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

by McKeehan, Vickie

  “I said I was sorry.”

  Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s just it. I don’t think you are. That’s the second time I’ve had to explain it to you. When did you become so coldhearted? I must’ve missed it or just plain overlooked it because I was so happy to be here.”

  “I am not coldhearted.”

  “Then what is it? Is something going on between you and Ethan that I don’t know about? Are you two not getting along? What’s causing you to be so cold toward other people?”

  Hayden sighed and lowered her voice. “Look, Ethan and I have been trying to have another baby with no luck. It’s been eighteen months now and nothing. I’m beginning to get a little wound up about it.”

  “An agitated state definitely won’t help the cause, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do. But I didn’t have a problem getting pregnant with Nate. I’m beginning to worry that something might be wrong.”

  Sydney frowned. “I don’t remember you coming in to see Jack for that sort of thing. In fact, all any of you ever did was get the usual routine checkups.”

  “That’s because I didn’t want anyone to know about the problem. So I’ve been going to see a specialist over in Santa Cruz.”

  “Ah. I guess he couldn’t help.”

  “She. Dr. Sarah Winehart keeps telling me to relax and it’ll happen.”

  “So you aren’t taking any fertility treatments yet?”

  “Not yet. But if it doesn’t happen by summer Ethan and I have already decided to start the process. So now you know what’s been making me so crabby lately. Did I really give you the impression that I didn’t like Beckham?”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve been acting like a horse’s ass toward that kid.”

  Hayden bumped her sister’s shoulder. “Okay, I’m sorry. There. Did that sound genuine enough for you? Because I truly am.”

  “You’re on the right track. At least it sounded better.”

  “Where’s Quentin tonight?”

  “He had to watch over Charlotte. She’s going downhill, Hayden. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “You need cheering up. Come to think of it, so do I. How about tomorrow night we get together for a girls’ night out at Durke’s new place.”

  “Sure. Why not? I could use a night out to let off a little steam.”

  Thirty-Two

  Sydney’s plan to let off steam included a night out away from worrying about Charlotte and Beckham.

  Durke Pedasco’s place, The Shipwreck, would do for a girls’ night out. It opened on time, after a mini renovation, showing the inside was no longer a dingy place to hang out and shoot pool. Although patrons could still pick up a game of eight ball if they wanted to.

  Durke had refinished the mahogany bar himself and shined it to a gleam. He’d also painted the stench off the walls. After Flynn had inhabited the same spot for twenty years, it was time for cleaning out the grunge and blight. The restroom got a facelift with new plumbing, new fixtures, and a new tile floor.

  When Sydney walked in she saw a table full of women. It seemed Hayden had brought a pack with her. Drea, Eastlyn, and Julianne were already munching on chicken wings.

  “Kinsey’s supposed to be here after she gets the kids fed,” Hayden explained. “Dig in and enjoy the wings. There’s plenty.”

  Drea Jennings patted the chair next to her. “And the real food is an improvement over the greasy nachos Flynn used to throw in the microwave.”

  Sydney slid in next to the florist. “No quiet dinner with Tucker Ferguson tonight?”

  Drea’s eyes went wide with concern. “You aren’t still interested in him, are you?”

  “I never was. We went out once. Nice guy. Not my type though.”

  “I’m glad. It seems Tucker and I have a lot in common. Tonight, he’s dealing with more headaches from the hardware store that his father dropped in his lap. It never stops. I feel for the guy. Anyway, pour yourself a margarita and try to forget your worries. That’s what I’m doing.”

  Sydney noticed Eastlyn drinking soda. “I’m so down maybe I should stick to a soft drink. The alcohol will probably put me in a stupor.”

  “Don’t mind me. I’m off the sauce for good,” Eastlyn stated. “Not even a beer. I need to keep my flight status intact and be ready to go at a moment’s notice in case there’s a search and rescue that comes up or a medical emergency. Add to that, I never know what my shift as Brent’s second in command has in store for me. It’s best if I stay away from the booze.”

  Sydney raised her margarita glass. “Not me. Tonight, I’m opting for booze. A medical emergency? Those were the days. I don’t think I could ever work in a cancer ward, too depressing.”

  Hayden bumped her sister’s shoulder. “Jeez Sydney, you worked in an ER and saw victims from car accidents stream through the doors like a fire sale.”

  “That was different. It’s more agonizing and heartbreaking to watch someone deteriorate a little more each day. I’ll take trauma for the win any day.”

  Hayden shook her head. “That’s it. No more morbid talk about Charlotte. Not tonight. We’re here to wipe the slate clean for the next four hours and recharge our batteries.”

  Kinsey joined them at the table by pulling up a chair and scrunching her way into the circle.

  “Sorry I’m late. Is that a pitcher of margaritas? I could use one of those.”

  Sydney tipped the pitcher up and poured Kinsey a generous portion.

  Kinsey took a slug of the frozen slush, sighing over the flavorful taste. “Oh, that hits the spot.” She turned to Sydney. “Principal Hargraves was ready to settle and pay Beckham’s medical bills. That is, until I got a phone call this morning from her lawyer about how Beckham threw Kyle into a pile of garbage yesterday. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Yep,” Sydney replied. “Kyle was about ready to beat the crap out of him again. This time it didn’t go Kyle’s way.”

  “I’m confused. Didn’t you say this kid outweighs Beckham by forty pounds?”

  “You bet. Kyle is the strapping linebacker type. You’ve seen Beckham. Does he look like he could pick Kyle up and toss him into the garbage heap?”

  Kinsey took a long, soothing drink again, savoring the taste. “That’s what I told the attorney. Physically speaking, how could Beckham accomplish that feat? I’m still primed to take this all the way into a Santa Cruz courtroom and get it in front of a judge if I have to.”

  “Good for you. Because I’m in the mood to take on the establishment. What did the school board say?”

  “The district’s lawyer started the discussion by reminding me that they only get involved if the bullying occurs on school grounds.”

  “But that’s exactly where it takes place. Kyle lives in San Sebastian. He doesn’t hang out here in town waiting to beat Beckham up. Kyle’s only chance is at school. The kid does it right under the school’s nose.”

  “I had to remind the lawyer of that. It seems he was under the impression these incidents were taking place off school grounds.”

  Sydney narrowed her eyes. “Which begs the question, who led him to believe that?”

  “Mrs. Hargraves, I imagine.”

  “What a lying sack of crap! I’m ready to take on this principal, one on one.”

  Kinsey eyed Sydney, long and hard. “How many glasses of this stuff have you had?”

  “Two. But I’m letting my hair down tonight to prepare for the crap that’s coming. Beckham’s grandmother is holding on by a thread. If it takes a lawsuit to get the school to do the right thing and put a stop to this bullying, then go get ’em, Kinsey. Drag ’em into court and hit ’em where it hurts, right in the pocketbook.”

  Kinsey held up her glass. “Happy to. I hate seeing a kid bullied. It might even happen to Leah and Liam in the not too distant future.”

  “Exactly.”

  Drea leaned in so she could be heard. “That kind of thing could happen to any of our kids. I’ve heard other
parents complain when they come into the shop about the same thing. Maybe you could get them to form a group and sue as a unit.”

  Kinsey’s eyebrows darted up. “Like a class action. I’ll look into it. If they’re reluctant, I could still take depositions and use that as leverage.”

  “You go girl,” Sydney said as she turned her attention back to Drea. “Are you planning a booth for the festival?”

  “Definitely. This time of year is the best. Sometimes I miss working the tree lot with Caleb and Cooper. You know we did that as kids right after Shelby and Landon took us in. I loved every minute of it.”

  “Beckham loves working there. But won’t the festival mean a lot of extra work for you?”

  “Not really. It’s easier for me than others. All I have to do is roll my flower cart onto the street and, voila, I’m set up for business.”

  “Can I ask you something? Was there any lingering resentment between you and Zach when you broke it off?”

  Drea looked surprised. “A little. That’s inevitable with any relationship. But when it’s not working, there’s no question you have to pull the plug. Now, my turn. Why that particular question here, now, tonight? Are you interested in Zach?”

  “Because I’m…” Sydney leaned over and lowered her voice. “Seeing the doctor. And I have a few worries about mixing work with pleasure. Been there. Done that. Terrible outcome. What if we don’t work out as a couple? There could be…complications.”

  “Are those complications equating to major red flags now?”

  “Hmm. No, not at all. Not yet anyway. So far it’s been smooth sailing.”

  “How’s the sex?”

  Sydney laughed and held up a hand. “I’m not going there. The next thing I know you’ll be standing in front of me needing a flu shot or a physical and we’re both left feeling major awkwardness when Quentin walks into the exam room.”

  “Then if everything is clicking into place, why spoil it by worrying?”

  “I guess because that’s what I’m used to doing in a relationship. Worrying.”

  “Maybe you should just relax and enjoy this one.”

  Sydney picked up her glass, clinked it to Drea’s. “Not bad advice. Maybe I will.”

  While Sydney was out for the evening kicking up her heels, Quentin and Beckham locked themselves away in the library to do some digging into Jacob’s murder.

  “We’ll start with what I found on the Internet. Back when it happened, Placer County sheriff’s deputies were convinced that it was a robbery. They figured some junkie walked into the office to demand drugs. But that theory turned out to be a bust because there were no drugs missing from the locked cabinet.”

  “So it was someone your dad knew,” Beckham speculated. “Maybe your dad was supposed to meet someone there after hours.”

  “Now you’re talking. I picked up the phone and talked to a detective on the force who worked the case back then. I floated that idea by him. He didn’t believe the junkie angle. But he did tell me about a serious argument my father had with a man named Forest Chisenhall. Several years back Chisenhall was thrown in jail for domestic abuse. He beat his wife so badly that she ended up in the hospital with a pair of broken ribs. During her stay, she told an admitting nurse that her husband had once murdered a doctor. The cops heard about the story and picked Chisenhall up on the domestic violence charge. While the guy was locked up in the county jail, this detective went down to talk to him about the murder. It turns out my father had delivered Chisenhall’s baby boy, his son, just a week before he was murdered. The baby only lived a couple of hours. It seems the little guy was born with a congenital heart defect. Anyway, Chisenhall blamed my dad. The detective thinks this Chisenhall came back a week later and killed him, point blank, because his son had died.”

  “But you don’t know for sure? Where’s this Chisenhall guy now?”

  “Dead. Forest Chisenhall got drunk one night last winter, and plowed his car into a snowbank. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”

  “But at least you have a better idea of what happened, right?”

  “Somewhat. I’ll probably never know for certain. Here’s the thing, I also contacted the sheriff’s office in Los Angeles about your dad’s case. I made some inquiries to a homicide detective by the name of Robert Adamson.”

  “Does this Adamson think he can solve the case?”

  “Before I answer that let me take you through what I know. About five years earlier, the sheriff’s office had one suspect at the time. A man by the name of Elston Byers. But they never had enough on him to make an arrest. The thing is, Elston is locked up for several other murders, serving life in the High Desert State Prison for killing three homeless people, two men and a woman, which defines him as a serial killer.”

  “Sounds like a mean enough dude that he could’ve killed my dad trying to mug him for money.”

  “It’s a possibility. I asked Adamson if he’d go up to High Desert and talk to this Byers guy himself. I told him you needed some closure. After some back and forth, the detective agreed to do it.”

  “But what if this Byers doesn’t confess?”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll be in the same boat as me. No clear-cut answers.”

  “At least you tried.” Beckham fidgeted with his medicine bag that hung around his neck. “Are you and Sydney gonna get married?”

  “What? That certainly came out of nowhere. But I guess you deserve an honest answer.” Quentin leaned back in his chair. “Look, when you get our age sometimes life has thrown you more than a few curveballs by this time. Those experiences may have left their mark. It leaves you feeling disappointed, disillusioned, or just plain scared to commit.”

  “You mean you’ve had girls who didn’t like you?”

  Quentin thought of the coldhearted Melanie. “Beckham, all guys at one time or another have girls who don’t like them. Even guys like Brad Pitt go through a rough patch now and then. No man out there bats a thousand every time he asks a woman out.”

  “So are you scared to commit?”

  “Maybe a little and I think it’s fair to say that Sydney feels much the same way. It’s okay. Neither one of us is in a hurry to get married.”

  Beckham let out a teenage sigh. “Life is complicated, isn’t it?”

  “It is. And sitting here late into the night won’t change that. I need to go check on your grandmother. And you need to go to sleep. What do you say you let Buckley out for his last pee break and then run on up to bed?”

  “Will do. And thanks for making those calls down to L.A.”

  “I wish the result had been better.”

  Quentin left the study, heading upstairs to Charlotte’s room. He checked her IV drip and took her vitals. As he jotted down the results, Charlotte’s eyes blinked open. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not getting any better, am I?”

  “You’re holding your own for now. That’s all anyone can ask.”

  “You took care of everything like I asked, right?”

  “It’s all done and signed. Stop worrying about it. Use your energy to fight this thing.”

  “Not much fight left. I can leave soon without fear of abandoning my boy.”

  Quentin squeezed her hand, watched as her heavy-lidded eyes drifted off to sleep again. He backed out of the room and headed down the hall to check on Beckham.

  The room the boy had picked for his own was at the back of the house. He’d never heard of another teenage boy who kept his personal space so tidy and organized. No slob was Beckham.

  Quentin marveled at the way the boy picked his clothes up without ever being asked. It certainly was more than he’d ever done at that age. Beckham had lined up his sparse collection of books neatly on a bench seat underneath the wide windowsill. Another stack of his favored novels was kept on the nightstand, at arm’s reach.

  Across the room, Quentin saw that the teen had plopped down on his stomach, his fingers curled around the dog.
Both were sound asleep.

  After pulling the covers up around him and Buckley, Quentin headed downstairs.

  In the kitchen, he found a bottle of Jim Beam in one of the cupboards. He wasn’t a drinking man, but tonight he poured himself a generous shot of whiskey and downed the stuff in one gulp.

  “It doesn’t help. Much.”

  Quentin recognized the voice. Scott’s voice. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual haunts.”

  “Nice job with that asshole Kyle. I knew you could do it.”

  “It’s all about the timing. I usually don’t venture out of town. But for Beckham I made an exception.”

  Quentin poured himself another shot of bourbon. “Here’s to the fact that you’re a damn saint.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I’d offer you a glass but…”

  “What has you so wound up tonight?”

  “Come on, you know what’s bothering me. I can give Charlotte all the chemotherapy in the world and it won’t change the outcome. She’s dying and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it from happening.”

  “You’ve lost patients before.”

  “Yes, but now I’m emotionally attached to Beckham who is heavily emotionally attached to his grandmother. I don’t want to see that kid lose another parent in his life. And yet, that’s exactly what’s going to happen right in front of me.”