Without arguing, Vance follows Holly to her pink golf cart in the B&B’s small lot. They climb in and peel out, taking a sharp right onto Main Street and barreling up the road as fast as the cart will take them.
They bump off the paved road of Main Street and onto Cinnamon Way. Holly swerves around the snaking arms of a Gumbo Limbo tree, and narrowly misses the wide fans of a Silver Palm as Vance hangs out the side of the cart with his flashlight trained into the brush.
“Mori!” he shouts, his voice strained. “Mori! Where are you?”
Holly slows near an opening into the trees so that Vance can jump out of the cart and illuminate the area. There’s a rustling in the trees and he chases it into the brush, pushing limbs and branches out of his way blindly.
“Mori—are you in there?” he calls out.
Vance is flicking through branches, and his flashlight beam momentarily blinds Holly as he runs back to the cart.
“He’s not in there,” Vance says breathlessly. He’s super-charged with adrenaline, and his eyes are wild with fear. “Let’s go.”
The tires spin on the sandy lane as they bounce over pits and dips in the road. Vance scans the area around them with his light.
“We’re going to hit my property in another minute or two,” Holly says, pointing off to the left, “and then beyond that is the beach.” She scratches her head, not wanting to think what it would mean if Mori had reached the beach on his own. December Drive is long and winding, and it wraps all the way around the island. There’s a lot of sand to cover, multiple dunes and mini-coves that a little boy could hide in and fall asleep, and more dark, commanding ocean than she wants to think about.
“Can we scan your property to see if he might have seen a house and wandered that way?”
“Of course,” Holly says, swinging into her driveway. The headlights catch the eyes of a small animal in the trees next to Buckhunter’s bungalow, and after a minute of wide-eyed surprise, the little marsh rabbit bounds away from the glare of the headlights. Holly puts the cart in park. “Let’s have a look.”
They jump out and run around the darkened yard. Holly crosses the lawn that separates her house from Buckhunter’s and checks his porch for signs of Mori. She trains her flashlight under his rocking chair and over the side of the porch. No sign of the little boy.
“See anything?” she calls out, running back to her own yard. Vance is looping around the back of the bungalow, and through the windows of her dark house Holly can see the light he’s flashing as it flickers across her lanai and through her kitchen and side windows.
“Nothing!” Vance shouts back. He and Holly meet at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to her front door. “Mori!” Vance yells again, turning in a circle. His anguished voice filters up through the treetops and echoes in the night sky. “Answer me!” he bellows. Nothing.
“Let me try calling Jake,” Holly says, crossing her yard and snatching the cell phone off the seat of her cart.
Jake answers on the first ring. “Any sign of him?” he says without preamble.
“No. We’re out at my house, and we’re going to drive over to the beach. We’ll turn right and go towards the Ho Ho to see if he went that way. The lights and the music might have caught his attention.”
“Okay, call me with news.” Jake hangs up abruptly.
“Let’s go.” Holly puts the cart in reverse and starts backing up as Vance is still climbing in. He swings onto the seat and points his flashlight out into the yard and the trees beyond.
“Beach?” Vance asks.
Holly glances at his profile as she drives. “I think we have to,” she says carefully.
“Okay,” Vance says in a calm, resigned voice. “Let’s do it.”
Over the crashing of the waves, Holly and Vance scream Mori’s name repeatedly. They search behind palm trees and fallen logs, waving their flashlights like lighthouse beacons to get the attention of a lost little boy. They split up briefly, each scouring a different area from the water back to the trees, but when they meet up again at Holly’s parked cart, they’re both empty-handed.
“Nothing,” Holly says, taking off her baseball cap and readjusting it on her head. “And it feels like there’s no moon tonight.”
“No sign of him that direction, either.” Vance stands next to the cart, shoulders slumped forward like he’s about to give in to despair.
“Let’s take December Drive up past the Ho Ho Hideaway,” Holly says. She flicks off her flashlight and gets in behind the steering wheel again.
Vance stays rooted to the spot, staring into the distance. “What have I done?” he rasps, running a hand over his tired face. “I thought I was giving my boys this chance to live an unconventional, adventurous life, and instead I brought them to a place that’s too wild for them.” He finally meets Holly’s eye. “Or maybe everyone here is right, and they’re the ones who are too wild for this island.”
A loud wave crashes violently on the shore.
“No one can fault you for wanting to give your kids a life away from a big city, Vance,” she says, leaning across the bench seat so she can look up at him from under the roof of the cart as he stands beside it. “And please don’t forget, you’re talking to someone who grew up on this wild island—when it was much wilder than it is now.”
“You’re right. It’s not impossible to be a kid here, but we’ve been on the island for a little over a month and already done serious damage.”
“Vance,” Holly says. “Get in. You’re hysterical and talking nonsense. Your son is still missing, and we need to find him.”
As if he’s waking up from a dream, Vance comes back around, his eyes clearing and his attitude changing. “Oh my God. What am I doing?” He falls into the passenger seat. “Go! Go!”
Holly hits the gas pedal again and takes off, tearing along December Drive with her headlamps on to light the way. Vance uses his flashlight to shine it into the dunes, shouting Mori’s name as they drive. Every so often, Holly slows to a stop and they wait, listening to hear a cry or a response. After about ten minutes, Vance moves to the back of the golf cart where he stands on the low step that allows passengers to climb up to the back seat. He holds on to the roof with one hand to steady himself, propping the flashlight up on his other shoulder and aiming it at the sand dunes.
“I’m ready,” he says to Holly, patting the roof to let her know he’s holding on tight. She pulls out again, driving steadily so Vance can see ahead and around them.
At the turnoff for the Ho Ho, Holly slows and makes a left into the sandy clearing that the islanders use as a parking lot.
“Let’s check out this area, and I can ask Joe if he’s seen Mori tonight. Why don’t you head over there,” she points at the palm trees wrapped in twinkling Christmas lights, “and I’ll stop inside the bar. Be right back.”
Joe is alone in the bar except for two people sitting out on the sand with cans of beer, and he stops wiping off clean glasses to listen to Holly and to assure her that he hasn’t seen Mori anywhere at all for several days. He offers to close up the bar and help with the search, but Holly asks him to stay put and to call her or Jake if a stray six-year-old wanders up the steps of the Ho Ho.
“No sign of him here,” Holly says, jogging down the steps and across the sand to where Vance is searching in the trees around the bar.
“Moving on,” Vance says, climbing back into the cart. They take December Drive slowly, wrapping around the north side of the island and passing the spot where the crew of Wild Tropics had set up camp and done most of its filming. They’re about to turn right onto Pine Cone Boulevard and wind back down to where the road meets Main Street when a shadowy figure catches Vance’s eye.
“Over there!” he shouts, pointing at someone on their knees. “I see him!”
Holly swings the cart to the left and off the road. She slows considerably as her wheels try to move across the soft, unpacked sand. As her headlights capture the crouching figure, the person looks in their dir
ection and stands. Holly’s cart has almost come to a standstill, so she stops where she is and gets out.
“Hey!” she calls, running across the loose sand in her tennis shoes. “Mori!”
Vance grabs his light and follows Holly as they run in that direction. The figure stands in the pitch darkness and pauses for a second like a deer in headlights, then breaks into a slow, wide-legged run across the sand.
“Where are you going?” Vance shouts into the sound of crashing waves. “Stop running—you aren’t in trouble!”
But he keeps running, ducking behind a sand dune and disappearing from Holly and Vance’s view in the darkness.
“Moritz Leonard Guy!” Vance shouts. He trips over something and falls to one knee. “Get back here, or you will be in trouble!” He pulls himself up quickly and keeps running, but Holly’s stopped. She’s reached the spot where the shadowy figure had been kneeling, and she’s staring at an abandoned shovel and the start of a small hole.
“What the hell?” she mutters, sticking the toe of her shoe into the hole and digging around. Sand falls onto her foot as she does. She picks up the shovel and turns it over in her hands. The handle is smooth wood, and it’s about four feet long. The metal looks well-worn in the light from the cart’s headlamps, and Holly turns the shovel on its end, looking at its sharp point. It’s clearly been used in someone’s yard or garden, though it’s currently covered in wet sand.
She’s still standing there when Vance comes back, frustrated and empty-handed. “He kept running,” Vance pants, bending over at the waist and putting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “We need to get moving—I think we can catch him if we keep driv—” He stops talking and looks at the shovel in Holly’s hands. “Where did that come from?”
Holly nods at the hole in the ground. “Whoever that was running away from you,” she says, nodding in the direction the person had gone, “is the person who’s been digging holes all over this island for the past couple of months.” She almost forgets about the reason why they’re out on the beach at night as she takes the pieces of the puzzle and tries to fit them together in her head. “The same person who digs holes in people’s lawns and in the middle of our streets is now out here on the sand, digging up our beach. I’m so confused,” she says, looking past her cart at the inky blue night.
“So you’re saying that’s not my son we just chased?” Vance asks, pointing into the darkness in the direction Holly’s looking.
“Not unless he has a shovel and a plan to dig to China.” Holly takes the garden tool and marches back over to her golf cart. She feels around on the dashboard for her cell phone and unlocks it, dialing Jake’s number with a few taps on the screen.
“What? What did you find?” Jake asks.
“Not Mori, but we found the hole bandit.”
“Huh?” Jake is completely focused on the task at hand, and it takes him a second to shift gears. “Oh, the holes—right. Okay. Where?”
“We’re almost to Candy Cane Beach, and we caught him digging in the sand. He took off running and left the shovel behind.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. It’s too dark out here to see.”
“Then how do you know it was a ‘he’?” Jake asks, covering the mouthpiece of his phone and mumbling something on the other end that Holly can’t quite hear.
“Can you think of any woman you know who’d be out here in the dark, digging in the sand like a maniac and then running away when someone else shows up?”
“You make a solid point,” Jake says. “Which way did he go?”
“He ran down Pine Cone in the direction of Main Street. We’re headed that way, too.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the corner of…hold on,” Jake covers the mouth piece again. “Holly,” he says into the phone. “Get back here. Now.” He shouts something at the other people on his end. “Get to the B&B as quickly as you can. We found Mori.”
“They found Mori,” Holly says to Vance as they scamper to get into the cart and get it out of the soft sand. “Jake says he’s at the B&B.”
“Thank God,” Vance sighs, putting his elbows on his knees and burying his hands in his face as they roll over a sand drift and end up with their wheels on firmer ground. “I need to call Calista.”
Vance pulls his cell phone out of the pocket of his shorts and dials his wife. They’re talking in relieved tones as Holly navigates the dark end of Pine Cone Boulevard. Once they reach the first houses they’ll have a light source other than her headlamps, and the houses along the street will lead the way down to Main.
As they reach the edge of Turtle Dove Estates and pass by Bonnie’s well-lit house, Holly peers in the windows. She’s overwhelmed by a sense of completion when she sees Bonnie walk through the kitchen in her reading glasses; just that glimpse of her friend reminds her how happy she is to have Bonnie back.
They pass by the entrance to the tiny grouping of houses that makes up Turtle Dove Estates, and Holly steps on the gas to try and get them to the B&B faster. There’s a streetlight ahead, and she races towards it, eyes focused ahead on the place where Pine Cone and Main intersect. She’ll turn right there and pass Mistletoe Morning Brew, and then they’ll be at the B&B.
Vance is still talking to Calista on the other end of the line, who—to Holly’s ears—sounds a little hysterical with joy and relief. Holly is smiling and mentally calculating the seconds it’ll take to reunite Vance with his son when Cap Duncan whips around the corner out of Turtle Dove Estates, nearly broadsiding Holly and Vance.
“Whoa!” Holly shouts, swerving expertly. The nose of Cap’s cart narrowly misses the passenger side of Holly’s cart, and Vance drops his phone as he flails around, steadying himself on the dash. They come to a stop. “Cap, are you okay?” Holly puts the cart in park. Her headlights are pointed at the small, wooden Turtle Dove Estates sign as she rushes over to make sure he’s alright.
“Where’s Fiona?” Cap growls. “We need her.”
Holly scans Cap; he looks fine, and they hadn’t even bumped into each other. That’s when she sees Heddie Lang-Mueller is in the backseat of Cap’s cart, her arms around Hal Pillory’s shoulders to steady him.
“We need to get Hal to Fiona,” Heddie says, her voice low and steady. “He’s been hurt.”
“Again? What happened?” Holly goes over to the cart and reaches out a hand to touch him.
“Holly, I’m going to run the rest of the way,” Vance shouts, getting out of her cart and taking off without his flashlight or the cell phone that slipped from his hands and landed on the floor of Holly’s cart as they’d swerved.
“She’s at the B&B,” Holly says to Cap and Heddie. “Hal, what happened? How did you get hurt?”
Hal moans in response. He’s facing Heddie, and Holly can’t tell whether he’s bleeding or not.
“We were leaving Heddie’s to go over to Jack Frosty’s,” Cap says, lifting one hand off the steering wheel. “Didn’t see him walking through the grass and crossing the driveway, and I hit the old bastard with the cart.”
Holly’s hands go to the sides of her face. “No.”
“Yep.” Cap bangs the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “Gotta get him to see the doc.”
“We’re all headed that direction,” Holly says. Without another word, she gets back into her cart and leads the way to Main Street. They both park carelessly at the curb, leaving the keys in the ignitions of their carts.
Holly leaves Hal with Heddie and Cap and she races through the open side gate of the B&B and onto the pool deck, where she hears a loud commotion and several voices. The gate swings wide and bangs against the wooden fence as she unlatches it and rushes in. The scene playing out on the smooth concrete around the aquamarine pool stops her dead in her tracks. The lights from under the water are distorted by the small waves rippling through the pool. Buckhunter, Jake, and Jimmy Cafferkey all have their flashlight beams trained at Fiona in her yellow one-piece bathing suit. She’s kn
eeling on the ground, barefoot and frantic as she performs CPR on Mori.
Vance is standing apart from the group, completely stricken and inert when his wife rushes through the open gate with a sleepy-looking Mexi in tow. She stops short next to Holly and drops Mexi’s hand; a guttural wail escapes from her throat and she falls to her knees, reaching for the plastic mesh of a pool chair to support her as she sobs.
“Come here, buddy,” Holly says to Mexi, scooping him up without hesitation. She holds his small, surprisingly light body next to hers, cupping the back of his curly head with one palm so that he’s forced to look away from the sight of his twin brother, drenched and unmoving in a pool of water on the concrete.
As she turns to take him back out to the sidewalk, she nearly runs into Cap and Heddie, who are each holding one of Hal’s arms to support him. Now that he’s upright, Holly can see that one of his legs is scraped and bleeding, and his eyes are unfocused.
“Jesus,” Cap says, dropping Hal’s elbow momentarily. His first instinct is to rush in and help, but Holly blocks his way.
“Fiona’s got this,” she says with intensity, tightening her grip on Mexi. “Let’s go inside the B&B.”
With Mexi in her arms, she leads the small group through the front door of the inn, pausing as Heddie and Cap help Hal up the handful of stairs and into the lobby.
“Where should we go?” Heddie asks, out of breath from the exertion and excitement.
“I’ll get the keys,” Holly says, supporting Mexi under his body with her strong forearm. She grabs a ring of keys out of the drawer by the computer. “The Sea Turtle Suite is closest,” she says, leading them hurriedly down the carpeted hallway. The shell-shaped sconce on the wall next to the door burns at a low wattage, but it’s enough to help her guide the key into the lock. “Help Hal get comfortable on that bed, and if you don’t mind,” she says, setting Mexi on the other queen sized bed, “turn on the Disney channel for this little guy while I check to see what’s going on.”
The Edge of Paradise: Christmas Key Book Three Page 20