Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon

by Vickie McKeehan

  “I’m all about making a statement. But I don’t know how I’d carry all that stuff over to her house.”

  “Write the name and address down for me and I’ll put them on the truck tonight and deliver them to her personally.”

  “Could I add a note to it?”

  “Wouldn’t be much of a gift without a nice note, now would it?”

  After putting in his eight hours, Beckham went back to Bradford House to hang out with Charlotte and Winona. It fascinated him that his grandmother had a new friend. He’d never seen her as happy as she seemed to be now. Maybe it was getting out of the clinic. Or maybe it was being around people again. Whatever the reason, Beckham liked seeing her up and more alert than ever.

  “How was your day?” Charlotte wanted to know.

  “I worked hard. What’s to eat? I’m starving.”

  Charlotte laughed. “That’s my boy. Stone is preparing us a lovely pasta primavera. No doubt you’ll love it.”

  “Is Quentin here?”

  Winona gave the boy a pat on the shoulder. “He promised to be here in time for dinner if no emergencies came up.”

  But dinnertime came and went and Quentin was a no-show.

  Disappointed, Beckham sulked over his plate of bowtie pasta.

  But the crew—Stone, Winona, and Charlotte—refused to let him get away with it for long.

  Stone cleared his throat. “I was explaining to your grandmother about how we’d induct you into the tribe, about how the ceremony works.” Just as he’d hoped, that got the young man’s attention.

  “Did you think up a name for me yet?”

  “It has to be something strong. Now that you have a job it shows you’re a leader, one who puts his family first in all matters.”

  Charlotte put her fork down. “My response to that is this job better not get in the way of your schoolwork.”

  “Quentin worried about that, too,” Beckham said, his mood picking up.

  Winona sipped her tea. “When I was very young, I remember my father and mother telling me about how I came by my name.”

  “Names are very important to the Miwok people,” Stone added.

  “Very important,” Winona agreed. “It reminds me of when my mom and dad were a young couple who’d just learned they were going to become parents. They went up into the hills near this beautiful lake to contemplate their future. At the time The Great Spirit needed more hunters and gatherers so they were leaning toward a name that fit their son or daughter, one that was more closely aligned with the earth. But while they were in this picturesque place, the earth began to move and shake causing the ground to open up.”

  “An earthquake,” Beckham reasoned.

  “Probably. But on that day, the water in the lake began to rise and run over the banks. The flood started coming toward my parents in waves so high it was over their heads. They feared they might drown. My father said that he grabbed my mother’s hand just in time to keep her from getting swept away. Afterward, he said it was a sign that I should forever be known as Winona, meaning daughter from heaven. And so, when I eventually made my grand appearance, that’s what they called me.”

  “I wish I had a story like that for my name,” Beckham piped up.

  Winona’s lips curved as she looked over at Charlotte and then back at Beckham. “The purpose of that story is to let you know that it’s okay if you want to call me Nonnie, just as Quentin does.”

  The suggestion moved him because he sensed the reason why. “Nonnie. Okay. Gram and Nonnie. So we should probably come up with a good name for me, too.”

  “And we will,” Stone promised with a wink. “Like Dax the mighty coyote, cunning and strong.”

  Beckham thought that was funny. “I bet Quentin would say he doesn’t think I look much like a Dax. Shouldn’t he be here when we figure out a name? He should be here to help.”

  Stone picked up his glass of wine. “Then we’ll wait for Quentin’s input when he gets home.”

  Beckham sat there silent, struggling for something to say. All at once, he blurted out, “Gram’s hair might all fall out.”

  Winona sent Charlotte a sympathetic look and ran a hand over the boy’s hair. “Ah. You know what I’ve learned through the years, Beckham?”

  “What?”

  “Hair is no more than an extra accessory that we use to show off our vanity.”

  Beckham grinned. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  “Not always.”

  “Maybe you should know that Quentin might start asking you questions about his father’s murder.”

  Charlotte grabbed Beckham’s arm. “What is it with you tonight revealing all manner of things you shouldn’t be talking about? That’s enough.”

  Beckham lifted a shoulder. “What’s the harm? I’m just trying to make conversation.”

  At the other end of the table, Winona’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “It’s okay. Thank you for warning me, though. I’m guessing that you and Quentin have already discussed this in greater detail.”

  “Yeah. Because when I get older I want to find out who killed my dad. And since Quentin’s dad was also murdered, he might want to do that, too.”

  “Hmm, it surprises me because in all these years he’s never really talked about it all that much.”

  Beckham had cleaned his plate and pushed it to the side. “That’s because he tried to put it behind him and forget it. But you can’t forget something like that no matter how long it’s been. There’s something else you should know.”

  “Beckham DeWitt Dowling, stop this,” Charlotte pleaded. “These things you’re set on telling, are these secrets you shouldn’t be sharing?”

  “Sorta.” Beckham lowered his voice to a whisper as if that might absolve his candor. “But I think Stone and Winona need to know that Quentin is hoping they’ll both move here.”

  Stone and Winona exchanged knowing looks. “We figured that one out already,” Stone said. “And you should know we’re giving it some thought. Although we’re not sure what we’d do with the orchard. We hate to give that up.”

  The doorbell interrupted Beckham’s comeback. “I’ll get it,” he said, shoving out of his chair.

  He found Faye standing on the porch nervously wringing her hands. She had tears in her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t have spent your hard-earned money on a Christmas tree for me.”

  “I have a job now,” Beckham stated as if that explained why he’d done it.

  “You still shouldn’t have spent your money like that.”

  “You didn’t like the tree?”

  “I loved it. And the flowers were…beautiful. It’s the most thoughtful, generous thing anyone has done for me since my parents died.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  Winona stood behind Beckham in the hallway. “Beckham, why don’t you invite your friend in for dessert? Say, pecan pie?”

  “The pecan pie is really good,” Beckham said to Faye. “But there’s also apple and pumpkin.”

  Faye followed Beckham into the kitchen. “Wanna ride bikes sometime?”

  “I would. But I don’t have one. I used to, but the chain on it broke. I haven’t had the money to fix it yet.”

  “See, that’s the reason you shouldn’t have bought me a tree. Would you like to come over tomorrow and help me decorate it?”

  “I have to work.”

  “What about tomorrow night?”

  “I can’t then either. That’s when Stone is inducting me into the Miwok tribe. You could come and watch the ceremony.”

  “Sure. I guess. My brother will probably have to come with me if it’s after dark. He doesn’t like me out by myself. What time?”

  Without having spoken to anyone else about it, Beckham decided to pick a time on his own. “Eight o’clock, down at the beach.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Quentin hadn’t made it to supper because just as he was locking the front door, Archer Gates had pushed it open, flustered
, and in a panic. “I think Tommy broke a bone in his hand when he fell off his bike. We iced it, but the swelling won’t go down and he’s in obvious pain.”

  Quentin saw a boy of about eight holding his right wrist, his face twisted in agony. “Let’s get an x-ray. Are you right-handed or left?”

  “Right. I can’t hold my pencil.”

  “If it’s broken, then you might have to have someone help you with that for the next six weeks.

  The image showed a break but Quentin also picked up on soft tissue damage from the fall. “I’ll put him in a cast because he’s an active boy. Even though it’s only a hairline fracture he’ll still have trouble using his hand. The good news is it should heal without any complications. Give him children’s Tylenol until the pain subsides, which should be in about a week.”

  After getting Tommy patched up in a cast, Quentin had reached the parking lot and was just about to get into his station wagon when Sydney pulled up.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Nope. And I’m starving. What did you have in mind?”

  “If you head to my house, I’ll show you.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

  Twenty-Five

  There were reasons she’d checked out of the B&B and spent the last few hours toiling over a hot stove. She’d thrown together a scrumptious salad and babied along roasted salmon. She’d cut up potatoes, baked them to a golden crispy crust.

  She’d put on the sexiest outfit she had in her closet, a swirly skirt in black and a silky camisole top.

  Quentin entered her living room to Nat King Cole’s voice playing on the stereo and singing about little ordinary things. He didn’t need a brick to fall on his head. “You didn’t wear that outfit so I’d keep my hands off you.”

  She ran a manicured nail across his chin. “Nothing dumb about you, Dr. Blackwood.”

  He sniffed the air. “Dinner might be on the agenda but…” He brought her closer, tilted his head to hers. “I think you’ll find this time around, my technique’s a lot better than taking you up against a wall. Which way to the bedroom?”

  Her green eyes turned jade hot. “This way.” She picked up his hand and led him down the hallway.

  He wanted to take his time with her, but damn, the air around her smelled like a forest of vanilla spice. Intoxicating. He had to get a grip. She needed a slow hand, not another quick bang and romp.

  He whirled her into a gentle dance to another Nat King Cole classic. The sway of bodies meant the start of a seductive rhythm, of hands trailing along soft curves, of momentum building.

  In the crisp fall evening, he took her mouth, a warm kiss that ignited quick and hot like a burning fever. He backed her toward the bed.

  With a gentleness she hadn’t seen before, his hands traveled to all those peaks and valleys that had needed attention for so long.

  Their bodies rocked together. Pace for pace, they carried each other right up to the towering edge. Rippling, riding the current, he bumped everything up a notch.

  She could smell sex, that moment right before it loosened all the tangles and nerves ceased to exist. She felt the power to move mountains and earth. It seemed the house tilted and pitched and the world cratered until she realized it was his doing.

  Undone, it felt like she’d gone through a magical door to the other side. A tranquil feeling washed over her, one that brought warmth and well-being. That feeling of security was way overdue.

  She took hold of his face. “Okay, so you topped your debut performance, smooth as silk.”

  He dropped next to her, rolled to his side to nuzzle her neck. He didn’t expect to feel the wave of emotion, or the deep connect. “A guy likes to know he met his goals.”

  “I would say let’s not move from this spot but the food’s out there.”

  “Easy to fix. We’ll eat in here.”

  She threw on a robe and went out to salvage the fish.

  They ate supper in bed, lounging back on soft, luxuriant pillows. She feeding him, he feeding her.

  “We should get away, even if it’s just for an afternoon. Winona and Stone could keep an eye on Charlotte for us. I don’t think they’d mind. What do you say to that, just the two of us on a little adventure out of town?”

  “Sounds like a plan. Anyplace would be fine.”

  “I already know where. And it’s more than fine. I went for a hike one afternoon near a spot I’d heard Ethan and Brent whispering about. I’ve only been able to find it that one time, but I’m fairly confident I could locate it again. There’s this cave with a beautiful waterfall.”

  “Really?” Quentin eyed her with some skepticism. “A waterfall? Around here? That sounds like we’d be in the middle of a traditional campsite, some type of state park, and far from alone.”

  “You’d think, but it’s not touristy at all, just the opposite. I think it might be an old Chumash village.”

  Quentin frowned. “I may not practice most of the Miwok customs, but I do respect the beliefs of other Natives. It isn’t a burial ground, is it?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t see anything like that around, although I did feel…another presence while I was there. It was a little spooky. That’s why I didn’t stay as long as I wanted to stay. I’d have spent the night there if I hadn’t been a little on edge.”

  “Jeez, and you want to go back?”

  “I do because it’s so beautiful and tranquil there that it’d be perfect for an afternoon picnic.”

  “But if you’re about to tell me there was a ghostly presence nearby I might have to amend my excitement. I’m not really into spirits and that sort of thing.”

  “But you’re Native,” Sydney began. “I’d think you’d believe in spirits. I mean, we have our own right here in town.”

  Quentin’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “You’ve seen this ghostly entity for yourself?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “Like I’m crazy. I’m not. Just about everyone in town has at one time or another experienced Scott Phillips up close and personal. If you don’t believe me, ask around.”

  “We’re talking about a man who’s been dead for several years, right?”

  “Of course. Is there another ghostly Scott? I don’t think so. Who else but him would walk around town talking to people he knew in his previous life? Are you telling me you haven’t seen him?”

  “He’s bugged me a time or two. Not lately though. He’s talked to you?”

  “Scott suggested I should give you a chance.”

  “Oh brother. This guy loves to butt into other people’s business, stick his nose into someone else’s love life and there’s no obvious shame to him. That’s not why we ended up here, is it? In bed?”

  “I listen to Scott. It’s hard not to. But I draw the line at letting him make my decisions for me. Besides, his advice is more like a muddled riddle. I’m not into puzzling over the mysteries of the universe because a ghost drops a hint. You must admit that ghost stories have existed for centuries. Scott’s only been around for eight years or so, not even a decade.”

  “And that makes me feel better how?”

  She patted his chest. “Forget about Scott. Focus on getting to see this cave and experiencing it for yourself.”

  “Sure. Why not? How about Sunday we plan to spend a whole day together, just you and me.”

  “I thought you’d never agree to be alone with me.”

  “We’re alone now,” he said, pinning her to the mattress again. An inch apart, he nibbled her lips. “I’m not about to waste the opportunity.”

  Later, they closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  But something woke Quentin in the middle of the night. Looking around the room, he realized he wasn’t at the clinic or at Bradford House. It hit him then. He remembered Sydney and her seducing him into bed. He reached over, ran his hands along her velvet skin. Just as he was about to kiss her awake, Winona’s face popped into
his head.

  He’d promised to be home by supper. That ship had sailed. He hadn’t bothered with a phone call, letting her know how late he’d be getting in. He lifted his head, past a sleeping Sydney and saw the time on the alarm clock.

  Two-thirty in the morning was way too late to text or call his grandmother. Common courtesy dictated he should’ve let her know he wasn’t coming home.

  He swung his legs to the floor to get dressed. The creak of the bed woke Sydney.

  She raised her head, saw a tall, sexy guy rumpled from sleep putting his pants on. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to get home.”

  “Now?”

  “I’m sorry. But I got caught up in you and I forgot to let Winona or Beckham know where I’d be. The last time I talked to my grandmother she expected me home for dinner.”

  “Uh oh. Sorry.” She curled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. “Be sure to lock the door when you leave, okay?”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Not a bit. I understand the situation with Beckham. Now go and don’t worry about it.”

  He let himself out, hurried to his car, and backed out of her driveway. Heading west on Cape May, he was just about to make the turn onto Ocean Street when he looked over and saw Scott Phillips sitting in the passenger seat.

  The jolt had Quentin’s heart racing. But he kept it together enough to unload the sarcasm he’d built up. “It’s a little late for ghosts and goblins, don’t you think?”

  “Stay here long enough and you’ll realize this is a sleepy little town where not much happens. You could get bored easily, pack up and move away.”

  “Uh huh. Sure. Nothing better to do than spy on the troubled and downhearted. That’s you. So how does this thing work between you and me? You bug the hell out of me until I promise to do whatever you want, is that it?”

  “I bug the hell out of you because I can.”

  “I see. I’m just curious. Why don’t you use some of those special powers of yours to do something constructive, like bring on a miracle cure for Charlotte’s cancer? Or if that’s asking too much, why not intervene when Beckham’s getting the shit beat out of him?”