Lighthouse Reef (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 4)

by Vickie McKeehan

  From the wooded area behind the line of trees, he watched the shaggy-haired asshole. Donnelly looked as though he wanted to cry. Something had told him this is where the guy would head to first, the cemetery. His hunch had paid off.

  He should take up the game again. In fact, it would be a nice welcome back gift for Mr. Donnelly. And if the fancy-schmancy artist got too close, he’d give the asshole something to remember about old times.

  When the long-haired freak finally crawled back into his truck, he wondered why it had taken so long for the man to circle back. Logan Donnelly didn’t fit in here, hadn’t even when he’d been a boy. Of all the other places in the world an artist could have ended up, there was only one reason to come back to Pelican Pointe.

  He was more than willing to pick up where he’d left off. After all, no one here had ever made a big deal out of him the way they had Donnelly. With everything he had done here in this speck of a town, with all that he had accomplished here without ever leaving, maybe the residents needed a little incentive. Maybe they needed motivation to throw him a parade. Hell, didn’t they use any excuse to bring the carnival into town?

  But no one knew. He’d taken care of that just recently. He had to remind himself everything he did—he did in secret—for years.

  All the more reason he wouldn’t let the likes of Logan Donnelly intimidate him. He’d show the bastard what true talent was all about.

  Chapter Six

  As soon as the lunch hour arrived, Kinsey left work and made her way over to The Pointe on Ocean Street with one goal in mind.

  The upscale restaurant had once been an old fish hatchery. She could tell that by the faded, but still visible, white lettering on the side of the ancient brick that gave the place its charm. The building had sat empty for more than two decades until the day Perry Altman, a five-star chef from L.A., had made a swing through the area from the interstate on his way to Napa Valley.

  To this day, Perry claimed he hadn’t gotten lost, but had purposely taken a side trip looking for the perfect spot to open up his own restaurant. What he wanted was a scenic spot along the coast where he could leave his life behind for good in the City of Angels and start fresh.

  That one weekend sojourn had changed Perry’s life. Not only had he fallen in love with the little town, he’d decided on the spot the old structure would make an excellent eating establishment at a fraction of the cost he’d encounter in Napa or L.A.

  Because of that Perry bought the property the next week, started renovations within a month, and never looked back.

  The Pointe had been open for four years now. Perry made sure his kitchen offered a different menu entirely from the only other competition in town—the Hilltop Diner. Perry saw to it personally that his customers experienced dining on par with one of Wolfgang Puck’s eateries. At The Pointe you got atmosphere, ambiance, a table instead of a booth, tabletops covered with crisp, white linens, matching napkins, place settings using fine bone China, and sterling silver flatware. You could eat under a sun-drenched skylight at lunch or stars glittering above your head at night. You might order lobster bisque while sitting next to a window with a view of the Pacific Ocean. Watch the sun go down over the horizon. Enjoy a glass of chardonnay in front of a roaring fireplace. All the while, a concert pianist entertained diners with tunes from Beethoven to Strauss to Mozart.

  The Pointe offered the locals a place to dine out on special occasions like birthdays or anniversaries. Year round, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays were Perry’s busiest nights. Then in the summer months, tourists with money to blow, ordered bottles of Perry’s best wine, his most expensive lobster dishes, and left generous tips for his staff’s reputed five-star service.

  With nerves jittering in her stomach that made it impossible to actually think about swallowing a bite of food at the moment, Kinsey took a deep breath at the double door and strolled in with all the confidence of a job applicant laden with tons of experience.

  When the hostess greeted her, Kinsey recognized Jolene Sanders from her part-time clerk job at Knudsen’s Pharmacy. Jolene had a little four-year-old girl and like a lot of other people in town held down two jobs in addition to the two her husband had.

  Before Kinsey lost her nerve completely, she forced out the words, “Hi, I’d like to see the owner, Perry Altman, please.”

  “Sure. Aren’t you the new attorney in town?”

  “That’s me. Kinsey Wyatt.” Kinsey stretched out her hand.

  After Jolene accepted the handshake, she explained, “Perry’s in the kitchen—“‘supervising.’” She emphasized supervising with air quotes while rolling her eyes at the same time.

  “Is he a tyrant like most chefs?” Kinsey asked, clearly anxious.

  But Jolene waved a hand at the question. “He’s temperamental, all right. Most times he runs this restaurant like a dictator. But the man has a heart of gold. You repeat that, though, and I’ll deny each word.” With that Jolene disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

  Soon she was back, a rather short, exotic-looking man with creamy, toffee skin in tow. Perry Altman greeted Kinsey with the same enthusiasm he might for any other customer he hoped would spend eighty bucks on lunch. He had a quick and easy smile, twinkling brown eyes, and she could tell a love for food. “What can I do for you?” Perry asked.

  “I hear you need a new piano player. I’m here to apply for the job.”

  Perry’s smile faded. “Can you believe that bastard, Franco, left me in a lurch like he did? Decided to traipse off to L.A. to try out for American Idol of all things. I gave that rat the best five years of my life and one morning he up and tells me he wants to move to Hollywood. Hollywood,” Perry emphasized, rolling his eyes. “Thinks he’s going to be the next Billy Joel. I’ve got news for him. He’ll need a lot more than a pretty face in that jungle.”

  Perry narrowed his eyes as if in recognition. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you Aaron Hartley’s new lawyer?”

  Kinsey laughed. She’d heard this same thing at least two dozen times already. “I am. But I need the job, Mr. Altman.”

  “Perry. Everyone calls me Perry. That’s one of the great perks about small town living. We all know each other on sight. Recognize a stranger from across the street.”

  “You might as well know now I also work part-time at Murphy’s Market checking groceries on the weekends. Eight to four-thirty. That leaves my weekend nights free though.”

  “Okay. But you know you’ll have to work Friday nights as well, right? Friday nights through Sundays, six-thirty on the dot to closing, which is usually till eleven p.m. or so. You play until the last customer pays the tab. In addition to three nights a week I’d like you available for any special occasions in between that I can book, like birthdays or anniversaries that come up. I don’t expect you to play for free. You get the same amount for those gigs as you do for Friday, Saturday, and Sundays.”

  “That’s reasonable.”

  He cocked his head. “Not trying to pry here, but I have to ask. You’re an attorney by day. Why three jobs?”

  Kinsey sighed. She didn’t like revealing personal deets and knew for certain she wasn’t required to answer the question. But in this case, it seemed like more conversational than nosy. “I want to rent a house by the end of the month, get settled in here for good. Plus, my mom suffered from cancer for a long time. I lost her last year. Since then I have a stack of her medical bills to pay off. I can’t do that without more money coming in. My first love is the law, but—”

  Perry’s eyes warmed. “I get it. Well, you certainly are a go-getter. I respect that. Are you any good? Do you have any formal training?”

  “My mother’s employer gave me lessons starting at the age of six. While my mother cleaned her house, the woman taught me how to play classical piano. So no, I’m not formally trained.”

  Perry winked at her and tilted his head. “You’ve certainly piqued my interest. How about an audition? One or two tunes ought to do it.”

  �
��Of course. But I’m a little nervous.”

  “No reason to be. We don’t have much of a lunch crowd. Our bread and butter so to speak are the people who come in here for dinner. The place is relatively empty now. You’ll just have Jolene and me for judges.”

  “Lead the way then.”

  “So you play the classics? I actually prefer that but just so you know, I do have a few customers who love a modern tune every now and then. If all you play are the typical standards though, since I’m in a spot, I’ll settle for that,” Perry relayed as he started toward the huge dining area.

  “Actually, I play both.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at that just as the Steinway came into view. Tucked away in one corner of the room sat a massive concert piano opposite the fireplace. Its distinctive wide tail of maple wood gleamed with polished perfection in the sunlight that drifted through the windows.

  For Kinsey, the instrument brought back memories of childhood. Good ones.

  She put her purse down on the floor and took a seat on the bench. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard a few seconds before she warmed up with Let it Be. From there she went into Songbird before smoothly transitioning into Ludovico Einaudi’s Divenire.

  Perry’s eyes bugged out at what he considered pure perfection. Jolene’s did as well.

  Kinsey didn’t notice. She was into the chords and the music.

  A few notes into Sarah McLachlan’s Angel though was all it took for Perry Altman to make up his mind. “Oh my God, you’re hired. You’re fabulous, isn’t she Jolene?”

  “Ten times better than Franco.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. You get a hundred dollars a night plus tips and I throw in meals. How’s that sound? Will that help with the bills?”

  Kinsey let out an enormous breath while tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

  “There’ll be none of that,” Perry warned. “Are you able to start tomorrow night?”

  “No problem. I hope I can manage playing in front of actual customers though.”

  Perry grabbed her arm. “Don’t worry about a thing. Get here a little early and Jolene will see to it you get a glass of red wine to settle your nerves. On the house. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Altman.”

  “It’s Perry. Are you kidding? Thank you. Because you, my dear, are going to increase my business by leaps and bounds. By any chance do you have a little black evening dress?”

  Kinsey laughed. “As a matter of fact I do. It’s short though.”

  “Perfect, show plenty of leg. Now let’s hear the rest of your repertoire. What else you can play? Entertain me.”

  On the walk back to work, Kinsey knew she’d have to deal with telling Hartley about her two extra jobs…at some point. But it was a free country last time she checked. Hartley didn’t own her. She should be able to do what she wanted in her free time. After all, it wasn’t her fault the tightwad hadn’t offered her much in the way of salary. Was it too much to ask for enough money to live on?

  Logan spent Thursday afternoon familiarizing himself with the town and its residents. Out of curiosity he went into Hidden Moon Bay Books and picked up Ethan Cody’s mystery novel. From there, he walked down to Ferguson’s Hardware where he got to know Joe Ferguson up close and personal by placing a huge lumber order, not to mention a long list of other materials. Logan wasn’t absolutely certain he liked the man. Even though Joe acted as though he appreciated the business it didn’t go unnoticed by Logan that the man seemed standoffish almost to the point of brusque. If that kept up he’d take his business elsewhere over to San Sebastian.

  When he was done at Ferguson’s, Logan decided to have lunch at the Hilltop. As he walked down Main he ran into Troy who was carrying what looked like a small, decorative cedar chest under his arm.

  “What do you have there?” Logan asked.

  “It’s a keepsake box, you know for jewelry, girl stuff.”

  The artist in Logan stopped to admire the intricate design on top. “If this is an example of your work, I’m impressed.”

  “I made it for Gina Purvis but she broke up with me last week, almost threw it at my head. She tossed it out her front door and me with it. Broke one of the hinges right off. I was headed into Ferguson’s to see if I could find a replacement so it closes again.” Troy shook his head in true disgust before he added in a knowing tone, “Women. I’m planning on avoiding the hot-headed ones.”

  Logan couldn’t help it he laughed out loud. “Good luck with that.” He slapped the younger man on the back and went on, “Troy, women have been throwing things at us since that first cave woman picked up a rock. If you discover how to avoid their wrath, let me know.”

  Troy chortled with laughter. “Ain’t that the truth?”

  “I was just heading into the Diner here, how about joining me.” Logan offered, thumbing in the direction of the door. Logan noticed Troy’s brow furrow at the invitation and hesitate. He figured he knew why. “Lunch is on me. It’s the least I can do for my very first new hire.”

  Troy broke out in a grin. “I guess I could eat.”

  As soon as they walked in the door, Dwight Yoakum’s A Thousand Miles From Nowhere greeted them from the Wurlitzer juke box at the end of the counter. Logan glanced around the place that hadn’t changed much in two decades. The faux black marble-looking counter had been meant to give the diner a retro malt shop feel but instead came off as a tacky knockoff. He noted the black and white checkered linoleum was still stained yellow. The eight padded red stools under the counter were just a little more faded and shabby than he remembered, but that hadn’t stopped someone from trying to patch them with a brighter shade of tape. It looked as though the owner couldn’t settle on which design of furniture to squeeze in here, so she’d used a little bit of everything. An assortment of chairs was haphazardly shoved under eight mismatched tables.

  Logan immediately shook off that nostalgic mood that wanted to creep in.

  They took a seat at a booth near the windows. As soon as they sat down a waitress, a cute little blonde about the same age as Troy, came over to drop off menus. “Hi Troy,” she drawled. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

  “I’ll take a Coke.”

  “Coffee for me, thanks,” Logan said before realizing the blonde was staring at him. “Is something the matter?”

  “Oh. Sorry. But I just love guys with long hair,” she explained and then reached out to touch Troy’s white-blond curls. “You have nice hair, too. I’m thinking about going to cosmetology school in the fall. You know, cut hair. Janie Pointer says she’d hire me if I got my license.”

  “You’d be good at it, Mona. You should do it. Where’s Margie today?”

  At the compliment, the blonde sent her hundred-watt smile in Troy’s direction. “She made an emergency supply run to Costco over in Santa Cruz. She’ll be back soon. I’ll get your drinks.”

  When she walked away, Logan lifted a brow. “Friend of yours?”

  Troy’s grin said it all. “That’s Mona Bingham. From Texas. She’s Max’s daughter, the cook here. She’s sort of the reason Gina Purvis broke up with me.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Yeah, Gina accused me of flirting with Mona right in front of her. I didn’t think I was.”

  “Ah,” Logan said. In the way of male bonding, he added, “That’s another thing women do with extraordinary accuracy. They can hone in on another flirtatious female at a thousand paces and then blame you for it.”

  “You’re pretty funny. Tell me something.”

  “If I can.”

  “You mean if you want to?”

  “That, too.”

  “Did breaking your hand have anything to do with a woman?”

  “I’ll say one thing for you, Troy. You’re an observant man.”

  Troy ordered breakfast and ate enough for two people. Logan got a greasy, artery-clogging cheeseburger. He expected a nasty frozen patty that had one chance to defrost once it hit the griddle. But what he got was
the best-tasting burger he’d had in years.

  Over their meal, Logan learned a lot about Troy. He had to admit that even if the young man’s references hadn’t checked out he probably would’ve hired him anyway. It hadn’t taken more than thirty minutes for Logan to peg Troy as a poor kid without much of a family, especially since losing his mother, Susan, to breast cancer right after he’d turned fourteen. Orphaned, Troy had two options. He could either go into the foster care system or move in with one of two uncles, Derek and Dale Stovall. The brothers owned six acres of land south of Pelican Pointe. There were two houses, one belonging to Derek the other to Dale. There was also a trailer they rented out. When the trailer became available, Troy got to leave Derek’s house and move to his own place, a godsend to an eighteen-year-old. Since his high school graduation, Troy had picked up odd jobs around town to pay the rent.

  “Your uncle charges you rent?” Logan asked.

  “Hey I don’t expect to live there for free. I pay my own way.”

  “Completely understand.” But hearing Troy’s life story, Logan made a decision. “How about you start work for me right now.”

  His eyes brightened. “Really? Doing what?”

  “I just ordered materials that won’t be here for another five days. But in the meantime I need help getting my equipment moved from Point A to Point B. And there’s more coming any day now.”

  “I could help with that.”

  “Then as of this afternoon, you’re on the clock.”

  Around four-thirty, Logan and Troy had made the last trip of the day getting his equipment transported from the cove to the lighthouse. When Logan pulled his truck along the road leading to the B & B, he spotted Nick and Jordan’s kids playing on the lawn. For a moment he enjoyed the homey setting just watching a big sister try to roll a ball to her little baby brother. The baby kept trying to eat the round thing rather than roll it back.

  Another time, another place, Logan decided, and crawled out of the pickup. Nick and Jordan greeted him from the steps of the front porch.