Beneath Winter Sand

by Vickie McKeehan

  He’d grown up knowing that the cunning Eleanor had discarded her kids without a glance backward. It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t known the true depths of his mother’s madness until he’d reached adulthood.

  Growing up in the family landscaping business, Landon and Shelby had taught him the rewards of making things grow. Putting a seed in the ground and watching it take root became his salvation. It was the cornerstone of the family life he came to love. Even though, sometimes their close-knit relationship could be just a little too tight. And like most families, that closeness could often lean toward being a pain in the butt. Like tonight. He’d felt obligated to spend an evening out with the whole clan when what he’d rather have been doing was to plop down in front of the TV with a beer that didn’t cost three bucks a pop.

  Truth was, he couldn’t blame his family. It wasn’t their fault he hadn’t mustered up the energy to find a date. Not when he had his eye on Hannah Summers.

  Once he reached his truck and started the engine, he headed down Ocean Street. Halfway to the pier, he realized it wasn’t like him to be this moody. Hadn’t Cooper always been the sullen one in the family? Although that had changed for Coop this past year since he’d hooked up with Eastlyn.

  Drea usually played peacemaker between the two of them. Brothers too much alike, he supposed. Drea could roll with the tide enough that nothing much seemed to bother her. Sometimes he found himself envying his sister’s easy-going temperament.

  Undeniably Caleb adored his family. But feeling like the third wheel, the odd-man-out thing tonight, had been a bit too much.

  That’s why when it came to his downtime away from work, he valued his privacy like an old man of eighty. The place he called home reflected that.

  He’d bought a piece of property dirt cheap on a hill as far away from The Plant Habitat as he could get. It was on the opposite side of town, and yet, the address was still considered to be within the city limits.

  Once he reached Cape May, he took a left and drove along the street until it dead-ended into a half circle. He pushed the remote on the gate opener and followed the circular driveway around to the garage.

  Each time he came home, he couldn’t believe he’d taken the old abandoned radio station and reworked the dynamics of the place to make it livable. The building hadn’t seen a DJ since Lyndon Johnson declared victory in a landslide back in 1964.

  It had taken three painstakingly difficult years to convert the one-story building into livable quarters more in line with ranch-style architecture. He’d used the ramshackle building as his blank canvas, creating the one-of-a-kind home he’d always wanted, something unique and different, something no one else could lay claim to.

  What had once been a rundown, catch-all for storing trash and harboring field mice was now his pride and joy.

  He couldn’t do much about the rectangular boxy structure he had to work with, but he improved on the design by adding a garage to the side. That extra element with a slanted roof, broke up the oblong framework and gave him the space to add a much-needed laundry room and mudroom to the house.

  The front of the building needed help to look like a residence. His solution was to build a front porch that stretched the length of the house. To spruce up the main entrance, he landscaped the perimeter with a mix of magnolia and blooming jacaranda, creating an arboretum of sorts using fragrant hyacinth and lavender along with a host of native California plants.

  His aim was to be able to have vivid green foliage, spring to summer, that would provide him with his own personal forest, his own flower garden, and a place where birds could make their nests and call home. He liked the idea of waking up to the sounds of thrush and robin and other birdlife living in the clusters of greenery he’d created with his own two hands.

  Inside, he’d ripped out the low ceilings to let in more light. He’d designed the layout himself, making sure that each room now came with nine foot ceilings and huge windows. He wanted each room to have its own unique look and style. The living room was a step-down from the entryway. He’d built a skylight over the island in the wide-open kitchen along with a huge walk-in pantry. His master bathroom had an enormous walk-in shower complete with thermostatic controls for those end-of-the-day therapeutic body massages.

  But his favorite room in the house was the sunroom off the kitchen. A bank of windows facing west allowed him to take in the stunning sunsets over the ocean. With a cold beer at the end of a long, work week, there was nothing more relaxing than having your own little spot to welcome paradise.

  One thing he kept intact was the gates at each end of the property to dissuade strangers from driving up without an invitation. It might be overkill, but with a mother locked up in prison for murdering two people, one her own husband, he didn’t take his security lightly or his safety for granted.

  Even though it was well after two in the morning, he couldn’t seem to settle. He went into his den where his desk was, and poured himself a shot of bourbon. Now that he was home he could relax in his own private sanctum.

  To shore up his mood, he walked to his wall of shelves and thumbed through his massive collection of vinyl albums. He had Cooper to thank for introducing him to the likes of Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and Chopin. But tonight, it would be Schubert’s turn with all the man’s musical genius to take his mind off the beautiful and intriguing Hannah Summers. Maybe he could count on the dynamic melody and the symphony of trombones to master putting his thoughts toward other things.

  He sat back at his desk chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass. The movement to his right made him reach toward his desk drawer for the Beretta pistol he kept there.

  “Whoa, that won’t be necessary tonight,” Scott said from across the room.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Caleb groaned.

  “What are you gonna do, shoot me again? I’m already dead. Why are you so jumpy anyway?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out for the last three days. You’d tell me if Eleanor was planning a jailbreak, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d warn you. Sure. But she isn’t. You do, however, need to keep in mind that Eleanor Jennings Richmond does make friends easily, maybe too easily. Those friends of hers are the ones you should worry about.”

  “Preaching to the choir here. Are any of these so-called friends due for parole any time soon?”

  “Brent could answer that question better than I could. You should get him to check with the prison system.”

  “Good idea. I’ve talked to Coop and Drea and they’re as worried about her doing something crazy as I am. We all know she’s fond of using her alias, Loretta Eikenberry. She still uses that name to write letters to me. She’s crazy, Scott. All the way crazy. I no longer think she’s pretending, although I used to. Dad says she’s been mentally unstable for decades, as long as he’s known her. And he should know. Were you aware that Landon thinks she might’ve killed their father?”

  Scott made a face. “Yeah. I remember the rumors about your grandfather’s purported suicide. It didn’t make sense that the man I knew could do anything like that. After shooting Layne and Brooke, Eleanor’s proved she’s more than capable of executing her own father.”

  Caleb let out a sigh. “You realize that would qualify her as a serial killer, don’t you?”

  “I can count as well as anyone else.”

  “It’s troubling. She’s troubling.” Caleb sat up straighter and stared at Scott. “It occurs to me that you could simply tell me what you want me to know about Hannah.”

  “What would be the point of that? Getting to know a person is the fun part of any relationship. I’m not giving you a cheat sheet to make things easier.”

  “Why not? It could avoid pitfalls.”

  Scott rolled his eyes. “What is it with young people these days? Why are they so weird about forming a close bond with the opposite sex?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t want to get their heart ripped out. How do you know th
at Hannah and I won’t end up hating each other at some point?”

  “That’s up to you guys. But having a partner in life who you can depend on is a gift. Trust me on that one thing. Unless of course you figure out a way to piss it away or screw it up.”

  “I’m not looking to get tied down.”

  “No man’s ever looking to get tied down. Somehow, some way, it just happens. You take one look at the right woman and…bam! Before you know what’s happening, a string of words come flowing out of your mouth that suggest you should make a life together.”

  “That’s a scary thought.”

  “You’re attracted to Hannah, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then quit whining and see where the attraction takes you. For once in your life try enjoying the journey. You might be surprised where it takes you.”

  Three

  The beginning of the new year brought Caleb a new project. Or at least he hoped it did. Quentin and Sydney had called The Plant Habitat and asked him to do the landscaping, front and back, at Bradford House.

  Since the couple had bought the place, they’d decided to spruce it up, give it more curb appeal. The plan was to bring the yard back to life in such a way that it made a bold statement you could see from the roadway.

  And that was right up Caleb’s alley.

  Quentin, the new doctor in town, stood in the middle of the overgrown front yard looking bewildered, trying to convince himself this was a good idea. “Sydney can’t grow a tomato, and yet, my grandmother has talked her into planting a flower garden, both here and around back.”

  Sydney twirled in place, picturing the idea of it, trying to visualize the layout. “I want roses, daisies, anything that blooms. And then I want to put several benches along the walkway so that people can sit and enjoy the garden.”

  “You want to add a walkway?” Caleb asked, taking out the iPad he used for mapping his designs and began to key in notes.

  “That won’t be a problem, will it?” Sydney asked, angling toward Quentin. She slipped an arm through his. “A garden needs a winding pathway through all those cypress trees. Picture the walkway leading right up to the front door with all kinds of different flowering plants and greenery bordering each side.”

  Quentin cracked a grin. “I knew you’d find a way to spend more money. But I agree, it would look classier if the grounds got a makeover.”

  Caleb had long ago given up arguing with a client. But he did feel strongly about honesty. “The soil around here grows just about anything fairly well. We’ll pick out plants that are relatively drought resistant and hardy to the area. That way, you don’t have to spend a lot of time on maintenance. I just want to bring up one point. Haven’t you guys recently acquired a dog for Beckham? Do you think Buckley will be able to restrain himself from digging up whatever we choose to put in the ground?”

  Sydney grimaced at the thought. “That concerns me, too. Beckham promised he’d keep Buckley from digging up the yard, but I can’t help wondering what happens while he’s at school and Buckley’s left out here all day.”

  Caleb nodded. “Exactly. That might get dog ownership off to a really bad start. You could bring the dog with you to the clinic. Or I could work with Buckley while I’m here on the premises during the day to try and keep him from digging.”

  Quentin considered that a workable solution. “Maybe we could do a little of both, coordinate our efforts. As you can see, you have your work cut out for you. When we moved in, no one had lived here for eight months. Apparently, my uncle let the place go downhill before he died. In order to whip this overgrown weed lot into anything that resembles a garden, it’d take me and Beckham most of the spring and summer to do it by ourselves. That’s why we need the expertise of a pro.”

  “That’s me and my backhoe. Or in this case my little bobcat with a digger attachment. It’ll take equipment to carve out the kind of space you want. You realize this is gonna cost you some major bucks, right?”

  “Ballpark it for me,” Quentin said.

  Caleb tossed out a figure. “I’ll discount that by twenty percent because January is customarily a slow time for us at the nursery and we could use the work.”

  Quentin grinned. “I’m liking this small-town mindset more and more the longer I’m here.”

  Caleb chuckled. “We try to do business locally and it benefits all of us. By the way, if you’re looking to keep that boy of yours busy, it would go faster if Beckham gave me a hand after school. He’s a hard worker. He proved that working at the tree lot during the holidays. I’d pay him the same going rate as before.”

  Quentin slapped Caleb on the back and the men shook hands. “I suppose a few hours after school wouldn’t hurt him. As long as he gets his homework done and keeps his grades up and doesn’t get behind at school, you can think of him as your right-hand man.”

  “When do you want me to get started?”

  Sydney turned in a circle again, surveying the plot of land. She eyed the overgrown weeds in the yard, and the general state of disrepair that several years of neglect had brought on. “I want that old trellis to come down first. It’s a safety hazard. Beckham tried to climb the thing and it almost snapped in two. And that rock pile of a flower bed over there makes me wonder why anyone would bother to stack all those boulders on top of each other like that. Is it possible for you to start today? Is that too soon?”

  Caleb grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m anxious to get to it. I can have a contract drawn up by the end of the day.”

  “Then bring it by the clinic and we’ll get this thing started,” Quentin concluded.

  Caleb went back to the nursery to meet with Shelby and Landon. “This project could be our best advertising. Make Bradford House a showplace using native California plants and we promote our line of drought resistant products. The flowers and shrubs we’ve propagated save water and what better way to show people it can be done than to showcase what we can do there.”

  “That’s a great way to look at it,” Landon said, scratching his jaw. “What if we started at the end of the driveway by cutting down that god-awful overgrown hedge that’s bothered me for decades?”

  Shelby nodded. “We could replace it with wax myrtle and blue pearl sedum. Both are easy to grow and maintain, something that should appeal to Sydney and Quentin since they’re so busy at the clinic.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of manzanita. It’s a colorful shrub that takes up a lot of room and its flowers attract hummingbirds. I thought I’d mix in a little shadbush, too. Here along the coast, shadbush should produce a ton of white flowers in no time. By spring it’ll double in size.”

  “Oh, even better,” Shelby crooned, turning to Landon. “I forget he has such a talent for putting together a landscaping package that fits the client down to the precise detail.”

  Caleb pressed a kiss lightly on the woman’s cheek that he thought of as his mom. “I’m glad you approve. Let’s hope the client agrees. I’ll suggest manzanita and shadbush in the contract and throw in some carpenteria or anything else that will give them a nice bird garden in the spring and summer. And since Sydney wants greenery, I thought I’d use a variegated chlorophytum comosum. We’ve cultivated resilient variations right here that thrive in temperatures as low as twenty-five degrees. That’s more than tough enough to grow outdoors.”

  When they were all in agreement, he headed to the office he rarely used to draw up the paperwork and closed himself off without distractions. For the next several hours, he got to work building his vision for the Bradford House makeover, at least for the yard. Using his software program designed to layout the acreage plot by plot, he put that vision to the test, starting at the curb and working his way up the long driveway.

  Hours later, he pushed his chair back and looked over his work. The sketches of the layout came to life as he pictured the game plan. If done right, the yard could become his masterpiece. After downloading the design to his iPad
, he printed out hardcopies of the contract for his file and one for the client to sign. He gathered everything he needed to show Quentin and Sydney his conceptual ideas and headed over to the clinic. If all went well, this time tomorrow, he’d be hard at work on what would be his winter project.

  Four

  For Hannah, Monday morning arrived too quickly to suit her. She went back to work at her regular job—the cleaning service she’d started. When she wasn’t waitressing for tips at The Shipwreck, she scrubbed out houses Monday through Friday. After three months, she’d scrambled to get seven semi-regular clients on board her new enterprise, enough to pay the bills and keep her bank account in the black.

  Her customers included the new doctor in town. Bradford House was big and usually took an entire day to clean. But she’d also talked the mayor, Patrick Murphy, into tidying his smaller house once a week that could be finished in four hours.

  She’d done the same with the renowned sculptor and artist, Logan Donnelly and his lawyer wife, Kinsey. Thane and Isabella Delacourt, who now had a new baby, had signed her up for twice a week. And the former New York chef, Fischer Robbins, brought her in on a regular basis to vacuum, dust, do laundry and change sheets.

  Aside from that list, her bread-and-butter client was the B&B, north of town. That job took up most of her week but it paid well. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she showed up at Promise Cove and spent six hours from eight to two giving the place a thorough dusting and polishing. The work included vacuuming from top to bottom and scrubbing out toilets.

  Hannah didn’t mind the chores. As she gunned the loaner Chevy in the direction of the B&B, she thought about it as honest work. Especially since the job allowed her to get to know some of her clients in a way other newcomers might not be able to connect on a intimate level. After all, cleaning a person’s house gave you certain insight into their personal space, their personal habits. She knew, for example, that the mayor and the social worker Carla Vargas were all but living together. Patrick Murphy had admitted as much one morning when he’d insisted on fixing her an omelet before getting down to her tasks. Over a shared breakfast with him, he’d caught her up to speed on all the gossip.