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  SOMEWHERE

  to Spend Christmas

  Finding SOMEWHERE Series

  Book Two

  Verna Clay

  All the world’s a stage,

  And all the men and women merely players:

  They have their exits and their entrances;

  And one man in his time plays many parts.

  –William Shakespeare

  SOMEWHERE to Spend Christmas

  Finding SOMEWHERE Series

  Book Two

  Copyright © 2016 by Verna Clay

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  [email protected]

  Website: www.vernaclay.com

  Published by:

  Verna Clay

  Cover Design: Verna Clay

  Picture: (© artshock: CanStock Photo)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Preface

  In the first book of this series, I introduced many characters that will have their stories revealed in subsequent books. As for this book, I am bringing Noah Constanzo back into the picture. His grandfather, Leonardo Constanzo, whom you met in book one, owns the fine dining restaurant Seafood Heaven, the marina, and the museum in the town of Somewhere. As for Noah, he was raised by his grandfather from the age of four after his father was killed in action in the Middle East, and his mother abandoned him to his grandfather. Noah's upbringing by Leo has been a good one, and he remembers little of his father or mother. Now, at the age of seventeen, he is a senior in high school and also works as a waiter at Seafood Heaven.

  Enter now, Sunny Fairbanks, an eighteen year old who is on her own after being raised in the foster care system. She's rebellious, outspoken, and the antithesis of mild mannered and polite Noah.

  As for Gabby Hope, the owner of Hope Bed & Breakfast, she is still warring over her feelings for Leo Constanzo.

  And, lest I forget, another ghost from the past wants to deliver a message.

  Verna Clay

  Sequence of Books in the

  Finding SOMEWHERE Series

  SOMEWHERE by the Sea

  SOMEWHERE to Spend Christmas

  SOMEWHERE for a Hero to Hide (2017)

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Prologue

  1: Victoria

  2: Sunny

  3: Noah

  4: Rose

  5: Sleep

  6: Pride

  7: Gabby

  8: Michael

  9: Assistant

  10: Broken

  11: Proposition

  12: Friend?

  13: Portland

  14: Northern Lights

  15: Breeze

  16: Rendezvous

  17: Voice Message

  18: Another Ghost?

  19: Clueless

  20: Second Time Around

  21: Indebted

  22: Ignored

  23: Haunted House

  24: Zorro

  25: Report

  26: Thanksgiving

  27: Request

  28: Trip

  29: Rose and Rose

  30: Christmas Prom

  31: Christmas Eve

  32: Christmas Day

  33: Gift

  34: Surprise

  35: Wedding

  36: Storm

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Roth: Protector (excerpt)

  Shapeling Trilogy #1

  Novels and Novellas by Verna Clay

  Prologue

  Belinda Hope walked to the edge of the bluff and then turned around to view Stone House, something she had been doing for half of a century. Of course, most folks couldn't see her unless they were psychic because she'd been dead for that half century.

  One of the caveats of being a ghost—if that's what she was—was the ability to choose any appearance at any age, up until the time of her death. Sometimes she wanted to look as she had in her twenties, other times, as she had in her forties, or even the age at which she'd died, sixty-two.

  Today, she was twenty and wearing one of her Victorian gowns. It was a lovely shade of green with mutton sleeves, a full skirt, and yellow piping along the neckline. It was a cheerful dress.

  She sighed—something she always found disconcerting since she probably was a ghost—and sat on a boulder near the edge of the bluff. She missed Owen, the child who had drowned years earlier—although years no longer had meaning for her. The boy had finally walked into the light after countless attempts to get a message to his sister.

  Staring at Stone House and shifting her thoughts, Belinda remembered the last time she was on the bluff and it made her smile. Baxter Hope, who was a descendant of her husband's twin brother, Sebastian, had playfully lifted Faith Bennison into his arms to kiss her. Belinda had watched the couple cavort until their kisses turned passionate and Baxter carried Faith into the house built by Oliver Hope, Belinda's father-in-law. Such romance always made Belinda happy and the way she figured it, the couple was destined for marriage.

  Sighing again, she returned her thoughts to something she'd been considering. It was decision time. Was she ready to follow Owen into the light?

  Perhaps. But only if she could accomplish something as miraculous as Owen. If the child could get a message to his living sister, maybe Belinda could get one to someone who would, once and for all, unravel the events surrounding her child's disappearance, and years later, her own. Before walking into the light she wanted at least one person to understand what had happened. To this day, she heard townspeople debating and sometimes vehemently arguing the reason for their vanishing. For Belinda's peace of mind, the truth needed to be understood, and she considered who she should contact.

  Only one name stood out, Victoria Patterson, Owen's sister. Victoria lived in the same manor Belinda had resided in during her lifetime with her husband Randall, and the home was now a museum owned by the husband of one of his descendents. At the thought of Randall, Belinda wrinkled her nose. Making her story known would open the proverbial "can of worms," but that container needed to be opened and emptied once and for all.

  She made her decision. Yes. It was time for two mysteries to be solved.

  1: Victoria

  Vicky Patterson didn't know exactly what had awakened her as she lay in bed listening to silence. She decided it was the manor's usual "settling." Often the creaks and groans of a house a hundred years old interrupted her slumber. The sounds never frightened her though. She'd been living on the third floor of the Victorian home, now a museum, built during the early part of the nineteen century by Oliver Hope for his son Randall, for almost ten years. Becoming caretaker of the museum had been one of the best things that could have happened to her. For years she'd been struggling to pay for her mother's residence in an institution outside of Eugene.

  The drowning of Vicky's twin brother at the age of nine had devastated, and eventually, caused the breakup of her father and mother. Her father had never resurfaced after deserting his family, and her mother had suffered consistent lapses of reality, until she'd eventually been admitted to an institution. If not for government assistance in the cost of her mother's care, and her employment by Leo Constanzo as bookkeeper for his businesses and caretaker of his museum, with free monthly housing on the third floor, Vicky didn't know what she would have done.

  Thinking about her mother triggered thoughts about Michael Wainwright, III, the man who had purchased all of her paintings from Art's Art Gallery down
town, and then commissioned her to paint four more. She'd accepted the commission because her portion of her mother's monthly costs at the institution had risen, and Mr. Wainwright's payment had been more than generous. As he'd enthusiastically explained, he thought she had exceptional talent, and although less sure of her ability, she had been flattered. At his request, she had painted scenes of turn-of-the-century Somewhere, juxtaposed to modern day Somewhere.

  Believing that Mr. Wainwright would be hanging the paintings in his Portland home, she had been pleased, and even considered him a friend. How wrong she had been. He was nothing more than the conniving corporate head of Wainwright Resorts and wanted to display her paintings at the resort he was hoping to build in Somewhere, if he could convince the council to allow it.

  When Vicky had discovered what he was up to, she'd been livid. There was no way she wanted a high-end resort being built in the small town she'd grown up in, much less have her paintings displayed there. And in a confrontational phone call, she'd let Mr. Wainwright—the snake—know.

  It still made her furious when she thought about his response. He'd said she was being melodramatic. Melodramatic! He wanted to ruin her town and accused her of being melodramatic.

  That's when she'd determined to do everything in her power to stop him, and thus far, she'd organized a committee dedicated to doing just that. They'd written letters to the editor of their local newspaper deploring Mr. Wainwright. They'd marched outside his recently purchased fancy home on Ocean Boulevard with picket signs. They'd attended the latest board meeting to express their outrage. They'd even stood in front of Mama Pink's Diner asking for signatures on a petition. And all of that was done within a week.

  As for their effectiveness, that remained to be seen. The town council refused to discuss the particulars of Mr. Wainwright's proposal, saying it was being researched.

  A loud crash startled Vicky and she jerked upright, thoughts of Mr. Wainwright forgotten. She was used to the creaks of an old house, but this was entirely different. Was someone trying to break into the museum? If so, it would be a first. She reached for her cell phone, but paused. She didn't want to call 9-1-1 unless absolutely necessary. Besides, the alarm hadn't gone off. If the crash was caused by something innocent, she'd feel like a fool and perhaps seem like an alarmist, which was something that could work against her in the fight to have Wainwright Resorts ousted from Somewhere.

  Reaching for a bronze statue on her bedside table with one hand, she grabbed her cell phone with the other. She tiptoed to her door and cracked it open, listening for a long time. There was no sound. With the statue held at readiness she ventured to the stairs leading to the kitchen. The museum's stairs and ground floor were strategically lit with nightlights, so her vision wasn't impaired. She checked the kitchen and the remainder of the ground floor and didn't see anything out of the ordinary, so she moved to the main stairway and ascended to the second floor. Everything on the landing seemed fine. She turned on the overhead light in Belinda Hope's bedroom and peeked inside. Next, she moved on to Baby Rose's bedroom and turned on that light. She had barely stepped over the threshold when she stifled a cry. The glass frame that had showcased one of the child's dresses lay shattered on the wooden floor, but even more frightening, the baby's bassinet was slowly rocking back and forth.

  Vicky lifted the statue overhead while scanning the shadows for an intruder and backed out of the room. No one attacked and the night remained quiet. Still keeping the statue at readiness, she fled back to her own room, searched the shadows there, and even looked under her bed and in the closets. Then she shut and locked her door. Cowering on her bed she couldn't decide what to do. She reached for her cell phone to call 9-1-1, and then stopped. Her fear was subsiding and reason was making headway.

  Reasoning told her that the frame was heavy and after years of hanging in the same location, had finally succumbed to the law of gravity. And the bassinet was rocking because it had been struck during the fall. Her heart returned to a normal rate. Yes, that's definitely what happened.

  2: Sunny

  The beach at daybreak was beautiful as Sunny Fairbanks leisurely strolled beside the waves. The sand sucked at her feet with each step and occasionally she paused to watch water fill the imprints. She inhaled briny air and marveled as sunlight streaked the sky various shades of purple and red. Somewhere, she thought. Interesting name for a town. She continued her walk.

  An hour earlier her bus had stopped for a short layover in Somewhere before continuing on to Portland, and Sunny had stepped outside to stretch her legs. On a whim, she had walked toward town and seen a sign indicating the ocean was nearby. Passing through the quaint downtown lit by faux gas lamps, she'd been enchanted, and finally reached a crosswalk at the intersection of Main Street and Ocean Boulevard that led to the beach. The sky was just turning pink and she'd been faced with a decision to either return to the bus because it was leaving soon, or walk the beach. This was her first trip out of California and for years she'd heard of the beauty of Northern California, Oregon, and Washington, and wanted to experience them first hand. Having grown up in Los Angeles in the foster care system, she'd mostly known poverty, crowded freeways, graffiti, and litter.

  The sound of the ocean had been loud and the smell of salt, strong. She'd hesitated only a moment before stepping onto the crosswalk. Her bus ticket was good for anywhere on the west coast for a month, so she decided to check out Somewhere for a few days. However, if she wanted to stay longer, she'd have to find a job. She was good at waitressing, having started at the age of fifteen, with the goal of saving money for her new life after leaving foster care at eighteen.

  Now, walking the beach, she inhaled deeply. Freedom! No longer would she have to become invisible to foster parents that were often harsh and occasionally cruel. Of course, there had been a couple of homes with loving caretakers, but she'd never been allowed to remain with them. She was always being shuffled from home to home, which, of course, accounted for her belligerent attitude that kept people at bay.

  From her first job as a busgirl she'd saved every penny she could, and now had enough money to travel for three or four months. Of course, within that timeframe, she'd have to find a place to settle down and a job. Eventually, maybe she could even attend college by going to night school.

  The day lightened more and Sunny pushed thoughts of her future away. She shifted her backpack to a more comfortable position and continued along the beach toward homes in the distance.

  3: Noah

  Noah Constanzo loved jogging at daybreak. Usually, he was the only person on the beach and it was the perfect time to dream about his future. He'd soon turn eighteen and when school started in a month, he'd be a senior. After graduation, his grandfather Leo was insisting he enroll in a university, and no amount of arguing could dissuade him. Time after time, Noah had contended that further education wasn't necessary if only Leo would teach him everything he knew about running his businesses. His grandfather, however, had remained staunchly firm that Noah attend college because, he'd argued, Noah might change his mind about following in his footsteps. He might decide to become an architect or an engineer or an investment banker, and the more Noah proclaimed he only wanted to run the Constanzo businesses, the more stubborn Leo had become.

  Noah picked up the pace of his running. He would follow his grandfather's wishes, of course, because he loved the man who had raised him after his father's death while serving in the military in the Middle East, and his mother's abandonment after that, but he didn't have to be happy about it.

  He broke into a full out sprint. A female in the distance had abruptly stopped walking and dropped to the ground. Was she ill? When he reached her, his breathing was labored as he tried to assess what was wrong. She was combing through her backpack. Then he saw blood on the sand. Out of breath from his run, he dropped to his knees and gasped, "Let me see how bad you're injured."

  She was young, probably still in her teens, and her voice sounded angry when sh
e replied, "I so don't need this," and continued digging through her things. "I have a damn handkerchief somewhere in this mess."

  Speaking slowly and calmly because her foot was bleeding profusely and he didn't want to alarm her, he said, "Let me see if I can find your handkerchief," and lifted the backpack from her.

  As he started riffling through the bag he realized finding anything in the jumble was hopeless, so he grabbed whatever was in his hand and lifted her foot slightly, placing a T-shirt over it to staunch the bleeding.

  The girl's eyes had been squeezed shut and she now jerked them open. "Ouch!" she yelled, and then, "Oh, no, that's my new T-shirt!"

  Noah couldn't believe she was worried about a T-shirt and said offhandedly, "I'll buy you another one."

  Unbelievably, she replied, "The hell you will!" and jerked her foot out of his hands.

  Noah was getting frustrated and said forcefully, "If we don't get the bleeding stopped, I'll have to call the paramedics."

  That got her attention and she turned large, luminous eyes on him. For a moment he couldn't move. She had the strangest eyes he had ever seen—strange, but beautiful. One eye was pale blue and the other dark blue. Quickly, she glanced away and he retrieved her foot again, putting pressure on the wound. "We've got to stop the bleeding."

  The fight seemed to have left the girl and she lay back in the sand, clutching her arms to her chest. She winced a few times and he apologized for hurting her. After a couple of minutes he lessened the pressure and peeked at the cut. It was still bleeding but not as much. He wrapped her foot tightly in the T-shirt and assured her, "It's not bleeding as bad and you may not need stitches. My house isn't far away so we can clean the wound there."