Out of a Dream (Sandy Cove Series Book 1)

by Rosemary Hines

  It was decorated in a homey country style. The queen-size, four-poster oak bed was covered with an intricate hand sewn quilt of blues, browns, and cream colors. A nubby textured teddy bear sat propped up against the multitude of pillows at the headboard. In his lap was a small package of Hershey’s kisses.

  On the wall directly across from the bed was a large bay window overlooking the lake. A sitting ledge with a blue cushion and coordinating quilted pillows made the window into a lovely place to read or just gaze out over the lake and relax.

  Against another wall was a beautiful carved oak bureau holding plush, white terry cloth robes inviting use. Beside the bureau was a matching dresser and a tea cart already set with a steaming pot of tea and several shortcake biscuits, fresh from the oven. Michelle looked at Steve and smiled. It was her favorite flavor—cinnamon spice.

  “Did you have something to do with this?” she asked as she wagged her finger at him suspiciously. He just grinned and shrugged.

  She walked over and peeked into the attached bathroom. It had oak cabinets with brass fixtures and an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. Cinnamon potpourri spiced the air with a sweet fragrance, and the towels and washcloths were specially folded to look like flowers.

  She looked around, soaking in all the quaint and appealing details, then looked over at her husband and smiled. “This place is perfect. I love it.”

  “For the amount I’m paying per night, it’d better be perfect,” Steve said half kidding.

  She walked over and gave him a peck on the cheek, and insisted on serving them both some tea. So Steve made himself comfortable on the bed, while she waited on him. He seemed a little disappointed when, after serving him, she settled with her tea and biscuit in the window seat across from him.

  “Look at the view, Steve. I could spend the whole weekend in this little nook looking out over that sparkling lake,” she said, thinking about her book and how relaxing it would be to lounge there and read.

  “Don’t even let that thought enter your pretty little head,” Steve chided. “We’re setting the alarm for six A.M. and heading out to fish.”

  “Let’s talk about it later. Right now I just want to relax and enjoy our tea,” she replied.

  After they were finished, Steve decided to go down to the lobby and ask the innkeeper about dinner options. A flier had indicated several nearby restaurants, and he wanted to get some recommendations. While he was gone, Michelle decided to try to read a chapter or two in her book. She was just getting immersed in her second chapter when he returned.

  “We’ve got reservations for seven-thirty at the Steak and Stein,” he reported.

  “Okay, that sounds great,” she replied without looking up from her reading.

  “Want to go for a walk down by the water?” he asked.

  “Maybe in a little while. I’m right in the middle of this section, and I’d like to finish it first if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay. Guess I’ll get some reading in too,” he said as he took his Bible out of the suitcase.

  He didn’t appear to notice her look of disdain as she glanced over at his reading material. There must be a way she could get him to realize the Bible was only one small tool in the quest for spirituality. But how?

  Back at his apartment in the outskirts of Seal Beach, Tim was getting ready to go over to his parents’ house. He threw a few clothes into a duffel bag, turned off the stereo, and headed out to his red pickup truck parked in the carport under his apartment. While he drove across town, he thought about his dad and wondered how he would find him.

  Tim loved his father, but their relationship had always been a bit strained. His dad was a hard-driven man who saw success in business as the true measure of a person’s worth. He pushed him to strive for perfection in all areas, and Tim did his best to win his father’s approval, always striving for good grades and trying to be the star athlete his dad hoped he would become.

  All of that ended after high school. Tim burned out on trying to win the love he felt he was missing, and his goals began to change.

  He wanted to have fun, and his dad’s serious and seemingly joyless existence did not appeal to him. Rather than argue, he just tuned his dad out. Trying to clamp down harder only led to further resistance, until finally Tim opted to move out a year after graduating.

  Since that time, their relationship was distant and their interactions confined to surface conversations only. It wasn’t until he disappeared, in such a radical departure from his character, that Tim’s heart was again stirred toward his father.

  His mother had sounded so worried, and her concern became Tim’s as well. Lost in thought, he almost drove past the deli without stopping to pick up dinner. Veering quickly across two lanes, he just missed clipping a small sports car. The driver honked and made an obscene gesture.

  “Whatever!” Tim murmured to himself as he navigated the truck into a parking place. He bolted into the store, purchased some fried chicken and potato salad, and took off for his parents’ house.

  Pulling into their driveway, he thought about all the basketball games he and his dad played on that same driveway when he was a boy. Then he thought about the day he moved out, and how his mother stood by herself waving good-bye, while his dad was stewing in the living room over their angry parting words.

  Tim hoped finding his father would somehow patch up the broken pieces. Though they did not see eye to eye on many life issues, he yearned for a close bond with him. For the first time, he could see his dad’s vulnerability, something he had never seen growing up. If there was any way he could help him now, he wanted to do it.

  A pile of newspapers near the front door indicated that his mother had not thought to cancel the paper while she was off visiting her parents. He decided to check the mailbox and found it was also loaded. He took the mail and the papers inside through the front door, reminded by the soft beeping sound to shut off the security system as he entered.

  The living room was dark and the house seemed stuffy. He parted the shutters to open the front windows. A soft breeze wafted in, sweetening the stale air with the fragrance of ocean breezes.

  “That’s better,” he said to himself, as he walked into the kitchen.

  Everything looked neat and tidy as usual. Peering into the refrigerator, he suddenly remembered the chicken and potato salad sitting on the front seat of his truck. He went out, retrieved them, and then turned the oven on low, removing the plastic wrap on the chicken and replacing it with foil, before putting it inside. He popped the potato salad into the fridge and grabbed a can of beer to drink while he waited for his mom. It was only six-thirty, so he knew it might be awhile.

  Wandering through the house, he strolled into his father’s study. He never felt comfortable in this room. The imposing desk and burgundy leather executive chair were the focal points. The walls were lined in matching bookshelves, each housing volume after volume of manuals, biographies, and investment literature. The subtle aromas of leather and pipe tobacco mingled in the air. It was his father’s sanctuary, a place of retreat and concentration. No one was allowed in without his permission, and Tim felt a little uneasy walking around in there sipping his beer.

  His cell phone startled him, and he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. His mom was on the other end, wanting him to know that she was running a little late and might not make it there until seven-thirty.

  He reassured her he would wait and told her that he had picked up dinner. After hanging up, he slowly sat down at his father’s desk. The big leather chair smelled masculine, and he felt out of place as he sat there looking at the paperwork stacked in piles in front of him.

  “I wonder if I’ll have a study like this someday,” he thought to himself. He shook his head suddenly as if to perish the thought and was just rising to leave the room when something on the desk caught his eye. It was the corner of a yellow piece of paper poking out from under the edge of the desk blotter. Tim lifted the blotter to find a small sticky no
te with a phone number scrawled across it. Nothing else. Just a phone number. But the area code was out of the Southern California area, and it struck him as odd that there was nothing else written on the paper. He picked it up, sat back for a moment and thought, then leaned forward and punched in the number.

  After two rings, a pleasant voice answered, “Redwood Lodge, may I help you?”

  Redwood Lodge. That was the place where they sometimes stopped overnight on their way camping in the Sierras. It was a modest motel that was clean and had almost a cabin-like feel to it.

  “Hello?” the voice asked. “May I help you?”

  “Uh… yeah,” Tim mumbled, turning his focus back to the phone. “I’m trying to locate someone who may be staying at your motel. Do you have anyone named Ackerman registered there?”

  “One moment please,” she responded and put him on hold. The sound of country music softly replaced her voice. He leaned back in the leather chair and waited, his heart pounding in his chest, and his mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat and took a swig of beer so he’d be able to speak when she came back on the line.

  The voice returned. “Thank you for holding. Yes, there is a John Ackerman registered. Would you like me to try ringing his room?”

  “Um... yeah, sure. That would be great.” Tim sat upright, grasping in his mind for words to say should his father answer the call. His breathing was tight and his knuckles were white from tightly gripping the receiver.

  The phone rang several times. No one answered. After the fifth ring, the same woman’s voice came back on the line.

  “He doesn’t appear to be answering. Would you like to leave a message?” she asked.

  “No. That’s okay. Thanks anyway,” he replied and hung up the phone.

  He looked at his watch. It said 6:30. If he left right away, he could make it to the lodge before midnight. Something inside was urging him to go quickly. He stood up, paced back and forth in front of the desk, flipped open his phone, and dialed his mom’s cell phone.

  “Hello?” her voice responded after only one ring.

  “It’s me, Mom. I found out where Dad is,” he said.

  “What? Where is he? How did you find him?”

  “I found a phone number on a piece of paper under his desk blotter. It’s for the Redwood Lodge.”

  “The Redwood Lodge?”

  “Yeah, remember that place we used to stay on the way up to Running Falls?”

  “Of course I remember. Your dad is at the Redwood Lodge?” she asked again. “I thought I looked through all the paperwork on his desk before I left.”

  “It was under the blotter, Mom. It caught my eye somehow. Anyway, I just talked to the front desk at the lodge. They tried to ring his room, but there was no answer. I think I should go up there, Mom. Do you want me to leave now or wait till you get here?”

  “Oh, Tim. Let me think a minute.” She paused, and then said, “It’s about a five hour drive, isn’t it?”

  “At least.”

  “I hate for you to drive that by yourself. Besides, maybe it would be better if I were with you when you talk to him. Who knows what kind of state of mind you’ll find him in.”

  “It’s up to you, Mom. The drive is not a problem. I’ve driven further than that by myself many times. But if you think Dad might need you up there, I can wait here. How much longer do you think till you get home?”

  “I’m just getting off the interstate now. I could probably be there in about twenty minutes. You just wait there. I’ll hurry.”

  “Okay, but be careful, Mom,” he said, imagining the worried look on his mother’s face.

  “I will, dear. See you in a bit,” she said and then hung up.

  Tim continued to pace. He could not settle himself. A sense of urgency pressed on him, and he could feel his adrenaline pumping. Trashing the empty beer can under the kitchen sink, he remembered about the chicken, turned off the oven, and pulled the carton out, setting it on the counter. There would be no time to eat once his mom got there. He decided to gnaw on a leg while he waited and paced. He would pack some chicken and salad into containers for his mom to eat during the long drive.

  Although he wasn’t sure what he would say, he tried calling his father’s cell phone several times, and even tried texting a short message. No response except the same voicemail message stating that John Ackerman was unavailable to take the call.

  Every few minutes a car would drive down the street, and Tim would peer out through the open windows. Time was dragging, and he was eager to get on the road. Relief at having located his father was mixed with a horrible feeling of dread that something was terribly wrong. Something he might not be able to fix.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  John ignored the buzzing of his cell phone. The pistol rested in his right hand as he held the letter to his family in his left. Surely this was the only way out. He was not willing to drag his family through a messy trial, no matter how innocent he knew he was in his own heart and mind.

  His thoughts haunted him. They don’t deserve this humiliation. You’ll probably end up losing them once you are locked up.

  For several moments, he thought about his wife and children. Remembering the good times, he whispered softly, “I’ll always love you.” Sweat trickled down his neck and back, and he was trembling. Rallying all of his courage, he lifted the barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  Jessica Jones was working the front desk of the Redwood Lodge. She heard a sound like an explosion and ran to the window. There was no sign of any trouble in the parking lot or on the street out front. Something urged her to investigate, but she was not supposed to leave the desk unattended. She decided to call the police.

  “Bridgeport 911. What is the nature of your emergency?” a voice asked briskly.

  “I just heard an explosion,” the woman replied. “It sounded like it was very close.”

  “What is your location?”

  “I’m at the Redwood Lodge, on the corner of Madison and Main.”

  “Any sign of a fire?” the officer asked.

  “No. Everything looks fine, but it was a really loud boom.”

  “We’ll send a unit right over.” The officer continued to question her while the patrol car was heading for the motel. As soon as the officers arrived, she hung up the phone and explained to them the loud explosion she had heard.

  “Did it sound like a gunshot?” one of the officers asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It was pretty loud. I thought maybe someone set off a firecracker in the parking lot or something, but when I looked outside, everything looked normal.”

  “We’ll have a look around,” the other officer said. They walked out of the motel lobby and proceeded along the building that housed the rooms for rent.

  A few minutes later they returned to the motel office. “Nothing looks out of the ordinary. Which of your rooms are occupied?” the first officer asked.

  She pulled out the register and made a list of the occupied rooms, including the names of the occupants. The officers asked her if she knew which tenants were currently on the premises, but she admitted she had no way of knowing. They asked her for a master key to the rooms, and she produced one without hesitation.

  “All we can do right now is to go by and check each room. If no one answers the door, we’ll use the master key.”

  Within five minutes, the officers had discovered the source of the explosion. Sprawled on his bed, blood splattered over the bedspread, was the body of a man. He appeared lifeless until one of the officers placed his finger on the carotid artery to check for a pulse. Then a soft moan came from a place deep inside.

  “This guy’s still alive. Get the paramedics!”

  Immediately the other officer began speaking rapidly into his radio. Within a couple of minutes a siren could be heard approaching.

  Jessica stood at the doorway of the office looking down the row of rooms and watching the ambulance pull up to an open door about halfway down the cor
ridor. She hurried back to the register and saw the name of the occupant of room 45—John Ackerman. Someone had just called about him earlier that evening. Had someone shot him? She decided she’d better call the motel owner. He would want to know about this.

  Sheila and her son rode in silence most of the long journey. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts and concerns, and she was exhausted from her trip home and the immediate departure on another five-hour drive. They only stopped once at a fast-food restaurant to grab some coffee, and they were back on the road within ten minutes.

  It was nearly midnight when they drove into the parking lot of the Redwood Lodge. Sheila’s heart froze in her chest when she saw the ambulance pulling away. Two police officers were walking toward the front office, and they arrived at the door simultaneously, the older one holding it open for Sheila and Tim as they entered.

  Jessica and her boss were sitting behind the desk and arose immediately. The motel owner looked over at Sheila and asked, “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for my husband, John Ackerman,” she explained.

  The officers exchanged glances and the one who had held the door for them said, “Mrs. Ackerman, we need to talk. Come over here and have a seat.”

  Sheila felt faint. Tim put his arm around her shoulder and gently escorted her to the chair. She sank down without ever taking her eyes off the officer’s face. “What happened? Is my husband alright?” she asked, tears filling her eyes.

  “Your husband is on the way to the hospital, Ma’am. He has been seriously injured. A gunshot wound. It appears to have been self-inflicted.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, Tim. We’re too late.” Tears spilled down her face, and she began to rock back and forth, moaning.

  Tim held onto her and kept repeating, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” All he could think of was how he had somehow let his father down again. Why hadn’t he searched the house earlier? If he had found the phone number yesterday instead of today, this never would have happened. But no, all he had been thinking about was getting away for the weekend with his buddies. Now his dad might die, and it would be his fault for not finding him sooner.