Half Moon Bay

by Meryl Sawyer

  “It was too long for your face. You were out of proportion, so as long as I was at it, I snipped a bit.”

  How arrogant of him, she thought, but she didn’t complain. All her life she had wanted to wake up and be someone different. This doctor had granted her wish and he had waived his fee, which had to be enormous.

  He handed her the mirror and she held it up. She gazed at the side of her face. It was pink, but the splotchy wine-colored birthmark was gone. She heard her own quick intake of breath that was actually a gasp of relief.

  Then she looked more closely. Despite the raccoonlike bruises under her eyes, she instantly recognized the face. Oh, my God! Her mother was staring back at her.

  She had inherited her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes, but she’d gotten her father’s nose. Fate had changed that. Now, as she looked in the mirror, she saw the one person who had always loved her.

  Looking back over her life, she felt blessed, not cursed. The birthmark had made her miserable, true, but she had been given something of infinite value. Her mother’s unqualified love.

  From the time she was little and first sensed she was “different,” her mother had made her feel special. Later as the birthmark made her more and more self-conscious, her mother encouraged her, praised her. Never let her down.

  Her mother saw the beauty in Amy, not the hideous birthmark. She had been so unbelievably proud of her. Even now she remembered the thrilled smile on her mother’s face when she had graduated summa cum laude. Standing up in front of all those people had been humiliating, but the joy she had given her mother made it worthwhile.

  “Never a doubt,” her mother had said. “You’re as smart as you are beautiful. I’m just sorry your father isn’t alive to see you.”

  It wasn’t true, of course, but she had been beautiful in her mother’s eyes. Oh, how she wished her mother could see her now. She missed her mother so terribly that tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from falling.

  It didn’t seem possible she would never hear her mother’s loving voice again. Never see her fond smile. Never was an eternity, she reminded herself as tears tumbled down her cheeks. An eternity without the most gentle, caring person she could ever imagine.

  Oh, Mom, thank you for loving me.

  Trevor put his arm around her. “Shelly, don’t cry. The pinkness and the bruises will go away.”

  She looked into his green eyes and realized Trevor possessed the same compassionate soul that had made her mother so special. She gave him a one-armed hug.

  “I’m not worried. I miss my mother, that’s all.”

  Chapter 8

  The sky was a lovely shade of blue, a rich, deep hue with a single wispy cloud like a mare’s tail visible just beyond the cluster of towering palms. The trees were leaning slightly, their fronds gently rippling. If she went for a walk, which she was allowed to do several times a day, she could visit the azure sea bordering the clinic’s grounds.

  A view to make anyone’s spirits soar.

  While the view lifted her spirits, Amy still wasn’t accustomed to seeing her beloved mother when she looked in the mirror. Each time, her breath would stutter-step before she realized she was gazing at herself. No longer being a freak cheered her, yet poignant sadness assailed her as well. How she wished her mother were still with her.

  She was slowly adjusting to being able to live her life without the hideous birthmark. The world’s hard edges seemed softer now. With her new face, negative forces seemed to recede, allowing her personal universe to expand. The life she’d always dreamed about was within her grasp now, its possibilities limitless.

  Except for Dexxter Foxx.

  He was lurking out there somewhere. She knew the beady-eyed weasel too well to think he’d given up searching for her. It was only a matter of time before he found her.

  She had survived the near-fatal crash, but she wasn’t completely healed yet. She had a walking cast from the knee down, a new device that could be removed when she bathed or went to bed, but she needed a cane to walk. Her shoulder ached constantly, even though it was supposed to be all right. Her right forearm was still in a cast, and her entire hand was encased in something that looked like a catcher’s mitt made out of plaster.

  She was in no condition to go on the run now.

  Trevor had dropped a comment or two in their conversations, and she knew Matt was no longer in Key West. From what she could gather, no one in the area knew Shelly Ralston. It only made sense to pretend to be this woman for as long as—

  “Officer Marley is here to see you,” a nurse interrupted her thoughts.

  She’d been expecting another visit from the police. It had always been difficult for her to lie, but it was going to be even more so now that people looked her in the eye. Remember, she told herself, your life is at risk.

  “Amazing!” the young officer said the moment he walked through the door. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible. You were so badly injured.”

  “The doctors worked a miracle.” She shifted the bag of frozen peas to the other side of her face. Three days with a Koldpak mask on her face had reduced the swelling, and now all she needed was to hold the bag of frozen peas against her face for fifteen minutes every hour.

  “I have some good news for you.”

  She doubted it, but showed him her teeth, hoping he’d think she was smiling.

  “Your things are at World Wide Movers.”

  Good Lord, no.

  “I’ll bring the boxes over here if you like.”

  He looked directly at her, obviously pleased at what he saw. She wasn’t accustomed to men—willingly—looking directly at her, much less volunteering to do things for her. She managed to nod with what could be mistaken for a smile.

  He reached into the pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out a small notebook, then flipped it open. “First I need to ask you a few questions.”

  She put the bag of now mushy peas over her eyes to shield them from his gaze. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me how the accident happened.”

  Having anticipated his question, she peeked one eye out from behind the bag of the Jolly Green Giant’s finest and attempted to appear truthful.

  “I’ve tried and tried to remember the crash, but the last thing I can recall is going into a Stop ’N Go about an hour north of Miami.” She slid the bag over her eye. “After that, everything is a black hole.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” the Officer Marley responded. “I understand it’s common in serious accidents like this for victims to blank out the incident. It may come back to you later. If it does, give me a call.”

  With a flirtatious grin he placed a card on her nightstand. She managed a weak smile in return and dropped the bag of peas as soon as he left. What was in those boxes, she wondered, all too aware that any little thing could blow her cover.

  Just after lunch the officer returned with two large boxes. She pretended to be too exhausted to open them, which was close to the truth. Dr. Burroughs wanted her to walk the grounds twice a day, and she was eager to get out, but the effort left her muscles trembling from weakness.

  She waited until the officer had left, then asked the nurse for a pair of scissors. Working with just her left hand, it took forever to open both boxes. One contained articles that Shelly had written, beginning with her stint on the high school yearbook up to a year-old article for a smarmy tabloid.

  Shelly had put a yellow journalism spin on Logan McCord’s story. It didn’t offer a bit of evidence to support the allegations, but the article was the type of tabloid sensationalism that sold newspapers at the supermarket checkout counter.

  That article Shelly had saved reflected a woman with average writing talent who worked for one of the sleaziest rag sheets in the country. Matt’s photojournalism magazine, Exposé, was just the opposite; its pages were devoted to substantive issues that were important to all Americans. It was difficult to imagine Matt with someone like Shelly, but, of
course, she was beautiful, sexy. And men were men.

  The items in the first box were of some use, she decided. She now knew where and when Shelly had gone to school as well as a little about her job. She was prepared to field the simple questions anyone might ask.

  The other box contained casual clothes that were larger than what she wore, but the size difference could be explained away as weight loss from the accident. Her shoes were two sizes too large.

  At the bottom of the box she found matched sets of bras and panties. With her good hand she caressed the soft, filmy fabric edged in fine lace. Oh, my! She’d seen expensive lingerie like this, of course, but even if she’d had the money, she would never have spent it on seductive lingerie meant to be seen by a man.

  Matthew Jensen’s face appeared out of nowhere.

  Her vision blurred, and suddenly she imagined wearing nothing but the black lace bra and matching bikini in her hand. He was gazing at her, not at her body, but at her face. And he was smiling.

  A surge of purely feminine power swept through her, astonishing in its intensity. This is what it was like to be a woman who was proud of her body.

  A woman with a pretty face.

  “Go for it,” she whispered as she held up a wispy black bra with one hand. “Oh, rats.” The bra was far too small for her.

  She shoved the enticing lingerie aside. “Character determines fate, and it’s just not in your character to prance around in this kind of lingerie like a Penthouse Pet.”

  But it would have been fun, she silently conceded as she opened the last item in the box, a manila envelope. Inside she found a stack of black and white photographs. All the shots were of one person.

  “Matthew Jensen,” she said out loud.

  The camera captured him in unguarded, intimate moments. A pensive Matt, reading a newspaper at a sidewalk café. A smiling, happy Matt, laughing with friends as they jogged side by side. A serious Matt, talking with someone who appeared to be homeless.

  Something tugged at her heart. These were sides of the man she had never seen. They revealed the inner depth and power she had glimpsed in the brief time she’d known him.

  “What had happened between Matt and Shelly?”

  The pictures didn’t give a clue, and before she had the chance to give it another thought, Trevor knocked on the open door and poked his head into the room.

  She shoved the photographs into the envelope and silently reminded herself to get rid of the shoes and the bras before someone discovered she wasn’t Shelly.

  “Are you feeling better?” Trevor asked as he walked into her room with his usual smile. “Ready to go for a walk?”

  “I’m better every day,” she responded, determined to sound upbeat.

  Interestingly, Trevor put her at ease, but he seemed unaware of his devastating effect on women. There was something about him that made her certain he would have treated her the same even if the hideous birthmark still marred her face like a splash of scarlet paint.

  “Some of my things came. I won’t have to leave here in an open-back hospital gown.”

  Her attempt at a joke was met with an adorable grin. “I have good news. Clive says you’re going to be released tomorrow.”

  Great, she muttered under her breath. She had no money, nowhere to go.

  Trevor helped her into a robe, and she hobbled outside. Usually, the balmy air and the rhythmic lap of the sea on the sand cheered her. Not today. Her mind kept scrambling to come up with a plan, a way to stay one step ahead of Dexxter Foxx.

  They were standing under the palm trees, watching an egret wading along the tide line, when Trevor asked, “Where will you go?”

  She lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was a casual shrug. “I have friends who will help.”

  “Really? That’s … wonderful.”

  There was such heartfelt hope in his eyes that she had to look away, embarrassed that she’d relied on the cocoon of his protection for so long. Even if she hadn’t been hiding from Dexxter Foxx, she had no friends, nowhere to go. But she refused to burden Trevor any longer.

  They watched the egret for a few minutes, but when the bird flew off, Trevor led her down the path toward the parking lot. “Someone’s here to see you.”

  Ahead in a Porsche convertible she saw Jiggs peering out the open window at them. As they came closer, the little dog hopped up and down. He’d been groomed again, which had given his brown fur a lustrous gloss.

  Even before she could set the cane aside, Jiggs scrambled toward her, wagging his fluffy tail. With her good arm she lifted him up and held him against her chest. A suffocating sensation tightened her throat as she realized that here was the only living being who knew her as The Beast.

  And loved her anyway.

  Trevor studied her a moment as she blinked away a rush of tears. “How are you going to take care of him, Shelly? How are you going to take care of yourself?”

  She hadn’t fooled him, not for a second. Jiggs had suffered enough. She had no idea where she would go or how she would support herself. It wasn’t fair to drag him along with her.

  “I’ll manage, but if you could keep Jiggs, it will help. I’ll come for him as soon as I can.”

  “You’re not in any shape to take care of yourself. Come home with me. I have a big place. Bubbles will help take care of you.”

  “I—I can’t. I promised Matt that I would stay away from him.”

  “Matt’s gone.” Trevor threw up his hands. “You know how Matt is. If and when he does come back, you’ll be gone.”

  The archangel Michael. That’s who Trevor reminded her of. He’d known she would refuse further help and had used Jiggs to convince her.

  “Thanks, you have no idea how much I appreciate your offer.”

  “I want you to do one thing for me,” he said quietly.

  Too quietly. Uh-oh. She hugged Jiggs and looked directly into Trevor’s troubled green eyes, bracing herself for unpleasant news.

  “I have a friend who’s a psychiatrist. He’s worked with people with obsessions—”

  “Obsessions?”

  Trevor swallowed hard, and she knew this wasn’t easy for him. He must truly believe Shelly needed psychiatric help. He took a moment to study the mirror-finish wax on his Porsche before continuing. “Shelly, you hounded Matt, following him everywhere. You deluded yourself into believing he loved you.”

  She started to tell him about the romantic trip to Bermuda and all the gifts Matt had given Shelly, facts she’d gleaned from the journal while she had been a stowaway in the trunk of the car. What woman wouldn’t think Matt loved her?

  Then she remembered the grainy photographs she’d found among Shelly’s clothes. Taken with a telephoto lens. The light slowly dawned. Oh, my God. The woman must have been stalking him, shooting pictures when he wasn’t looking.

  “I’m sorry for what I did,” she whispered.

  “I can understand you falling in love with Matt, but it’s hard to justify threatening his sister.”

  “I did?”

  The odd look on Trevor’s face told her that she might have tipped her hand, but the words were already out of her mouth. “Shelly, I know you’re … troubled. I promise you won’t regret consulting a psychiatrist.”

  He walked her back to the room in silence. She didn’t know what he was thinking or why he would offer to help such a horrible person. She hated lying to him, but she didn’t have any choice.

  “Wait just a minute,” she said as she shuffled into the room. Bending over was painful, but she managed to find the manila envelope with the photographs. “Take these. That’s how obsessed I became. I swear, the accident changed me. I’ll never bother Matthew Jensen again.”

  Trevor rifled through the photos, disappointment marring his handsome features. It was all she could do not to confess, to admit she wasn’t crazy Shelly, but she remained silent, staring down into the box with the dead woman’s things.

  He dumped the photos back into the envelope, then gazed
at her. “Please, Shelly, don’t make me sorry I’m helping you.”

  Chapter 9

  Matthew heaved his duffel out of the launch and onto the dock at Half Moon Bay. Lights sparkled from every door and every window while the sounds of chatter punctuated by laughter filled the warm night air. A party. Just his luck.

  He secured the mooring lines around the cleats, then slowly made his way toward the house. Skirting the property, he walked along the sand so he could enter the side of the house without passing through the group gathered on the front terrace. He’d left his sister in Nantucket and returned to Key West because he intended to enjoy the laid-back lifestyle. And because Trevor wasn’t going to prod him to change his mind the way Emily did.

  The last time he’d spoken to Trevor, he had told Matt the doctor was releasing Shelly. Matt had assumed it would be safe to return, but he hadn’t expected a party.

  Under his breath he muttered, “You’re one presumptuous jerk.” He should have called first What if Trevor had more guests than beds? Trevor would give up his own bed rather than turn anyone away, but Matt didn’t want to put him on the spot. Trevor had already gone beyond the call of friendship by taking care of Shelly.

  He spotted a Keys hammock floating in the breeze between two royal palms near the kitchen. The lightweight hammock was fringed with shells that tinkled as it swayed in the whisper of a breeze. Matt dropped his duffel and climbed into the hammock, deciding he could sleep there under the stars. In the morning he could talk with Trevor and see if there was any room at Half Moon Bay for him.

  He relaxed, staring up at the whirlpool of stars overhead. The air was so warm, the night so clear, he felt he could reach up and touch the stars. Touch the stars. He mulled over the thought.

  He’d been determined to touch the stars with his career. And he’d done it. He’d gone from next to zero, a street kid from Chicago, to a top-notch investigative reporter. He’d topped off his career—before his thirty-fourth birthday—by taking a nearly bankrupt rag sheet, Exposé, to a premier position as the most respected newsmagazine in the country.

  But sometimes touching the stars wasn’t enough. His personal life was a crock. Be careful what you ask for; you just might get it. He’d wanted the stars. Okay, he had touched the stars, but what did he really have?