Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 9)

by McKeehan, Vickie

  “I’m not helping you do a damn thing.”

  Understanding moved through Quentin. This was the man responsible for the woman’s abused state. He’d seen his share of domestic violence cases over the years. He knew enough to recognize a volatile, angry man looking for a punching bag or something far worse.

  Quentin stood up, took off his gloves and dragged out his cell phone. That’s when he saw the man’s arm come up and level the handgun.

  He tried to back away, to get back to his car. But he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the shot. He saw the flash before the bullet seared through his body, felt the burn go into the left part of his chest, knew immediately that it had made contact with bone.

  Quentin fell where he stood. He’d long ago gotten used to the smell of blood. But when he glanced over at the red streaming out of his wound, he realized what he saw was his own, making a trail running down onto the white, snowy ground.

  A lefty by birth, he tried to use his hand to dial for help and found his fingers refused to cooperate. When he attempted to transfer the phone to his right hand, that too proved difficult. By this time, the man had gotten closer, close enough to the woman to pump four fast rounds into her head.

  Quentin winced and rolled his body to get away in the opposite direction. But the sounds of the gunman’s footsteps crunching on the ice told him he hadn’t gone far enough. He dragged his body farther away, shivering on the ground more with each little movement. The last thing he remembered was blinking away the relentless snowflakes that kept falling in his eyes, making every effort to get a better look at his killer.

  Coughing up blood, he figured he was about to die. An image of his father popped into his head. Another place, another time, another violent murder.

  As he lost consciousness, he heard sirens screaming in the distance. But he was pretty sure it was already too late.

  One

  Present Day

  Pelican Pointe, California

  On this November evening, crisp and clear, Sydney Reed stood on the wharf overlooking Smuggler’s Bay and breathed in the cool night air. She was joined by other folks who’d gathered to watch the new Search and Rescue chopper land with Eastlyn Parker at the controls.

  Excitement ran through the crowd as if the Space Shuttle was about to make its final approach instead of the refurbished Bell helicopter Eastlyn had fixed up.

  As a former ER nurse, Sydney knew how vital it was to have a helicopter handy for Life Flight medical emergencies, especially in a small community dependent upon the county’s services. In times of crisis or disaster, Eastlyn’s chopper had the ability to ferry injured residents to a larger hospital like the one in Santa Cruz. Or in cases of lost or missing people, a Search and Rescue outfit could be airborne within minutes, cutting down response time. It meant the town was no longer at the mercy of waiting for the county to get to them.

  That alone was reason enough for the town to stand proud and cheer.

  There was still a peek of sun winking over the water. But as it dipped over the horizon the light soon began to fade. Orange and blue took over and nestled in the streaks of crimson and gold before bursting with the darkening purple of night. A full moon dangled in the sky, its brilliant pearl drop reflecting off the water.

  As she watched the skies like everyone else, Sydney realized how her life had improved. A testament to what happened when you chucked the big city sprawl and opted instead for a small coastal town that bumped up against the Pacific Ocean.

  Since moving here two years earlier, Sydney had sold her treadmill, tossed out her stationary bike she’d had since college, and got her regular exercise the old-fashioned way—spending time outdoors in the California sunshine.

  She’d learned to take advantage of the mild weather and all the area had to offer. She regularly hiked its nature trails, trekking through woodsy Monterey pine and manzanita scrub that grew plentifully along the cliffs. She’d learned to kayak the bay, paddling across the water at least once a week. Maybe she could’ve done most of those things back in St. Louis or her native Illinois, but not year-round and certainly not when the temps hovered around freezing. Here, the chilly nights barely dropped into the upper forties, rarely required a blanket, or a toasty fire burning in the hearth.

  Nope, she’d spent too many winters getting up at four a.m. and driving in a snowstorm to get to work, not to enjoy the mild climate here when it was offered.

  Which meant she had zero regrets about giving up her job in a busy ER. For the first time in her life she appreciated the slower pace. Working at Doc Prescott’s small clinic gave her the incentive to spend more time doing the things she’d never had time to do before. Since winters no longer resembled the polar ice caps, she took time to plant a garden. She’d started out simple, growing herbs and introducing lettuce and tomatoes before graduating to pickier vegetables like eggplant. In two years she’d barely grown enough of anything to make a salad. These days she bought her produce at Murphy’s Market like a normal person and left gardening to the green thumbs of the world.

  But failure to launch a stubborn plot of dirt from brown to green didn’t mean she couldn’t focus her pursuits on other things. Hence all the outdoor activities she found she loved.

  Living here meant she got to be near her sister, Hayden Cody, and spoil her nephew, Nate, any time the urge hit. Built-in babysitting came with the job of auntie. Sydney relished the role. Whenever she could, she offered to take him to the park or strap him to the back of her bike on a tour through town. She couldn’t wait for Nate to get old enough to ride his own.

  She’d also saved her money over the years, a nice little nest egg she’d used as a down payment on her house, a fixer-upper at the corner of Cape May and Tradewinds Drive.

  When she bought the place, it had sat vacant for six years. Neglect had produced a weeded lot and a rundown exterior. But what caught her eye the most had been the archway to the porch. With just a hint of Spanish influence, enough to show off its barrel-tiled roof and an earthy adobe flair, it came with a covered portico that led to a side patio and French doors.

  Even after two years of effort, there was still work to do. Bringing the beach bungalow back to life hadn’t come cheap. She’d undertaken painting the walls herself, room by room. She’d even spent her weekends ripping out the flooring in the bathroom and kitchen and replacing it with the tile. It had taken weeks to sand off the muck of the original hardwood floors in the living room and bedrooms to get down to staining what was left to a glossy maple. Four big front windows gave the space plenty of natural light to make it appear larger than it was.

  All the sweat and aching muscles had been worth the effort. Owning property this close to the water was a dream come true for her.

  Her furniture was still the same stuff she’d had in her St. Louis condo. It didn’t really fit the beachy theme she was after, but she could replace a few pieces at a time as she came across ones that did. She’d already made some modifications to her old sofa and chair by recovering them in durable white fabric, then adding turquoise and white pillows to give them a nautical look inspired from photos she’d seen in a magazine.

  She had managed to find a few pieces here and there—like the new headboard she’d found at Reclaimed Treasures. It had started out as plain old salvaged lumber. She’d slapped a coat of pale blue paint on it and distressed the look with a little wood stain. It was exactly the beachy chic style she’d been after.

  She’d settled in, made friends because just about everyone here was super friendly. Well, almost everyone.

  Sydney snapped her blond head around as she watched Quentin Blackwood make his way into the crowd. Tall and lanky, he wore his dark brown hair a little too long for her taste. Weren’t doctors supposed to convey a clean-cut, professional look? Not this guy. His cool gray eyes were too sharp and hard, like a wolf’s eyes intent on its prey, scanning, picking up on weaknesses or imperfections then moving in for the kill.

  She didn’t care for his a
loof attitude either. In fact, watching him haul his groceries from Murphy’s Market had her remembering the last time he’d come into the office. At the time, he hadn’t needed medical attention, but rather had huddled with Doc for almost an hour, taking valuable time away from other, needier patients. Which to her came off as self-centered and rude. Even if the man did intend to take over Doc’s practice, he should’ve saved his meetings with Doc for after hours.

  She bumped her sister’s shoulder. “See that guy over there. That is one unfriendly dude.”

  Hayden followed the track of Sydney’s eyes. “How do you know that? You’re talking about your future boss.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I know because Dr. Blackwood comes into the office all the time to talk to Doc. The man has a terrible bedside manner. He never has anything nice to say to anyone, least of all to me. He usually has these long talks with Doc when we’re busiest, during the height of our patient load.”

  “And you don’t like that?”

  “It’s unnecessary.”

  “Hmm. Everyone knows he got shot. Maybe he’s suffering from PTSD.”

  “Nonsense. If he has a problem at all, it’s due to the lingering nerve damage in his arm.”

  “Won’t that prevent him from performing his duties as the town doctor?”

  “Exactly. But Doc seems to think he’ll do just fine.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “Let’s say I’m more than skeptical. And you know I’m not allowed to say more than that about a patient, any patient. I can’t talk about the man’s medical issues at all. That would be an invasion of his privacy or anyone else’s for that matter.”

  Hayden cut her eyes to meet Syd’s. “I know that. But seriously, when’s that ever stopped you before now?”

  “You’re kidding, right? That was when I worked in St. Louis and we did most of our catching up on the phone or by email. When I vented to my long-distance sister back then, you had no idea who any of those people were, certainly not the ones who streamed into the ER causing problems that caused me to rant about them. Big difference. Living here, you know everyone in town. Seeing my neighbor at work, let’s say getting a shot, and reporting back to you would be highly unethical on my part.”

  “Did Dr. Blackwood ever get a shot? What was it for? The flu maybe? We’re approaching flu season. I probably need to make sure we all get ours this winter.”

  “Stop it. Other than taking his blood pressure and temp—a couple of times—that man’s as much a mystery to me as alien life forms on other planets. Anyone seeing Doc professionally isn’t something I can talk about, so don’t ask me to break a confidence like that. Besides, if Doc ever found out I shared personal information about a patient, he’d run me out of town so fast I wouldn’t have time to pack. And I’d deserve it.”

  “Come on, tell me one thing about Quentin Blackwood,” Hayden prodded. “You’ll be working for him soon. What’s he like?”

  Sydney leaned in toward her sister, as if to share a bit of gossip. “You see those sacks of groceries he’s carrying?”

  “Sure. It looks like they’re heavy.”

  “Let’s just say he has trouble holding onto them for long periods of time.”

  Hayden huffed out a breath in disappointment. “That’s nothing. The man got shot. Maybe you know why he settled into that old cannery instead of tearing the place down. It’s awful on the inside. You know several years back I asked Ethan to take me inside when Logan was refurbishing the lighthouse.” Hayden made a face. “It was so nasty, vermin running all over the place, I wouldn’t even set foot inside. And now the town’s doctor’s living in that rat hole. Unbelievable.”

  “No idea what would prompt a man to think he could fix up a rat trap like that. Although he does seem rather arrogant. Add in standoffish and you have a typical surgeon’s mindset. I haven’t had a real conversation with him that lasted for more than five minutes. So I don’t really know his deets, just general stuff I’ve found online. He did say that he was born and raised in Tahoma near Olympic Valley. It seemed to me like he was extremely proud of that, to be from the place where they held the 1960 winter Olympics. Go figure. The only time he ever left the area was when he went off to college at Johns Hopkins for premed and then on to medical school at the University of Chicago. And other than dropping those little tidbits, Dr. Blackwood is a complete blank slate to me.”

  Hayden let out a disheartened sigh. “I’ve heard a few others say he’s a bit of a loner. But I don’t see it. Right after he got here he came into the bookstore and bought two hundred dollars’ worth of books. To me that makes him a valuable customer. Any booklover who enjoys reading is a plus. I adore those people who still purchase their bestsellers the old-fashioned way—paperbacks and hardcovers. Come to think of it, he seemed friendly enough while he browsed through the store. He even bought two of Ethan’s mysteries and his trilogy, the one that includes the history of the area.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “Just what the town needs, another reclusive weirdo who sits up there by himself in that old cannery and reads all night long then comes dragging into the office to see patients.”

  “Jeez, give the guy a break. Since you seem so interested I’ll let you in on something else he bought. He picked out one of my most fragrant candles, along with a sterling silver sand dollar necklace, and had me gift wrap it to send to that little town you mentioned. Tahoma is north of Lake Tahoe. I looked it up.”

  “I just told you that.” Sydney put her hands on her hips. “So the man moved clear across the state and left his sweetie behind. Why does that not surprise me? Asshole.”

  Hayden stared at her older sister, older by one year, and frowned. “You’re being awfully hard on our new doctor. What’s with you lately, Syd? Why are you in such a pissy mood all the time? Is it the prospect of getting a new boss?”

  “No. If I can work next to that asshole Mark Leiberman for five years after he cheated on me, I can certainly work with the big-headed new guy.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “Then for God’s sakes, give Dr. Blackwood time to settle in. He’s just a little…cautious and aloof is all. That pretty much describes the way I was when I first rolled into this town, remember?”

  “You were holding back major secrets, trying to fly underneath the radar. Which means Quentin Blackwood probably screwed up big time back in that trauma center where he worked. He probably got sued and lost a major lawsuit and they kicked him to the door. Why else would he leave his cushy job back there and end up here?”

  “Get real. Your imagination is working overtime. Give the man longer than four weeks to get to know people. Four weeks is no time at all.” Hayden plopped onto the nearest bench and patted the seat. “Sit down. While Ethan’s taking care of Nate, tell me what’s really going on with you. Aren’t you happy here?”

  “Of course I am.” Reluctantly Sydney dropped down next to her sister. Maybe it was time to come clean about the rest. “Look, maybe I do know what’s bothering me. I love you and all that, but you have to stop pushing me to go out with every single guy in town. In case you haven’t noticed, dating sucks. It’s been years since you’ve had to put yourself out there, come up with interesting things to talk about on a first date, then sit through boring dinner conversations that end up going on and on and nowhere all at the same time. You get the picture. I’m fed up with doing it.”

  “Fine. I didn’t realize it was that bad for you,” Hayden spat out.

  “Sure you did. I’ve gone out with practically every available man since arriving in town, like you expected me to do. I know you wanted me to hook up with Malachi Rafferty, really wanted it to happen. But it didn’t. Same with Archer Gates and Fischer Robbins. But to tell you the truth, I just didn’t feel the kind of attraction for any of them that comes from deep down in the belly. At least not the same way you feel for Ethan.”

  Hayden looked over at her husband, who was sitting on the
grass rolling a ball to their almost-three-year-old toddler. “I guess I was hoping you’d find a little of the same magic here that I found.”

  “Well, I haven’t.”

  “What about Tucker Ferguson?”

  Sydney puffed out a sharp sigh, beginning to realize she wasn’t getting through. “See, you’re doing it again five seconds after I’m trying to explain how I feel. Tucker and I spent a lovely evening over in Santa Cruz palling around at the amusement park getting to know each other. But again, I felt no real physical ‘rip-your-clothes-off’ attraction between us. No chemistry. Plus, rumor has it for the past month he’s been seeing a lot of Drea Jennings.”

  “Hmm, I hadn’t heard that.” Hayden looked away and chewed her bottom lip. “There’s Zach Dennison. Ryder says he’s doing much, much better these days.”

  “Oh, I’d definitely agree with that. Zach doesn’t miss an appointment with Doc. I don’t think I’m talking out of turn here because everyone pretty much knows Zach’s history of late. We were all concerned about his mental health. Even he’s forthright enough to remind people that once he started taking the right meds for his anxiety and depression, he doesn’t even feel like the same person. I know because Zach and I had lunch the other day. Super sweet guy.”

  “But no chemistry,” Hayden finished.

  “You got it. That’s why you need to back off and let me just be myself. Stop goading me into dating someone just because he’s breathing and single.”

  “I didn’t realize I was pushing.” She huffed out a breath. “Okay, I did. Ethan’s been telling me the same thing for months, telling me to back off.” Hayden paused and couldn’t stop herself from continuing down the same path she’d held onto for two years. “What about Durke Pedasco?”

  “Eastlyn’s friend? Jeez. Quit trying to pawn me off on…whoever happens to pop into your head at the moment. I’m begging you. Please. I’m tired of going out on these fixups. Please let go of this obsession.”