Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel

by JoAnn Ross

  “Another reason we’re the perfect sister cities,” the mayor said. “Our people have a great deal in common. At every annual town hall, our citizens vote to keep fast-food restaurants and the big-box stores out of town. It’s not that we have anything against them, per se. Good heavens, I’ve been known to enjoy a Big Mac from time to time. But we’d lose our uniqueness, and if we became just another town, we could also lose our tourists. Who’ve been the lifeblood of Shelter Bay since it was founded back in the eighteen hundreds.”

  J.T. braced himself for a telling of the town’s admittedly colorful history, which, he decided, would at least keep him from having to join in any lame conversation.

  Fortunately, he was saved by the bell. Or, more accurately, by Bodhi, who pointed out the theater they were passing.

  “Oh, that’s so beautiful!” She actually clapped her hands. Which J.T. considered overkill, but hey, it wasn’t his name up there in lights. “I love the neon around the marquee.”

  “The neon’s a recent addition,” Bodhi said with obvious pride. “Though it’s merely replicating what was there originally. The Orcas is a grand historic theater. When it was built in 1935, the governor called it the finest cinema house in the Pacific Northwest, and I don’t think you’d have found many who’d have disagreed.”

  “Your former governor was obviously a man of good taste,” Mary said. “The detail is amazing. After our Independence, there were a few Art Deco buildings built, though many have since, unfortunately, gone into disrepair. Out in the west, we were too poor and lacked the population for the type of grand buildings Dublin is known for. But I’ve always admired the style.”

  “The frieze across the top depicts the town’s history,” Bodhi pointed out. “First you’ve got the Native Americans, then the fishermen and sailors, then next the timbermen who came to cut down the trees as the town grew, and, finally, of course, the train that changed everything.”

  “A train?”

  Here it came, J.T. thought fatalistically. The story he’d heard so many times growing up he figured he could recite it by heart. Which he’d once had to, when he’d been narrator of his third grade’s play performed at the Pioneer Days celebration.

  “Oh, don’t tell her yet,” the mayor jumped in. “The children at the creative arts summer camp have been working on a skit that depicts the entire event.”

  J.T. figured it was the same play. And wow, wasn’t that going to be fun? If it had been anyone but Kara who’d stuck him with this duty, he’d go AWOL right now.

  “The skit’s going to be part of tomorrow’s events,” Colleen Dennis continued. “After the art competition awards. I can’t tell you how honored they all are to perform it for such a famous actress.”

  “That’s lovely they’d be going to so much trouble, but I didn’t start writing screenplays to become famous. I felt a need to express myself, and, well”—she shrugged—“events escalated from there.”

  “That’s why you’re such a perfect role model. I do hope you’ll tell them all about when you were a child. It’s always so helpful when children can identify with a role model.”

  “To be honest,” Mary said, “I wasn’t one of those children who knew what I wanted to do when I was young. My life’s been more a series of fortunate events that put me on the path to get to where I am today.”

  “Then you must tell them about that. Because it’s always good for them to realize that it’s also okay to be a late bloomer.”

  Even J.T., who’d never claim to be bucking for any Miss Manners etiquette award, knew that wasn’t exactly a compliment.

  He shot a sideways glance toward Mary Joyce at the same time she looked over at him. The humor sparkling in her eyes suggested that not only was she not offended, but she didn’t take herself all that seriously in the first place. Which was not at all what he’d been expecting.

  As if she could read his mind, her lips curved and her challenging smile seemed to say, Surprised, Douchett?

  Maybe, he thought. But the jury’s still out.

  “Since you’re such a fan of Art Deco, wait until you see the inside,” Bodhi said, breaking into the silent conversation taking place in the front seats. “The original theater didn’t have a concession stand. Back then patrons purchased refreshments from rolling carts in the lobby. So we added two permanent stands built in the same style as the outside of the building. We have a special souvenir program from opening night in a glass case in the lobby. And framed photos in the lobby showing the restoration after the town nearly lost it in the nineteen eighties.”

  “A former administration felt we needed a parking lot for the tourists,” Mayor Dennis said scornfully. “Fortunately more intelligent heads prevailed, we were able to get the Orcas put on the historical register, and with all the local businesspeople and citizens pitching in—the high school clubs even had car washes and younger children sent in pennies—we achieved the funding to restore it to its former glory.”

  “We Irish love our historic buildings. Even those crumbling away in the fields.” Mary twisted in her seat to talk directly to the theater owner. “How many seats does the Orcas hold?”

  “The original building had nine hundred and forty-five seats. Now, because we’ve expanded the stage and added an orchestra pit for live performances, it can accommodate six hundred and fifty, along with ten wheelchairs. Of course, although we’re not taking advance reservations for the entry films, we sold out all your films in the first thirty minutes.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging. I’d feel terrible if you changed your schedule on my account and no one showed up!”

  “Oh, that would never happen,” the mayor chirped.

  “I know multiplexes are all the rage right now, but intimate theaters like the Orcas are where I first fell in love with the movies,” Bodhi said. “It’s also where I copped my first feel while necking with Betty Ann Palmer in the back row of the balcony during Night of the Living Dead.”

  Mary laughed at that. It was a warm, seductively smoky laugh that slipped beneath J.T.’s skin and had him tightening his fingers on the steering wheel. It was also, he remembered, the same one her selkie character had used to charm the scientist as she’d made love with him on the beach.

  “And isn’t that an age-old teenage boy’s ploy?” There was more of a lilt of Ireland in her voice when she was amused. “Taking a girl to a horror movie to get her poor frightened self to practically climb into your lap?”

  “Hey.” Bodhi laughed back. “When you’re fourteen, whatever works.”

  “A guy’s gotta go with whatever works however old he is,” Reece said. “Isn’t that right, J.T.?”

  Less than thrilled to be dragged into the conversation, J.T. shrugged. “Works for me.” No way was he going to admit that he’d done his own share of romantic fumblings in that balcony.

  “Of course, J.T. wouldn’t know about having to resort to ploys,” the mayor said. “Not only is he handsome as homemade sin—those Marine dress blues don’t hurt a man’s chances.”

  The headache J.T. had woken up with this morning returned as maniacs began pounding at his temples with jackhammers. “I’m a former Marine,” he said firmly, having no intention of ever wearing those blues again.

  “My late husband always said there’s no such thing as a former Marine,” the mayor, who appeared to have never met a silence she didn’t feel the need to fill, said.

  J.T. privately agreed with that one, but he damn well had no intention of expanding this conversation into his time in the corps. First of all, given that the actress lived in Hollywood, she was probably one of those wine and cheese liberals who, unless they thought there was an audience for war movies, had never seemed real fond of the military men and women who allowed them to sleep safe and secure on their gazillion-thread Egyptian cotton sheets every night.

  There was also the fact that he hadn’t talked about the last eighteen months with anyone, and if he were to open up about it, it’d be with his brothers.
Or his Marine dad, who’d done a tour in the final year of the Vietnam War and had been involved in the evacuation during the Fall of Saigon. Or maybe even his grandfather, who’d seen a lot of bad stuff during his time in Korea. But he didn’t want to share. Especially not with some actress whose only views of military life—and death—probably came from movies.

  He just wanted to be left alone. Was that too damn much to ask?

  “Night of the Living Dead was originally written as a horror comedy.” Mary Joyce returned the conversation to its original track, even as he felt her gaze drift back toward him. As grateful as he was to her for getting the focus off him, he kept his eyes on the road straight ahead. “It was titled Monster Flick, and was about a group of teenage aliens who visit Earth and become friends with human teenagers.”

  “I’ve never heard that,” Clark said. The theater professor’s tone was thick with skepticism. When they’d first met that morning, it was clear the guy didn’t like J.T.

  J.T. considered the feeling mutual.

  “It’s true. Maybe it’s because my brother-in-law’s a horror novelist, or due to his books always being around our house because my older brother devoured them like sweets, but I took a class on American fifties and sixties horror films at UCD. University College Dublin,” she clarified her credentials. “The second version had a young man running away from home and discovering rotting corpses the aliens used for food scattered over a meadow.”

  “Yuck,” said the mayor.

  “You won’t be getting any argument with me there. The film was widely criticized for being too graphic, but it’s definitely become a cult classic. In fact, over a hundred artists from around the world created a reenactment, using everything from manga to Claymation, to puppets. It’s foolishly grand fun.”

  Damn. This time the warm female laugh caused an unwelcome little sexual sizzle. As reassuring as J.T. might have found it under any other circumstances, with any other woman, he tamped it down. He’d kept his distance from women during his casualty-notification days, because dealing with that mission had proved so emotionally grinding, he didn’t have anything left to give to a relationship.

  Since returning home, feeling as if he’d been hollowed out with a rusty machete, he’d kept to himself.

  And how’s that been working for you? a nagging voice in the back of his mind asked as the others enthusiastically discussed zombies and ghouls and other things that went bump in the night.

  Just fine, he answered back.

  Which was a flat-out lie. He was a long way from fine. Which was another reason not to even let himself think about this woman whose voice carried the lilt of the auld sod and who smelled like a green Irish meadow.

  7

  At least Mary Joyce’s fans had added some color to the town, Kara considered, as she skirted around a woman wearing a sequined green skirt with a mermaid-tail train and matching bra. Since she’d seen bikini tops a lot skimpier, she decided that the outfit was a long way from breaking any decency laws. The woman was talking to a pirate, who’d accessorized his costume with a red bandanna with fake braids attached, a plastic cutlass, tall leather boots, and eyeliner.

  She entered the Sea Mist restaurant, and wove her way through the restaurant out to the harbor-front patio where Sedona Sullivan, Maddy Chaffee, and Charity Tiernan were seated. It was their once-a-week lunch, and since so far things were peaceful, Kara had decided she could risk the hour off duty they’d spend catching up.

  “Refresh my memory,” she said, as she joined them at the round table. “Were there any Johnny Depp–type pirates in Mary Joyce’s selkie movies?”

  “Believe me,” Sedona said, “I’d remember if there had been. The man’s been mine since 21 Jump Street.”

  “I had him first,” Kara said. “And a guy who looked a lot like a low-rent Captain Jack Sparrow was outside hitting on a mermaid when I arrived.”

  “Maybe he decided that dressing up like a merman with a fish tail wouldn’t exactly make him a babe magnet,” Maddy suggested.

  “That’s undoubtedly the case. Though I’ve got to tell you, very few men in this world can make eyeliner work. The guy on the sidewalk is not one of them.”

  The server arrived to take their orders. Sedona opted for the Dungeness crab Caesar salad, Maddy the fish taco, and Charity the shrimp and crab Louis, while Kara ordered crab cakes, coleslaw, and smoked corn chowder. With a side of fried clam strips.

  “I’m eating for two,” she said, hearing the defensiveness come out in her tone. “And we can share the clam strips.”

  “Did we say a thing?” Sedona asked.

  “No. But it’s embarrassing. I had morning sickness for months with Trey. But with this one”—she placed her hand over her stomach, which, while not sporting a true baby bump yet, had begun to press against the front of her khaki shirt—“I’m famished all the time.”

  “Admittedly, I’ve never been pregnant, but famished has to be better than throwing up,” Sedona said. “And perhaps it’s a sign that you’re going to have a boy.”

  Preferring to be surprised, Kara and Sax had opted against learning the gender of their baby ahead of time.

  “Is that some New Age thing you learned growing up on the commune?” Kara plucked a cheese muffin from the basket the server had left on the table. Not that she believed in woo-woo stuff. Then again, there were those who’d think that the way she’d once talked with her murdered husband wasn’t exactly mainstream.

  “No, merely logic and observation,” Sedona said. “It makes a certain sense that a boy would take after his father. And Sax has always appeared to be a man of hefty appetites.”

  The double entendre, which was, indeed, true, had Charity nearly spitting out the drink of ice water she’d just taken. Maddy grinned wickedly, while Kara felt her cheeks turn hot.

  “So,” she said, deliberately changing the subject, “the reason I didn’t cancel on this week’s lunch, although I should probably be out patrolling our soon-to-be very crowded streets, is because I have news.” She paused a beat. “I’m getting married.”

  “Well, of course you are,” Maddy said as their server arrived back at the table with the clam strips appetizer and four small plates. “That’s what that ring on your finger is all about.”

  “No, I mean like I’m actually, officially getting married.”

  Charity, who was reaching for a strip, paused, her hand over the basket. “You’ve set a date?”

  “I have.”

  “It’s about time,” Sedona said. “Sax must be over the moon.”

  “He’s definitely pleased.” That was an understatement, since he’d been pushing for marriage even before she learned she was pregnant. More often since.

  “When?” Maddy asked.

  “That’s the thing. It’s this week.”

  “During the festival?” Sedona asked.

  “I know the timing’s insane, especially what with all I have to do, but my mom called, and I did what you advised me to do a few weeks ago,” Kara said to Charity. “I told her about the baby. Since she missed Trey’s birth, she was thrilled. She also told me that she and John were on the way to some island in the South Pacific that had suffered a tsunami, but because Doctors Without Borders are already on the scene, they’re able to make a stop here. So we can have that double wedding we talked about.”

  “I guess you’re going to have it at Bon Temps?” Sedona asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind, because it’s a great place, and Cole and Kelli’s wedding there was wonderful, but it’s also where Sax already spends all his working hours since he reopened it. Which doesn’t make it all that romantic.”

  And, although she felt it was a little foolish, after getting married at the civil registry office in Tijuana the first time, the romantic that Sax had unearthed lurking inside her wanted something more special.

  Which was when she’d thought of Lavender Hill Farm. A Cooking Network celebrity chef who’d given up living in Manhattan after her marriage to
her chef husband had dissolved, Maddy had returned home to Shelter Bay and had a new show in the works that would feature the cooking school she and her grandmother planned to open at her grandmother’s herb farm.

  Maddy had recently gotten married herself, to one of Sax’s former SEAL teammates. The small beach ceremony had been celebrated with her grandmother, a close group of Shelter Bay friends, many of whom had attended high school with her, and her agent, who’d flown in from New York for the occasion. Lucas Chaffee’s dog, Scout, who’d retired from the military after losing a leg to a bomb in Afghanistan, had served as ring bearer, carrying the rings in a basket.

  Later, at the reception, Lucas admitted that since he’d fully intended to win his former summer love back, he’d begun training the dog to play that part the day after Maddy had returned to Shelter Bay from New York City.

  Taking a deep breath, Kara asked her the question she’d been contemplating since her mother’s call. “How close are you and Lucas to getting Lavender Hill Farm’s restaurant completed?”

  “Oh, wow.” Maddy snagged a clam strip and chewed thoughtfully. Kara could see the construction punch list being ticked off in her friend’s head. “How much time are we talking about?”

  “Mom’s only going to be able to stay for a couple days. So, I was thinking, possibly Thursday?”

  “That’s three days away.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry, but—”

  “We’ll do it,” Maddy said decisively. “Somehow. After all, Lucas and I managed to pull off our wedding in a mere week and I have to admit there was something to be said about not having time to stress out about every little detail.

  “We’re really close to finishing, so with some long hours and maybe an all-nighter to get all the design stuff in place, we can make it work. Especially if we use the gazebo instead of the farmhouse for the actual ceremony.”