open, Lucy scrubbed floors and the tiles in the bathroom. As a finishing touch, she cut a small bouquet of flowers that had weathered the storm and set them in a cut-glass vase on the dining room table. The house was too quiet without Mark. She was annoyed that he hadn’t contacted her by now—even if it was to tell her he wasn’t coming home again.

After completing all her possible diversions, she finally broke down and called Brendon. He arrived at the house not long after to find Lucy sitting on the front porch, her chin balanced between the palms of her hands with her elbows resting on her knees.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” he chided her.

She waved him off. “You’ve had your hands full with the storm. I thought he was just moody and would come home eventually. This doesn’t make sense, though, Brendon.”

His left hand rubbed the hair on the back of his neck. “Lucy, I have to ask. Was there trouble in your marriage?”

She snapped her head to look at him. “Why?”

He stood, giving her the impression that his visit was an official one. “It might give us some clue as to why he hasn’t come home, of course.”

“Are you asking if we had a fight?” she demanded.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

She exhaled in disgust. “I don’t know why you’re asking, but I’m going to assume it’s for professional reasons.”

“Of course.”

“He’s been odd lately.”

“In what way?”

“Hard to describe. Moody, restless, no energy. I tried to get out of him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t give me a direct answer. I was afraid he was having an affair.”

Brendon let a minute pass before he asked, “And now…?”

“What?”

“Do you still think that’s a possibility?”

“How should I know? If something bad has happened, we’d have heard by now, wouldn’t we? I mean… it’s not like someone kidnapped him. We don’t have any money, and he’s just a schoolteacher. Nothing exotic.”

“Want to fill out a missing person’s report?” he offered.

She groaned and glared at him. One hand on the door handle, she said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Huh. Oh, no?” The door slammed shut behind her, and Brendon was left with nothing to do but leave.

From the upstairs window Lucy watched him pull away. She felt as though her chest was about to burst. There was no doubt about her feelings toward him. He was everything Mark wasn’t. Strong, purposeful, driven, disciplined…and most of all, within reach.

Lucy grabbed her bag and jerked open the front door. She’d called an emergency meeting to be held at Sal’s. She was done waiting and had a life to get back to.

13

The ladies at Sal’s must have seen the determination on Lucy’s face the moment she walked in the door. She slapped her hand down hard on the counter.

Needles stopped clacking, and quilting squares were set aside as everyone turned their attention to the determined Lucy Diamond.

Sal pushed a drink her way. Lucy clinked her spoon against her cup. The café fell silent. “Now, then. I assume everyone here has had time to right their homes after the storm. I’ve done the same myself. Everything is where it should be with one exception.”

The ladies looked at one another, clueless. Lucy was normally reticent, helpful, and unassertive. A beautiful, talented writer with the heart of a small town was how the locals described her. They had never seen this side of her before.

“My husband, Mark, hasn’t been home since the day of the storm.”

There was a collective intake of breath, and hands reached out toward her in comfort.

“Where…?” Cecilia began, but for once, showed some decorum and snapped her mouth closed to listen.

“I don’t know where, Cecilia, to answer your question. At first, I thought he was helping to prepare the school for the storm, but now that’s passed. He isn’t answering his phone and hasn’t left any messages for me. I called the school this morning, and they said he hadn’t shown up. As you might expect, I’m worried. I’ve talked to Brendon, but I haven’t filed a missing person’s report yet, because in my mind, he’s gone off for a reason. He’s been acting strangely at home lately. If anyone here has an idea why that might have been, I’d appreciate you telling me privately.”

No one moved, and the only sound was of Dan washing pots in the kitchen after just coming back from driving the morning’s school bus.

“Okay. Then keep your ears open, please. In the meantime, I have to get on with my life. We still don’t have a clue who murdered Angie and also have to arrange the service for her. I know the last couple of days have taken the wind out of our sails, and I’m needing a little extra help now with my own situation, but are we otherwise on track?”

That seemed to break the awkward spell. Hands went up, and everyone contributed with their progress report. After their discussion had finished, the decision was made that Lucy would drive over to see Christine straight away. The sooner they got Angie’s service resolved, the