Dune Drive

  Praise for Mariah Stewart

  THE LAST CHANCE MATINEE

  “The combination of a quirky small-town setting, a family mystery, a gentle romance, and three estranged sisters is catnip for women’s-fiction fans.”

  —Booklist

  “A good read, with a nice blend of mystery, family drama, and romance. Readers will look forward to the next installment.”

  —Library Journal

  THE CHESAPEAKE DIARIES SERIES

  “The town and townspeople of St. Dennis, Maryland, come vividly to life under Stewart’s skillful hands. The pace is gentle, but the emotions are complex.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “If a book is by Mariah Stewart, it has a subliminal message of ‘wonderful’ stamped on every page.”

  —Reader to Reader Reviews

  “The characters seem like they could be a neighbor or friend or even co-worker, and it is because of that and Mariah Stewart’s writing that I keep returning again and again to this series.”

  —Heroes and Heartbreakers

  “Every book in this series is a gem.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Captivating and heartwarming.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  A DIFFERENT LIGHT

  “Warm, compassionate, and fulfilling. Great reading.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “This is an absolutely delicious book to curl up with . . . scrumptious . . . delightful.”

  —Philadelphia Inquirer

  MOON DANCE

  “Enchanting . . . a story filled with surprises!”

  —Philadelphia Inquirer

  “An enjoyable tale . . . packed with emotion.”

  —Literary Times

  “Stewart hits a home run out of the ballpark . . . a delightful contemporary romance.”

  —The Romance Reader

  WONDERFUL YOU

  “Wonderful You is delightful—romance, laughter, suspense! Totally charming and enchanting.”

  —Philadelphia Inquirer

  “Vastly entertaining . . . you can’t help but be caught up in all the sorrows, joys, and passion of this unforgettable family.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  DEVLIN’S LIGHT

  “A magnificent story of mystery, love, and an enchanting town. Splendid!”

  —Bell, Book and Candle

  “With her special brand of rich emotional content and compelling drama, Mariah Stewart is certain to delight readers everywhere.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

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  With grateful thanks to my readers who have stayed with me from the beginning. You know who you are.

  Acknowledgments

  Every author needs a great editor, and I do believe I’ve been blessed with the best. Lauren McKenna makes my books oh, so much more, and I’m so lucky to be working with her. I’m lucky as well that the wonderful team at Pocket Books is my village—and it takes one to bring a book from the writer’s mind to the hands of the reader. I’m thankful for everyone at Simon and Schuster who works so hard on my behalf.

  Thanks, Chery Griffin, for being my first reader and for picking up all those little things I miss. I’m always happy to return the favor.

  The Writers Who Lunch gives me an excuse to get up from my desk at least once every month. I am so thankful for these ladies who know when to laugh and when to commiserate, and I’m always happy to have spent a few hours in their company.

  My family is my reason for everything: Bill, Kate and Mike and the boys—Cole, Jack, and Robb—and Becca and David. Love you all more than you will ever know.

  Diary ~

  It’s been such a busy spring! Even though I’ve cut back my time at the inn and passed on much to Dan—who, let’s face it, is a better innkeeper than either his father or I had ever been—it still seems as if there aren’t enough hours in a day. I’ve also given Ford more responsibility at the newspaper, though not my weekly features column. I do so enjoy talking to people and writing about them. I think in another life I must have been the village storyteller.

  Some might say in this life as well, but I digress.

  I’ve decided it was time for my children to understand what it means to inherit a business. Dan’s done an amazing job turning the inn into a resort, and Lucy’s contribution as event planner par excellence has made us the destination wedding venue on the Eastern Shore. The paper has been increasing circulation, which in itself is a bit of a miracle since so many others have lost subscribers. But Ford was quite right when he thought some of our summer regulars might like to see what’s going on in St. Dennis during the rest of the year, and he was absolutely on target. I’ve raised such clever, industrious children.

  I’m taking a long moment to pat myself on the back.

  One night soon I’ll be having dinner with my dear friend Ruby Carter. Her great-granddaughter, Chrissie Jenkins, has been staying on Cannonball Island with her since the fall. Ruby tells me she’s quite the cook, so I’m looking forward to a wonderful meal. I might even skip my afternoon tea. Well, probably not.

  Years ago, I was friendly with Chrissie’s grandmother, June Singer Blake, who’d grown up on the island but had always favored the town. I can’t fault her for that—St. Dennis has been much more progressive than our neighbors on Cannonball Island. Yes, of course I know that Ruby had her issues with June, but one tries to stay neutral in these things. Come to think of it, Ruby had issues with several members of Chrissie’s family, starting with her mother, Dorothy, and that idiot man she married. No wonder the girl’s been lost for so long, with the parents she had. Well, we all must play the hand we’re dealt. I will say that it appears Chrissie’s getting her cards in order these days. She’s come back to the island, and she’ll be better for the choices she’ll make. Who knows where the road ahead will take her?

  Oh, who am I kidding? We both know the girl’s worst days are behind her now, and if she follows her heart, she’ll be just fine.

  It just may take Chrissie a while to figure that out.

  ~Grace

  Chapter One

  Chrissie Jenkins sat at the end of the pier on the spit of land known as the point at the end of Cannonball Island and watched the sun begin its drop over the Chesapeake Bay. It had been a fine April day, and the water was calm and smooth as glass and just as peaceful as Chrissie remembered from her childhood. After the past five unsettled years, the pink and lavender sky seemed like an old friend, and for the first time in at least that long, she felt like she just might be home.

  She tried to remember the last time she’d spent more than a day or two on the island, and figured it had been almost three years, when they’d laid her grandma June to rest. Of course, June Singer Blake had insisted on being buried in the Presbyterian cemetery in St. Dennis, right over the bridge from the island—no burial in some forgotten family plot on Cannonball Island for her. Chrissie smiled, recalling the flap June Blake’s viewing had stirred up. Before she died, she’d given Chrissie an envelope containing eight thousand dollars, and told her to make sure she bought the best coffin she could find. Most important, it had to have a pink satin lining. Grandma June figured if she had to meet her maker, she wanted to arrive in style. Chrissie’d thought it was a bit much, but it wasn’t her money, and she wasn’t the one abou
t to leave this world. If her grandmother wanted a coffin with pink satin lining, that’s what she’d have. The extravagance had set tongues wagging in the small bayside town where her grandmother had spent her entire life.

  Of course, Doug’d had a fit when he found out what Chrissie’d done.

  “Are you crazy?” He’d grabbed her arm, twisting it as he held her against the wall. “You paid eight thousand dollars for a coffin for a dead old lady?”

  “It was her money, and it was her last wish.” Chrissie’d tried to wrest away from him, but as always, the struggle had been fruitless. He was too much bigger, and way too much stronger. Chrissie’d never had a chance against Doug when he was angry. And it seemed the longer they’d stayed together, the more often he was angry.

  “Do you know what we could have done with eight thousand dollars?”

  “It wasn’t my money, and it certainly wasn’t yours, so there’s no ‘we’ to talk about. And let go. You’re hurting me,” she’d pleaded. But he hadn’t let go, and he hadn’t stopped hurting her.

  Well, all that was behind her now. It had taken a while, but she’d finally found enough strength to leave. The best thing she could say about the five years she’d spent with Doug was that she never married him.

  On a Tuesday in late September, she’d left for work, and for the last time, locked the apartment they’d shared in West Orange, New Jersey. She’d left behind everything she owned except what she’d been able to move out over the preceding month, secretly, piece by piece, in her bag, and stashed in her locker at work. That last day, she’d gone into the restaurant as usual, but at the end of her shift, she’d asked the owner if she could speak with him in his office.

  “I hate to do this to you, Rob, but tonight’s my last night. I swear, if there was another way, I’d do it,” she’d said with tears running down her face. “But if you knew I was planning on leaving, you’d deny it when Doug asks and he’d know you were lying. And he will ask.”

  “Where are you going, Chris?”

  She’d shaken her head. “He’ll ask you that, too. If you don’t know, you won’t have to lie. Just know it’s someplace where I know I’ll be safe.”

  He’d put an arm around her and hugged her. “I hate to lose you—you’re a good cook, Chrissie, and could be even better with a little more training and experience. You have such natural talent, so much potential. I had high hopes for you.”

  “Thank you. For everything. For giving me a chance to learn in your kitchen. For teaching me so much. It’s meant everything to me. I’m so sorry to be leaving you like this, but—”

  “I’m sorry you’re leaving, too. But at the same time, I’m glad. You don’t know how many times we’ve been tempted to either call the cops or take matters into our own hands,” he’d said. “And by ‘we,’ I mean me and Jim, the entire kitchen staff, and half the waiters.”

  He’d pulled up the right sleeve of the white T-shirt she’d been wearing and exposed an ugly circle of purple and yellow bruising on her upper arm.

  “Don’t tell me the neighbor’s dog did that when he jumped up on you.”

  Chrissie’d looked away, unable to meet the eyes that knew her story without her having said a word.

  “You go, and you don’t look back, hear? We all love you, honey, but the most important thing is that you’re safe.” Rob’d gotten up and gone to the filing cabinet that stood inside the door. He pushed it aside to reveal a wall safe, which he opened with his back to Chrissie. She heard it click when he closed it again.

  “Here’s what I owe you for this past week, some severance pay, and your Christmas bonus.” He pressed a stack of bills into her hand.

  “You don’t pay severance to someone who’s quit, especially when that someone hasn’t even given you the courtesy of a week’s notice.” She smiled. “And Christmas won’t be here for another couple of months.”

  “Details!” He fluttered a hand in her direction. “Look, if you need help, or a reference, anything, you get in touch with me. But don’t call here, in case Doug comes in and starts asking if anyone’s heard from you. Call Jim’s cell, and leave me a message. He’ll let me know as soon as he hears from you, or if someone calls on your behalf.” His laugh was harsh, and just a little forced. “Listen to me, I’m starting to sound paranoid, like you.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Rob.” Her eyes filled and she reached out to hug the man who’d done so much for her during the year she’d worked for him. He pulled her into a tight embrace and let her hang on for a moment. “Please give Jim my love. The two of you have been such good friends to me, it’s making this even harder.”

  “Aw, we both love you, honey. Don’t forget, you need anything, your first call is to me,” he told her. “Promise?”

  Chrissie nodded. One more hug, and she’d tucked the envelope into her bag and opened the office door.

  “Did you say good-bye to anyone on the floor?” he’d asked as they’d stepped into the short hall from the office to the kitchen.

  “No. Like I said, if—when—Doug comes in and asks, if no one knows anything, no one has to lie.” Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d made any real friends other than Rob and his partner, Jim. Friends asked questions, friends expected to spend time with you, wanted to share confidences. Doug would never permit her to share her time—or her thoughts—with anyone but him. Rob had recognized her situation immediately, and though they’d never spoken about it, Chrissie had known he’d help her if it came to her needing to quietly escape—and he had.

  “Then slip out the back, here.” He’d touched her arm and pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “My private in and out.”

  “Thank you again, Rob, I don’t know how—”

  “Stop. Just go. Be safe. Be happy. Find another restaurant and cook amazing food.” He took her face in his hands and added, “Find someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. And never doubt for one minute that you deserve to be loved, Chris.” He opened the door for her and she walked out.

  “Let me know when your feet hit the ground,” he’d called to her.

  “I will.”

  There were exactly thirty-two steps between the door and her car, and she’d counted every one. When she got into her old Nissan sedan on that early autumn night and locked the door, she felt ten pounds lighter. In another few hours, she’d be lighter still. Once she crossed over the bridge from New Jersey into Delaware, and on into Maryland, she’d head for the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake, and the only place she’d ever really felt safe.

  It had been fate, she’d decided, that her cousin—second cousin, really—Lis had called with an invitation to her wedding just as Chrissie had faced the inevitable conclusion that it was time—past time—for her to move on. Her relationship with Doug had been steadily declining as his drinking and drug usage had accelerated, and she’d realized several important truths: Doug was an alcoholic and a drug addict; he was never going to change; their relationship had long been over. And the biggest realization was his abuse of her was escalating and would end in either her serious injury or her death. The when to leave, the how, the where to go, kept her wide awake every night as she examined every possible option, but it all became clear with that one call from Lis.

  “Chrissie, I’m sorry for calling so late, but I’d mailed your invitation to my wedding to the only address I had for you, and it came back,” Lis had said. “I tried your mom as well, but couldn’t track her down, either. Finally, it occurred to me that maybe Ruby might know how to contact you, which of course she did. If you give me your new address, I’d be happy to mail the invitation.”

  The call had caught Chrissie off guard, but it only took a moment for her to respond. After expressing her joy for her cousin, Chrissie’d said, “No need to mail the invitation. Just give me the date and the time, and I’ll be there.”

  She’d been surprised by the call—she and Lis hadn’t seen each other in years, but they’d been friends when they were youn
ger. Not particularly close friends, but friends, the way you are with cousins who are the same age with whom you spend the summers. The more she thought about it, the more she believed it had been fate that had prompted Lis to pick up the phone. She suspected perhaps Ruby may have been behind it, but it hardly mattered who or what was responsible for opening an escape hatch for her.

  She’d never told Doug that her family’s roots went deep on the Eastern Shore, and with no paper trail regarding Lis’s wedding, he’d have no way of finding out where she’d gone. He knew she and her mother had lived outside of Pittsburgh, but he had no idea that her mother had been born elsewhere. While he’d been furious about her having carried out her grandmother’s last wishes, as always, he’d shown no interest in where Chrissie was going, since it didn’t involve him and there was nothing personal to be gained.

  When the call from Lis had ended, Chrissie had made a call of her own.

  “Gigi,” she’d said when her great-grandmother answered the phone. “It’s Chrissie.”

  “I know who it be.” Ruby had sounded as if she’d been expecting the call, and perhaps she had.

  It was generally accepted by pretty much everyone in the family—everyone on Cannonball Island and in St. Dennis, the town across the bridge on the mainland—that Ruby Carter, great-grandmother—Gigi—to Chrissie, her brother, Luke, Lis, and Lis’s brother, Owen, along with several other cousins who were scattered here and there, had been blessed, or cursed, with “the eye.”

  “I’d like to come for Lis’s wedding, Gigi. Could I stay with you for the weekend?” Chrissie had asked.

  “You be staying more than the weekend, girl. You bring what you need. It’s time for you to come home.” She’d paused. “Past time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chrissie’d broken down and sobbed after the call ended. While she and her mother’s family had never been particularly close, she’d always looked up to Ruby with a combination of awe and trepidation. Besides her rumored prescience, Ruby was one hundred hearty years old, still in good physical health, and sharp as the proverbial tack. Her piercing green eyes with their steady gaze never seemed to miss a thing, and her regal bearing alone was intimidating to an awkward child like Chrissie had been. She’d not been a faithful visitor to the island, yet when she arrived, Ruby had welcomed her with open arms. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the island’s sights and sounds, the smell of the bay, the distinctive dialect spoken by the old ones, the sense of peace she’d always found there. Most of all, she’d missed Ruby.