Christmas by the Sea (Haunting by the Sea Book 6)

by Kathi Daley

  Christmas by the Sea

  A Haunting by the Sea Mystery

  by

  Kathi Daley

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Daley

  Version 1.0

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Haunting by the Sea

  Homecoming by the Sea

  Secrets by the Sea

  Missing by the Sea

  Betrayal by the Sea

  Thanksgiving by the Sea

  Christmas by the Sea

  Table of Contents

  Haunting by the Sea

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  The fire danced and warmed the room as fluffy flakes of snow drifted effortlessly on drafts of air outside my window. The snow didn’t have a plan. It didn’t have a destination. It simply allowed itself to go where the wind took it without ever stopping to worry or even to have an opinion about it. Sometimes when life became too much, I’d focus on the simplicity of the life of a snowflake.

  “Meow.”

  I turned away from the window to find my cat, Shadow, staring at me.

  “Sorry. I know you are looking for dinner, but I guess I floated away for a moment.”

  He jumped off the bed and wandered to the closed door. Mom was downstairs in the kitchen, and whatever she was cooking smelled wonderful. It would only be the two of us this evening, along with Shadow and the dogs, of course. My roommate and best friend, Mackenzie Reynolds, was visiting her boyfriend, Ty Matthews, for the weekend, and my sort of maybe someday boyfriend, Trevor Johnson, worked at the restaurant he owned on Saturdays.

  It had been a long time since Mom and I had spent Christmas together in the house by the sea. Ten years to be exact. We’d lived here for two years while in witness protection, but once their own family members had eliminated the men who were after me, we’d returned to New York where we’d lived before the disruption to our lives. I supposed in a life made up of twenty-seven Christmases to date, two wouldn’t seem like a significant number, but the two spent in tiny Cutter’s Cove with Mac, Trevor, Mom, and my dog, Tucker, were the best two of my life.

  Until now. Now I had Christmas with Mac, Trevor, Mom, and Tucker to look forward to, but this Christmas we’d be adding Sunny, the newest four-legged addition to the family, Shadow, my cat and confidant, Mac’s boyfriend, Ty, and my previous handler and current friend, Donovan, who I really should call and check in with. About two months ago, I’d received a threatening text which hadn’t really led to anything, but I knew it was in my own best interest to stay on top of things, so things didn’t wind up on top of me.

  Picking up the burner cell he’d given me to use, I dialed his private number. Until I’d received that threatening text from an unknown source, I’d thought I was done with Mario and Clay Bonatello, the brothers who had forced me into witness protection when I was a teenager. The text included a photo of the brothers and a message that said: She who spills the blood must pay the price. Before their own family murdered them, Mario and Clay had worked for them. After I witnessed them killing a man in cold blood, they had set out to eliminate the only witness to their crime. I’d been placed in witness protection and had thought myself safe until they found out where I was living and sent someone to kill me. Eventually, my mom and I got a message from Donovan, which assured me that the boss of the Bonatello family had decided he was tired of cleaning up the brothers’ messes, so they’d been eliminated, and suddenly, after two years in hiding, Mom and I were free to return to our home in New York. I hadn’t been back to Cutter’s Cove until this past spring when I returned to help solve the murder of a friend. When I first notified Donovan about the text, he had no idea who had sent it or why, but he had promised to keep an ear to the ground. He also took my cell and gave me a burner to use.

  Since then, Donovan had confirmed that the man we thought might be behind the threat was Clay’s son, Vito Bonatello, who, in a bid for control of the family, was suspected of being responsible for the deaths of five high-ranking family members. He’d been sure Vito was behind the text to me, but then he found out that the police had detained Vito on another charge when the text was sent, so it couldn’t have been him. We suspected he may have had help sending the message, but when Donovan spoke to Vito, he swore he had bigger fish to fry than messing around with childish texts. Nothing more came from the message, so it looked as if the whole thing was just a prank.

  “Amanda. How are you?” Donovan asked after answering my call.

  “I’m fine. I was just sitting here thinking about the fact that we hadn’t spoken for a few weeks and decided to check in. Do you have any news?”

  “I do. In fact, I was going to call you as soon as I had a chance to look into things a bit.”

  “Bad news?”

  “Perhaps.” He cleared his throat. “I received another text from the same blocked number on the cell phone I took from you. My tech guys are trying to backtrack it to determine where the text originated, which is why I was waiting to call. So far, they haven’t had any luck.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “I think you should be cautious,” Donovan answered. “We’ve discussed the fact that it appears that whoever is sending the texts believes you’re in New York. And while that may still be true, the new text feels more like a message or a clue than a generalized threat. It somehow feels specific.”

  Okay, that had me frowning. “What do you mean specifically? What does the text say?”

  “The second text is actually a two-part text. The first part is a threat about spilling the blood and paying the price, very similar to the first text you received a couple of months ago. That was followed by a second part that reads: The shuttered window won’t hide the truth.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Donovan admitted. “But after I read the text, it occurred to me that when I visited at Thanksgiving, I’d noticed that you have wooden shutters on the exterior of your home. Of course, a lot of people have wooden shutters, and the threat is vague, but since there has been a new text, I feel like you should keep your eyes open.”

  I wanted to launch into a tirade about never being free of the men who had already taken so much from me, but I knew Donovan was doing the best that he could, so I kept my complaints to myself. “Okay. Thanks for the heads up.”

  “If we’re able to locate the source of the texts, or if we get any more information about the context of the texts, I will definitely let you know.”

  “I appreciate that. I’m looking forward to you being with us for Christmas.”

  “Me too. I’ve been chatting with your mother, and she’s been describing the town’s decorations. It sounds just like the Christmases I used to have as a child.”

  “Didn’t you grow up in New York?” I asked.

  “No, I actually grew up in Iowa, where small-town America is at its best.”

  “That sounds nice. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Iowa. Do you visit often?”

  “I haven’t bee
n back in years.”

  Based on the way he said it, I suspected there was a story there, but I didn’t ask. “I guess I should go. I think Mom has dinner ready. Before I hang up, I’ve been wondering and would like to know if Donovan is your first name or last name.”

  “Last. My name is Sam Donovan. When I was a kid, everyone called me Sammy, but since I joined the agency, everyone has called me Donovan. I’ll see you next week if I don’t talk to you before then.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you then.” I clicked off my phone and held it to my chest. I got up from the desk chair where I’d been sitting and crossed to the window. On more than one occasion, Donovan had assured me that I probably wasn’t in any sort of immediate danger since it appeared the person sending the texts thought I was still in New York. But shuttered windows? That sounded like something more. Since we lived so close to the sea, when we’d remodeled the first time, Mom had installed heavy wooden shutters on the outside of each window that were usually left open but could be closed if a storm blew in. I’d left them up when I’d bought the house, but so far, I hadn’t had a reason to close them. Still, anyone viewing the house from the outside would notice they were there.

  I took a deep breath and headed toward the bedroom door. I needed to put on my game face so I wouldn’t worry Mom. I knew she’d taken the threat in the first text I’d received seriously.

  “There you are.” Mom wiped her hands on her cheery Christmas apron when I entered the kitchen. “I wondered where you’d gone off to.”

  “I was upstairs watching it snow.” I picked up a Christmas card addressed to Amanda Parker of Parker Photography. I supposed it might be from one of the few people who actually knew about my new sideline.

  “Is something on your mind?”

  I shrugged, tossed the card back on the table, crossed the room, and then sat down at the counter that separated the cooking area from the kitchen’s small dining area. I didn’t intend to worry Mom with news of the text, but she was never going to let it go if I didn’t come up with something to share. “I won’t say that anything is really wrong, but I will admit that I’ve been feeling unsettled lately.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing is really wrong, it’s just that Mac and Ty seem to be moving their relationship forward, and while I am happy for them, I wonder what that will do to what I have with Mac. I’ve so enjoyed having her as a roommate, and I wonder how it will be living alone in this big old house if she decides to move in with him. It was the two of us living here before, and now it’s Mac and me, and I’m just not sure about rambling around here on my own.”

  Mom took the lid off the pan of spaghetti sauce she’d left simmering on the stove and gave it a good stir. She replaced the lid and then opened the oven to check whatever she was baking. She eventually moved toward the brick fireplace, which was in the center of the room and stood in front of it. “Is that it?” Based on the look on her face, I was pretty sure she didn’t believe that was it.

  “Well, no,” I admitted. “Not really. I guess I’m in a state of flux over my relationship with Trevor as well. I really, really care about him, and while he has been very patient and has allowed me to set the pace, I know he would like to move our relationship to the next level. I suppose there is a part of me that wants that as well, but I’m scared.”

  “Scared of what?” Mom asked as she returned to the stove.

  “Scared of what will happen to our friendship if our romance doesn’t work out.”

  Mom took out a large pot and filled it with water. “I guess I can understand that. Trevor has been in your life for a long time. He fills a void that I’m not sure anyone else would be able to. I suppose it must have occurred to you that what you have now is perfect, and it would be crazy to risk it. Maybe the fact that you have such a perfect friendship might lend itself to the conclusion that you might find that same level of perfection as a couple. I wonder if it might be worth the risk to find out, assuming, of course, there is chemistry between you.”

  Oh, there was chemistry. Steamy hot chemistry that I was actually amazed hadn’t started a fire at some point. I got up and walked over to the cupboard where our glassware was kept. I took out a wine glass and then asked Mom if she would like a glass of wine as well. She nodded that she would. If I was going to have a conversation with my mom about the intimate thoughts I’d been having about Trevor, I was going to need wine.

  “Yes, I can say without a doubt that there is chemistry between Trevor and me.” I took a bottle of wine from the rack and opened it. “If I really stop to think about it, I have to admit there has always been chemistry between us. Of course, when I lived here as a teenager, I was even less ready for an intimate relationship than I am now.” I poured wine into both glasses.

  “Did something happen to cause this angst at this point?” Mom wondered.

  “Not really. When I first came back to Cutter’s Cove, I was still in a relationship with Ethan, which put a natural brake on whatever feelings Trevor and I might have had for each other. By the time I broke things off with Ethan, I guess Trevor and I had both settled back into a friendship, which felt safe and comfortable. But things seem to be evolving naturally, and I’m not sure safe and comfortable is enough for either of us. I’m terrified of moving our relationship out of the friend zone for fear that we’ll lose what we have, but I’m also afraid that if I refuse to move our relationship forward, I’ll lose him anyway.”

  Mom slipped a reindeer oven mitt onto one hand. She opened the oven and slid out a tray of bread. “Life is about change. It’s about evolving and becoming whatever it is we are meant to be with whomever we’re meant to be with. I’m not saying you should jump into anything. I know how much Trevor means to you, and I can see how much you mean to him. But I do think it might be time to open a door that will allow you to at least explore the feelings you seem to share.”

  I got up, walked around the counter, and gave Mom a hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Any time.”

  I took my wine and crossed to the large glass doors that looked out at the sea. It was a dark and blustery day, and I found myself hoping for a lot of snow over the next few days. Snow for Christmas was certainly not a given in the small town on the Oregon coast where I lived, but it was possible, and there had been a few white Christmases in the past.

  “Did I tell you about the photography contest my friend from the gallery told me about?” Mom asked.

  “Photography contest?” When I’d lived in New York, I’d worked as a graphic designer, but since I’d moved back to Cutter’s Cove, I’d refocused my energy into building a photography business, selling stock photos as well as exhibiting some of my better pieces in my mom’s gallery back in the Big Apple.

  “It’s being sponsored by Backroads Travel. The contest is geared toward Christmas in small-town America. Anyone who wishes to submit is welcome to do so. They are looking for a collage of images that showcase a good old fashion Christmas in small towns across the country. I’m afraid you’d only have until the end of the day on Thursday to submit. I would have mentioned it earlier, but I actually just heard about the contest at dinner last night. I know you don’t really care about the prize money, but the winning photographer is going to be a featured artist in an upcoming issue of the magazine. I thought that might help you to get the word out about your new venture.”

  “I’m very interested. Five days isn’t a lot of time, but if I get started tomorrow, I’m sure I can come up with something special. The town is already decked out, and it looks like we are going to have enough snow to really set the mood. That’ll help. Santa’s Village is open, the Christmas Carnival will be up by mid-week, and there are quite a few boats decked out with lights in the marina. Trevor is off tomorrow and Monday, so we had plans to hang out, but I’m sure he’ll help me with the project.”

  “Great. Hang on, and I’ll text you the website where you can sign up. It has other information about the size and
theme of the entries, as well.”

  Mom picked up her phone, found the information, and forwarded it to me.

  “I’m planning to attend the volunteer meeting for the Christmas Carnival tomorrow,” Mom said. “I know I no longer live in Cutter’s Cove and therefore am not obligated to volunteer, but I ran into Winnifred Long at the market today, and she told me they are seriously short of help this year.”

  “Trevor and I volunteered to help out at the Santa House. We have shifts next weekend.”

  “Are you going to be an elf to Trevor’s Santa like you were back in high school?”

  “I am,” I answered. “I spoke to the volunteer coordinator, and we agreed on a much less revealing costume this time around. If it turns help they need additional help on the weekend, let me know. I’m not going to attend the meeting tomorrow since I want to get started on the photography contest, but I am willing to help if I can.”

  “I’ll let them know. Dinner is ready. Grab the salad from the refrigerator. I thought we’d sit at the little table in the bay window and watch it snow.”

  “It’s dark,” I pointed out.

  “I know, but the snow looks pretty reflecting off the colorful Christmas lights Trevor strung along the railing and around the windows.”

  I glanced out the window at the festively decorated deck. In the summer, we’d sit out on the deck and look at the sea. We had the best view from our little corner of the cove. But tonight, with the early darkness of winter, the snow and the lights seemed just about perfect.

  Chapter 2

  “I think we need to hike up the mountain a bit so we can get a better angle on the families hiking through the trees looking for the perfect specimen to brighten their holiday,” I said to Trevor the following day. We were at Dooley’s Farm to take photos for my project. Farmer Dooley sold Christmas trees you picked out and cut yourself in the winter, pumpkins you picked from the vine in the fall, and fresh fruit in the spring and summer.