Beneath Winter Sand Read online

  also by Vickie McKeehan

  The Evil Secrets Trilogy

  JUST EVIL Book One

  DEEPER EVIL Book Two

  ENDING EVIL Book Three

  The Pelican Pointe Series

  PROMISE COVE

  HIDDEN MOON BAY

  DANCING TIDES

  LIGHTHOUSE REEF

  STARLIGHT DUNES

  LAST CHANCE HARBOR

  SEA GLASS COTTAGE

  LAVENDER BEACH

  SANDCASTLES UNDER THE CHRISTMAS MOON

  BENEATH WINTER SAND

  The Skye Cree Novels

  THE BONES OF OTHERS

  THE BONES WILL TELL

  THE BOX OF BONES

  HIS GARDEN OF BONES

  TRUTH IN THE BONES

  Indigo Brothers Trilogy

  INDIGO FIRE Book One

  INDIGO HEAT Book Two

  INDIGO JUSTICE Book Three

  BENEATH WINTER SAND

  A Pelican Pointe Novel

  Published by Beachdevils Press

  Copyright © 2017 Vickie McKeehan

  All rights reserved.

  Beneath Winter Sand

  A Pelican Pointe Novel

  Copyright © 2017 Vickie McKeehan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, locales, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, businesses or companies, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 1544244983

  ISBN-13: 978-1544244983

  Published by

  Beachdevils Press

  Printed in the USA

  Titles Available at Amazon

  Cover art by artist, Jess Johnson

  You can visit the author at:

  www.vickiemckeehan.com

  www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan

  http://vickiemckeehan.wordpress.com/

  www.twitter.com/VickieMcKeehan

  For my best bud, Wendy, your warm heart

  and generous spirit go beyond best friend,

  especially knowing I can call you up, day or night,

  and know, without fail, you’ll be

  up for the latest adventure.

  “Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.”

  ~ Terry McKay, An Affair To Remember

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Welcome to Pelican Pointe

  Beneath Winter Sand

  by

  VICKIE McKEEHAN

  Prologue

  Twenty years earlier

  Turlock, California

  The March afternoon had turned warm and golden by the time little Hannah Lambert ran across the playground to make her way home from school. She waved goodbye to a few of her classmates while scrambling to catch up to others like her best friend, Melody Mathis.

  Melody lived on the same street as Hannah, in a blue-collar section of the city where hardworking people either labored for someone else or ran their own small businesses to survive. Woodworking shops were prevalent and produced a fair amount of cabinetry used by area homebuilders. Sheet metal shops kicked out truckloads of shipments earmarked for Detroit to be used in the auto industry.

  It wasn’t unusual for mechanics and locksmiths and factory workers who made up the neighborhoods to buy modest, cookie-cutter homes, have families, mow their lawns on Saturdays, have cookouts and barbecues, go to church Sunday mornings, and by afternoon spend the rest of the day rooting for their favorite sports teams.

  Long before Hannah Lambert’s family made Turlock their home, the city’s dark past consisted mostly of the internment camp set up on the county fairgrounds where thousands of Japanese Americans were detained for the duration of World War II.

  Gone were the barbed wire fences and the rows of barracks, replaced by carnival rides and crowds that came to watch monster truck rallies, and listen to the country and western bands that frequently filled up the arena. The fairgrounds were where eager high school students competed for coveted 4-H scholarships and cherished the blue ribbons they took home. Hannah had even been there once to ride the Ferris Wheel last year with her parents.

  Hardworking principles went hand in hand with facing hardships. But despite the struggles, the Lamberts did their best to provide fun outings. Like many families in the neighborhood, sometimes Hannah’s mom and dad found themselves short of cash before payday. If they ran out of milk or cereal, they might be down to eating peanut butter and crackers for supper. An occasion that could bring out her father’s temper. Robert Lambert often railed at the low pay he received. He didn’t like the idea of not being able to provide for his wife and kids the way he wanted. When things got tight, he’d often rant that he’d never be caught asking for a handout from the county, no matter how dire the circumstances got. He and his wife, Laura, often had disagreements about his stubbornness on the matter.

  But Hannah was used to the squabbles. Generally, a happy girl, on this sunny afternoon, she chatted up Melody as they took their regular route home, meandering along the sidewalk in front of a string of modest houses with well-tended front yards.

  “I got a gold star on my math worksheet today. How about you?”

  Melody wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t like math. It’s my least favorite subject.”

  Hannah skipped along the footpath, readjusting the weight of the backpack she carried. “I do. I like counting things up. I can count to one hundred now by fives.”

  “Everybody can do that.”

  Hannah ignored the dig and went on with her cheery banter. “My mom says I might get a Barbie doll for my birthday.”

  “It’ll probably come from the thrift store, used,” Melody pointed out. “That’s where mine came from.”

  Hannah had coveted Melody’s secondhand doll for months now and Melody knew it. “I don’t care where it comes from as long as I get one. Momma says if I’m good, I might get a new dress, too.”

  The back and forth continued like that until the girls reached the corner of El Capitan Drive. Melody lived to the right of the stop sign while Hannah lived in the middle of the block to the left.

  The first grader knew something bad had happened the minute she stopped skipping and peered down the street toward her house, the one painted a light blue green with white trim. She spotted a line of police cars in front. To Hannah, it looked as though half the town milled about in the yard or on the sidewalk or stood in the middle of the street.

  Melody’s eyes grew wide. “What do you suppose happened? Did your dad get loud again?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah answered, a lump forming in her throat along with the
sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was very wrong. She knew her father could sometimes let loose his temper in a bad way. Robert would sometimes drink too much and think he could solve his problems with a fist or a threat. Afterward though, he’d usually settle down to say he was sorry and they’d all move past the big blow up as if nothing had happened.

  But even to a six-year-old this looked way more serious than a simple fight or an argument. Instead of one patrol car sitting in front of her house there were more like a dozen. She stared at the ambulance parked at the curb and the other vehicle, an official-looking station wagon with a county logo on the side.

  Since her father worked the night shift at an almond packing plant operating a front-end loader, Hannah rarely saw him during the daylight hours when she was at school because that’s when he caught up on his sleep.

  He didn’t drink much during the week. She could vouch for that. Her daddy rarely touched a can of beer, especially when he didn’t have the cash to splurge on a six-pack.

  Hannah stood there, glued to the sidewalk, remembering how her father had looked that very morning—overworked and tired, she’d thought. He’d picked up a few extra hours of overtime for the week and had been late getting home. By the time Hannah darted out the door heading for school, her father was just coming in. Because she’d been in a hurry to get to class, father and daughter had simply passed each other on the porch where he’d grunted a hello and she’d waved a quick goodbye.

  But as the little girl stood there on the corner now, remembering the last time she’d seen him, she also knew he had a temper. To deny his outbursts at times when life didn’t quite go Robert Lambert’s way would be a lie. Maybe that’s what had happened this time, thought Hannah, as she left Melody standing on the corner and ran the rest of the way toward the throng of people.

  Her backpack weighing heavy by that time, Hannah was out of breath. Her lungs hurt as she pushed and shoved her way through the neighbors who lined the sidewalk. Some were too intent on catching a glimpse of what was happening inside the house to notice the little girl.

  When she felt a hand wrap around her arm and pull her to the side, it was the friendly face of Mrs. Carmichael from across the street. The lady who always let her help bake sugar cookies on Saturday afternoons had been crying.

  “What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Hannah bellowed.

  The plump Mrs. Carmichael’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh sweetie, there’s been a tragic accident. Your father…your mother…they’re gone, honey.”

  A shiver ran through Hannah. Suddenly she was very cold, cold enough that her shoulders started to shake and tremble. Tears trickled out of her amber eyes and ran down her cheeks. If she listened hard enough to the adults, she could catch horrible words drifting past their lips, words like gunshot, murder, suicide…death…funeral.

  It was hard for Hannah to comprehend most of it.

  But when Mrs. Carmichael began to cry again, it hit Hannah hard. Six years old or not, she wanted some answers.

  Wiping away her own tears Hannah tried to search Mrs. Carmichael’s warm brown eyes for more information. But she had trouble getting the words out. “What about…Micah? What happened to…my baby brother? Is he dead, too?”

  “Don’t you worry none about the baby,” Mrs. Carmichael assured her. “A social worker already swooped in about an hour ago and took little Micah to the hospital to get him checked out just in case.”

  That sounded reasonable enough to Hannah, especially when another social worker, an older, stern-looking woman with dark hair named Alice, came walking up to take charge of her.

  Alice led Hannah to the back of the nearest police cruiser with instructions to stay put. “Don’t budge from this spot. You stay here while I go inside and pack up your clothes and personal belongings. You move, you’ll be in the way. Understand?”

  “Don’t forget to bring Mr. Peng,” Hannah shouted at Alice’s back. “I want Mr. Peng.” But the woman never even turned around. With nowhere else to go, Hannah stayed put. It seemed like a long time before Alice came out of the house carrying a well-worn suitcase that had belonged to her mother and the ragged stuffed penguin Hannah had nicknamed, Mr. Peng.

  Alice waved the stuffed animal toward Hannah. “I’m assuming this must be yours. It was next to your pillow.”

  “Yes. Yes. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I need you to understand that your family’s gone, Hannah. You won’t be coming back here. At all. Now get out of the police car and come with me.” Alice started walking toward a brown hatchback parked way down at the other end of the corner. Maybe that’s why Alice was in such a foul mood because with each step, the social worker kept grumbling about the walk. “I couldn’t park any closer to your house because so many police cars had already answered the call.”

  Hannah stopped walking. “Where are you taking me? I’m not leaving here until I see my mom and dad. I bet they’re just sleeping. I want to stay here.”

  Alice whirled on the child. “Now you listen to me. They aren’t asleep, they’re dead. Stop whining and move those little feet.”

  But Hannah didn’t hear the rest. Even though words came out of the woman’s mouth they made no sense to Hannah.

  “This old suitcase is the only thing I could find to hold what few clothes you had, other than a paper grocery sack. I packed a few changes of clothes for school and your pajamas and whatever I found on your bed. You can take everything here with you to the temporary shelter. It should last you for a couple of days at least.” Alice glanced at her watch. “If I hurry though I should be able to track down a foster family that will take you in for the night. That’ll have to do for now. It won’t be permanent but at least you’ll have a roof over your head for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  “Where’s Micah?” Hannah stubbornly wanted to know. “Where’s my baby brother? Before I go anywhere I want to see Micah.”

  But Alice seemed not to hear her. The woman dragged her every step of the way to that crappy brown hatchback and stuffed her in the cramped backseat.

  It seemed like hours later before the social worker would even speak to her again. By then, Alice seemed almost reluctant to answer a single question whenever Hannah brought up Micah.

  Being ignored unsettled the little girl. It caused a fear to creep up her back, an uneasy feeling that something sinister had taken place. The panic gripped her harder, and grew stronger, the further the woman drove away from El Capitan Drive.

  Alice took her to an office where Hannah sat in a hallway and was told not to run around. An hour went by, then two. All that time Hannah sat there clutching Mr. Peng next to her chest in a death grip, afraid to move.

  It wasn’t until her stomach started to rumble—she’d missed her afterschool snack of peanut butter, crackers, and milk—that Hannah got truly scared.

  But eventually, Alice reappeared from behind closed doors. “You’re a lucky girl. You won’t have to spend the night in the temporary shelter. It’s really a state subsidized home for children like you. I’m driving you myself up to Modesto to drop you off at the Tollersons. They’ve agreed to take you for in at least a week.”

  “Will Micah be there? I want to see Micah!” Hannah pleaded.

  “Micah is a baby, Hannah. He requires another kind of care other than the kind you require. You’re six-years-old, a big girl. I’m sure Micah will end up with another family just as good as the Tollersons until we can get this all worked out.”

  But soon after arriving at the Tollerson house, Hannah’s fear turned to something else. Quiet determination took over.

  It happened after supper when Hannah realized Alice had come back. And she wasn’t alone. The social worker had brought a supervisor. There were rumblings from the adults. These people who’d taken her away from her home, didn’t seem to have any idea which hospital had checked out six-month-old Micah.

  Even after Alice’s supervisor barked into the phone a couple of tim
es, the adults seemed even more confused and agitated. They were all wringing their hands and muttering something about baby Micah that Hannah didn’t understand.

  Since no one would tell her anything about her brother, she assumed he’d died right along with her mom and dad. But an older girl staying with the Tollersons that shared a room with her, named Tina Montgomery, set her straight. Tina told her that wasn’t the case at all. The information gave Hannah hope and a reason to try harder to eavesdrop on the adults. So, whenever she could she tried to overhear their conversations. That grew tiresome after a while, especially when everyone—including Alice and Mrs. Tollerson—talked in a low voice, keeping their discussions muffled and hard to hear. It was impossible for Hannah to make out what the adults were saying.

  Over the next few days, Hannah did poorly at her new school. Each time she brought up Micah, she was ignored. No one wanted to talk about her little brother. All her questions went unanswered. Every time she cried she was told to stop. She began to suspect these adults were in trouble for some reason, she just didn’t know what it was.

  But one night after supper, the answer came from Tina, who was packing up her suitcase to leave the Tollerson home for another more permanent foster family elsewhere.

  “You keep asking about your brother, Micah. It’s been all over the television—something about a baby going missing. The cops think Micah Lambert was abducted…kidnapped.”

  “It’s not true,” Hannah proclaimed. “He’s in the hospital, maybe even dead. That’s why they won’t talk about him or tell me anything.”

  “You’re wrong. They won’t tell you because they screwed up. They let this lady take him out of the house and then disappear. They thought she was the social worker. These guys don’t ever like admitting they made a mistake, otherwise you’d have reason to sue their asses off. They’d have a big, fat lawsuit on their hands. They don’t want that.”