Pelican Pointe Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 (A Pelican Pointe Novel)

by Vickie McKeehan

  Keegan nodded. “It’s not fair to the child, but then, that’s how people think.”

  “Turns out, this guy spent a decade looking for me. Wonder why the Captain never mentioned that?”

  She studied him as he focused on the traffic. “The Captain? You’re saying you think Scott Phillips should’ve somehow mentioned this to you during one of your many talks? Why?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I told you he spends a lot of his time these days out at the farm. Yesterday afternoon he tells me he’s certain Robby Mack is headed out west.”

  Keegan puffed out a breath. “Was that the definitive thing that made you come into town to break up with me? Scott scaring you into thinking this guy is on his way to get you?”

  “No, I’d already decided it was the right thing to do.”

  “Says you.”

  “To keep you out of harm’s way, I’ll do anything.”

  She decided to drop that line of conversation since it would more than likely lead to more tension they didn’t need at the moment. Instead, she elected to go with a lighter tone. “Maybe I should take the time to research more about hauntings, find out why Scott’s here bugging you and doesn’t seem to want to move on or something. Maybe we could see what Wade Hawkins has to say, maybe even mention it to Ethan.”

  “Why? That’s all I need is for the entire town to think the nutcase is making up ghost stories along with everything else.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Other people have seen him, too. Sometimes when I go into the Diner, there is a group sitting there in the booth talking about it—him.”

  He picked up her hand and placed a kiss on the palm. “I haven’t told you thanks for coming with me.”

  “How could I not? Even though to tell you the truth I feel a little like a third wheel. But I figure if you were a girlfriend in the same situation who asked me for a little support when meeting the father she didn’t know, I’d be right there anyway.”

  “Okay. I guess there must be logic in that statement—somewhere.” His eyes twinkled in mock delight. “I’m just glad you said yes.”

  “Well, they say the world is a small place. I figure you leave Leesburg and end up getting into a fight in Houston, which caused you to get locked up. That incident prompts your friends to come get you and haul you back here to a town where you really don’t want to be. Why here?”

  “Yeah, because it just as easily could’ve been San Jose. That’s where Ben Latham lives, another buddy from the Guard.”

  “You have to admit, it’s odd.”

  “Odd? I should be so lucky. My life just keeps sliding along the path to Ripley’s Believe it or Not.”

  Forty-five minutes later they pulled into Fresno. Cord hit the GPS and put in the address Gabe Bennett had written down on the piece of paper. Another twenty minutes and they were headed down a street in the old section of town.

  Gabe Bennett lived in a two-bedroom, postage-stamp-sized house with a slab foundation nestled among tall elms and sycamores dotting an old residential street with manicured lawns.

  Cord pulled into the driveway behind a Dodge pickup parked in front of a carport and stared at the nine-hundred-square-foot house.

  “I know you’re nervous, but it’ll be okay. You already know he looked you up because he wants contact so there’s no second guessing that part of it.”

  Before he could answer that, the front door flew open and Gabe Bennett stepped out onto the speck of a porch. He waved a big hand and motioned them out of the truck.

  “Here goes nothing,” Cord mumbled as he scrambled out of the pickup.

  This time, Cord was the first one to extend his hand. “I guess I owe you an apology,” he said as the other man pulled him closer into an embrace.

  “I don’t blame you, not really. It’s an unbelievable story on all counts. But you checked it out, or you wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t be here.” He turned to focus on the tall redhead. “And who is this?”

  “This is Keegan Fanning.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bennett.”

  After the two shook hands, Gabe said, “Well, come on inside, no point in giving my neighbors more of an eyeful than they deserve.”

  As soon as they got settled on a well-worn sofa in the small living room, Gabe disappeared into the kitchen. They heard dishes clattering before he returned with a tray that held a pot of coffee and sandwiches.

  “I couldn’t eat a thing,” Cord told him. “I’m a little nervous.”

  “So am I. But I thought you might be hungry after the trip.” The older man wiped his palms on his jeans. “You must have a ton of questions. There’s something I want you to see.”

  Gabe walked over to a cabinet, brought out an old photo album with a red-and-gold cloth binding. “Of course, I lost everything after they arrested me. Most of what belongings were worth keeping ended up with Tammy’s sister, Tara Dover. About a year after I got out, after they cleared me of the murder, Tara got in touch, sent me one of those emails. Told me she was sorry she’d thought all this time I’d done it. She felt so bad she sent me a few things that were Tammy’s. This photo album was one of them.”

  Cord sucked in a breath and took the book he handed off.

  “Isn’t much, I know. Couldn’t be more than thirty-five pictures in there at most, all of which were taken by two teenagers in love. But it’s worth a look because it’s all I have left of her—and you. It was all I had until now.”

  With sudden clumsy fingers, Cord lifted the heavy cover. For the first time in his life his eyes landed on a photo of his mother. A very young blonde, wearing her jean shorts and white blouse, smiled for the camera as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Wow, she was beautiful.”

  “Oh, she was that. I took that picture the day she turned sixteen. We’d gone over to Coronado for the day. Had us a picnic, went swimming, made love, probably made you that day, if truth be known.”

  In spite of his thirty-four years, Cord’s hand flew to his lips and his eyes grew moist. He tried to blink away the tears by pressing his lips together until they turned white. He desperately fought to control his emotions.

  Keegan reached over and laid her hand on top of his. “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Bennett and tell us more about Cord’s mother?”

  “Sure. If you’ll stop calling me Mr. Bennett, I’ll tell you a whole slew of stories.”

  But just then, Cord abruptly stood up, excused himself to go to the bathroom.

  When he was out of the room, Gabe took the opportunity to pry a bit and asked, “You care about him?”

  “Of course I do, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “Why isn’t he happy?”

  “He’s had a difficult time lately.”

  “How so?”

  “You should ask him yourself. It isn’t my story to tell, but his.”

  “Okay. Then look out for him, will you?”

  She thought she should explain how new their relationship was. “Mr. Bennett, we’re just getting started.” But looking into his eyes so much like Cord’s she decided the lines on his face showed genuine fatherly concern for his son. So Keegan added, “I’ll do my best.”

  The minute Cord came back in and sat down, Gabe took that to mean he should pick up where he had left off.

  “You should know, Cord, Tammy wasn’t just pretty—and tall—tallest girl in our sophomore class—that girl could’ve easily been a model. Tammy was the sweetest person I ever knew. She had a way about her, loved animals and you, Cord. She loved you, loved being your mother. She might’ve been young but she had a powerful amount of love stored up for you. She used to sing this song to you, what was it called back then? Ah, I remember now, You Light up My Life.”

  Gabe chuckled. “Sappiest damn song if there ever was one. But your mother loved it. She’d sing it to you and dance around the room with you on her hip.”

  As Gabe began to reminisce about other things, other times, the awkwardnes
s of the moment, slipped away.

  Cord and Keegan stayed for supper and took the sandwiches Gabe had fixed outside in the backyard to the picnic table.

  When Cord saw Keegan pick off the ham from between the pieces of bread, he smiled and told Gabe, “You ever met a vegetarian, a person who never lets meat pass their lips?”

  “I’ve heard of them. Can’t say I ever met one though.” Gabe’s eyes twinkled just as Cord’s did in pseudo scorn.

  Cord grinned. “Keegan is one. That’s why she’s taking off the ham and leaving nothing but the cheese and bread. She doesn’t eat red meat.”

  “At all? Well I’ll be damned,” Gabe said in continued amusement.

  “At all. I’m thinking she has the right idea.” And with that, Cord picked the meat off his sandwich, as well and took a huge bite. “Mmm, turns out, I love cheese sandwiches.”

  “Your son is not a vegetarian. In fact—” Keegan started to explain.

  “But I’m rethinking that whole red meat from animals thing,” Cord admitted and winked in Keegan’s direction.

  During the meal, Cord listened to his father as he went on and on about Tammy Lynn Bennett, who three weeks shy of her seventeenth birthday, had died at the hands of a man named Carl Manning.

  “And he’s in jail, right?” Cord asked.

  Gabe nodded. “Locked up in San Quentin, same place I spent twenty-four years.”

  “An innocent man,” Cord finished. He looked over into eyes so like his own. “What is it you do for a living?”

  “Well, now, I sued those people in San Diego that wrongly had me locked up. They settled with me for a sizeable chunk of money. I took it and started a contracting company. I help put up office buildings around town.”

  “And you’re alone now?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Met a woman sometime back. Her name’s Polly. She’s got me over quite a few rough spots. We don’t live together though. Look, I’ll never forget your mother, Cord. She was the first woman I ever loved. And then, I had you. There was a time I didn’t think I’d ever find you.”

  “What do I call you?”

  “Whatever you want?”

  Cord scratched his ear. “Never had a father before. I might try dad at some point. But—the word sounds foreign.”

  “Then for now, Gabe will work just fine.”

  Outside Cheyenne, Wyoming, John Gold’s blue Mustang got caught speeding by a highway patrol officer named J.T. McDaniel. John Gold kept his cool as he handed off his fake driver’s license and waited while the cop ran the plates through his computer.

  John Gold had no doubt this was a test. That’s why he fought the urge to start the car and hit the gas. He could take off, but the new ID had to pass scrutiny at some point. He knew he should’ve bought a gun at the same time he’d purchased the new car. He’d remedy that little mistake first chance he got.

  Gold kept a watchful eye in his rearview mirror for any indication the gig was up. But when the officer came walking back to the car without having drawn his weapon and handed him back his license along with a ticket to sign, he knew the ID had been well worth the five grand he’d paid for it.

  As he calmly added his John Gold signature to the paper without a fuss, he grinned to himself, listening to the cop politely tell him how to pay the fine. The minute the guy slid back inside his cruiser, John Gold turned the key, put the car in gear and took off continuing to head west along I-80, making sure this time he kept the sports car at a legal seventy-five miles per hour.

  Chapter 18 Book 3

  A spring storm threatened to mar the annual spring Pelican Pointe Street Fair, a three-day event sandwiched between Christmas and Memorial weekend and always scheduled for the third week of March over a Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

  They had already cordoned off one end of Main to the other and detoured traffic around to Ocean Street. Workers were even now slaving away to make sure the booths were ready to go by morning.

  Even though the fair created traffic congestion in a town with less than three thousand people, it also brought in much-needed cash from the surrounding towns without waiting for the start of the summer tourist season to begin.

  A parade on Friday morning, complete with area high school marching bands and homemade floats, would kick off the whole thing.

  Old and new RVs and truck trailers towing carnival rides and portable booths for food vendors began showing up as early as last Sunday as they fought for space along Ocean Street. It was the one time of the year parking became a major headache.

  At the rescue center, Keegan and Pete had already spent a busy Thursday morning tacking up No Parking signs and stretching rope from the front gate to the main hospital building reminding visitors that they’d have to find someplace else to leave their vehicles.

  Their own open house was less than twenty-four hours away. Keegan had spent a week working up handouts describing each of the animals they had in residence, specifically Minnie and Bumper and Jack and Dodger. But the flyers also covered general information on sea otters, sea lions, harbor seals and California brown pelicans.

  The kids could get their pictures taken with the various mammals. Sign up to adopt a marine animal. Play with a miniature aquatic replica, built by local carpenter, Troy Dayton. Receive a coloring book printed courtesy of Murphy’s Market featuring marine mammals. And thanks to other local businesses, register to enter for prizes. Up for grabs were things like key chains, books about mammals and bookmarks bearing the Fanning Marine Rescue Center logo.

  All in all, it was ramping up to be a demanding three days. She’d have to remember to give Wally a huge hug for coming up with this idea.

  Good thing Keegan had a full staff onboard. Pete, Russ, Abby, and Tina had two new raw recruits. They’d drafted Connor Davis and Jason Broderick to be their gofers. The boys had turned out to be as eager as Hayden had described.

  Several blocks over, vendors went about setting up tents and booths despite thunder booming overhead.

  In spite of overcast skies and the chance of rain, Keegan opted to forego pulling her truck out of the compound and instead started to head over to the Diner on foot. She hoped if it did decide to open up and pour, the bad weather wouldn’t hang around for longer than twenty-four hours.

  Her staff had put their hearts and souls into making this event a success. They’d been briefed on the right way to bring up donations into their assigned tours. They’d spent hours training to handle the mammals in front of a packed house. In other words, they’d worked their asses off. At this point she could only put her faith in her team and the generosity of strangers.

  She was about to step off the curb at Main and cross the street when she spotted a familiar man zigzagging his way through the vendor tents. He lifted his face up to the storm clouds as if to study every movement, every rumble. Keegan’s heart did a double beat as he turned, spotted her and raised his hand in a neighborly wave. Before she could get her mouth to work, she watched the man vanish into thin air.

  She swallowed her shock.

  Scott Phillips. She’d seen with her own eyes, Scott Phillips, as he took a stroll along Main Street. Scott Phillips, the solider who had died in Iraq two years earlier.

  She turned around and dashed back to the center to get her truck.

  At the same time Keegan tried to overcome her shock, Harold Boedecker and his son, Drake, bobbed on the lip of Smuggler’s Bay in Harold’s twenty-foot fishing boat, Orion’s Song under overcast skies, hoping to catch enough striped bass for their supper.

  On the south side of the bay, the craggy shoreline gave way to patchy stretches of beach dotted with scrub brush and low hanging juniper. Drake squinted into the distance, watched the rise and fall of the tides and commented, “Dad, do you see that? Over there. What is that hung up in that low-hanging cluster of cypress?”

  Harold narrowed his eyes. “Can’t make it out from here. Eyes aren’t what they used to be. Let me grab my field glasses.” He reached in his bag, dug out t
he binoculars, held them up, and adjusted the focus where he could see what his son had spotted.

  “Shit. Start the motor!”

  “Why? What do you think it is?”

  “That’s a floater for sure.”

  “No way. Let me see the glasses.”

  Harold handed them off to his son and shifted to pull the cord on the motor himself. “We need to get closer. If it’s a body—”

  “But there’s no one in town missing. Gotta be a tourist,” Drake reasoned, eyeballing the ballooned form hung up in the cypress trees, rising and falling in the white caps.

  While Harold steered them through the choppy waves, he began taking a mental inventory. There were only two people in town unaccounted for and had been for several months back. After stealing in excess of half a million dollars from the bank, Kent Springer and Sissy Carr had snuck off six months earlier in the dead of night. Police choppers had searched up and down the coast for three straight days looking for any sign of Kent’s boat, East Money. They hadn’t turned up a single thing.

  Closing the distance, Harold decided that from the looks of the bloated body, it appeared to be unmistakably female. At least the bleached, blonde hair on her head indicated that much.

  But eyeing the corpse, Harold said to his son, “Drake, there ain’t much left here. But I think we might’ve just found Sissy Carr.” Harold scratched his scruffy chin. “Even if it ain’t her, Ethan’s gonna have himself a shitload of paperwork.”

  Drake drew his phone from his pocket, held it skyward as fat drops of rain began to fall. “Getting a weak signal on my cell.”

  “Good. Let’s call her in.”

  And with that, Drake punched in Ethan’s number.

  Cord had several issues to deal with at the farm, issues he couldn’t avoid before he headed to Keegan’s for the night. While he straightened out a problem with a supplier via email, the image of Keegan, and what they had done to each other the night before, popped into his head.