Whose Angel Keyring Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Press Praises Mara Purl’s Milford-Haven Novels

  More Praise For The Novels Of Mara Purl

  Dear Reader

  Whose Angel Key Ring

  Cast of Characters

  Milford-Haven Recipes

  Return soon to...

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Colophon

  About the Author

  Whose Angel Key Ring

  A Milford-Haven Story

  By Mara Purl

  © by Mara Purl. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. The names of actual persons are used by permission.

  Milford-Haven

  PUBLISHING, RECORDING & BROADCASTING HISTORY This book is based upon the original radio drama Milford-Haven ©1987 by Mara Purl, Library of Congress numbers SR188828, SR190790, SR194010; and upon the original radio drama Milford-Haven, U.S.A. ©1992 by Mara Purl, Library of Congress number SR232-483, broadcast by the British Broadcasting Company’s BBC Radio 5 Network, and which is also currently in release in audio formats as Milford-Haven, U.S.A. ©1992 by Mara Purl. Portions of this material may also appear on the Milford-Haven Web Site, www.MilfordHaven.com or on www.MaraPurl.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address: Bellekeep Books

  29 Fifth Avenue, Suite 7A, New York, NY 10003 www.BellekeepBooks.com

  Front Cover – Original Watercolor by Mary Helsaple ©2011

  Front Cover design by Reya Patton & Kevin Meyer, Amalgamated Pixels ©2011 by Milford-Haven Enterprises, LLC.

  Copy Editor: Vicki Werkley.

  Proofreader: Lenore Hotchkiss.

  Author photo: Lesley Bohm.

  Published in the United States of America

  E-Book Creation 2011

  Bellekeep Books & Midpoint Trade Books

  THE PRESS PRAISES MARA PURL’S MILFORD-HAVEN NOVELS

  “Former Days of Our Lives star Mara Purl presents the first novel in her Milford-Haven series, which . . . features a setting of unadulterated beauty – the small coastal town of Milford-Haven, CA in the prosperous mid-90s – and a cast of successful, sexy, sometimes quirkily independent characters. . . Readers will find details galore . . . and the novel's many inner monologues reveal scheming, secretly confused, or flawed personalities. . . . Milford-Haven offers depictions of daily life, hints of possible future romance, the threat of scandal, and carefully parsed out mystery. . . . The novel is poised to convince readers to continue with the series. “

  – Publishers Weekly

  “. . . in Mara Purl’s enchanting novel What the Heart Knows . . . although the picturesque, seaside setting of Milford-Haven plays an important role in the novel, the cast of interesting and eccentric characters is what really draws the reader into the book. Purl skillfully tackles tough environmental issues such as land development and offshore oil drilling through the lives of her characters and the events that unfold. Detailed descriptions of scenic settings, eccentric characters, and tantalizing storylines combine to make this book one that fans of romance will enjoy.”

  – BookWire

  “In Mara Purl’s books the writing is crisp and clean, the dialogue realistic, the scenes well described. I salute her ingenuity.”

  – Associated Press

  “Mara Purl's What the Heart Knows is a first class novel by a very talented writer with strong believable characters, a rapid-pace delivery of story, and very tight writing that make this novel such a delight to read. Purl and Milford-Haven are off to a great start. I look forward to seeing other titles in this impressive series.”

  Gary Roen, Nationally Syndicated Book Reviewer

  “I read Mara Purl’s What the Heart Knows and loved the book—just devoured it, in fact—and can’t wait to read the next installment.”

  – Anne L. Holmes, APR

  National Association of Baby Boomer Women

  “Every reader who enjoys book series about small town life has a treat to anticipate in . . . Mara Purl’s Milford-Haven Novels.”

  – Dee Ann Ray, The Clinton Daily News

  “. . . in a series of romantic novels centered in the fictional California coastal town of Milford-Haven, we meet . . . an intrigu[ing] cast of diverse characters.”

  – Fred Klein, Santa Barbara News Press

  MORE PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF MARA PURL

  What the Heart Knows is the kind of novel you can curl up with while you enjoy getting to know the different people in the central California town of Milford-Haven, as well as getting to know the town itself. Mara Purl is a skillful storyteller who has written a charming and tantalizing saga about the ways in which lives can intersect and be forever changed. The first novel in the saga, What the Heart Knows, is not-to-be-missed.

  – Margaret Coel

  New York Times best-selling author of The Wind River Mysteries

  Dear Reader —

  Welcome to Milford-Haven! For your first holiday visit, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to my favorite little town and to a few of its many residents—all of whom are described in the Cast of Characters for the series near the end of the book.

  This short story features Zackery Calvin, and gives you a glimpse of his privileged life in Santa Barbara. The story stands alone as a complete tale, but also is woven into the overall tapestry of the Milford-Haven saga as part of the Christmas Angels collection. And in case you’d like to return to an earlier point and experience the saga chronologically, you’ll find the Prologue and Chapter One of the first novel are waiting for you after the short story.

  In the novels, we travel with artist Miranda Jones to destinations that fascinate her painter’s eye and her restless heart. The first novel takes her—and you—into the nooks and crannies of her adopted hometown of Milford-Haven, revealing some of its treasures and secrets, and giving you a glimpse into its own warm heart.

  The short stories extend this world set on California’s glorious Central Coast, offering a window opening outward to sheer escape. But in this case, a window opens inward on the hopes and dreams of a family for whom it is time to heal a long-buried loss.

  As this short e-book unfolds, follow my footsteps over the interconnected pathways of Milford-Haven, and come to that magical holiday awareness where only an angel’s key can open a secret door.

  Mara Purl

  Whose Angel Key Ring

  Nothing was left of Christmas Day but an embarrassment of torn wrappings, empty boxes and the lingering aromas of dinner. The Calma estate itself seemed overhung with an enchanted slumber.

  James, the butler, was the only person still awake. He knew both the Calvins had settled into a sleep saturated with the best meal of the year and the spirit of the day. Quietly mounting the stairs, he peered into Joseph Calvin’s room. Just as he suspected, the master had again fallen asleep with his reading glasses on. Removing them with the utmost care, James placed them on the nightstand, switched off the bedside lamp and left the room as quietly as he’d arrived.

  Downstairs in the den, James discovered Zackery quietly snoring before the last glow of a dying fire. Draping a throw across the young master, James turned out the table lamp. He decided to leave on the Christmas tree lights in case Zackery woke during the wee hours. Passing through the kitchen, James looked over the polished surfaces and clicked off all but the small ta
ble lamp by the phone, then left by the service entrance.

  Fog swirled over the stone path leading to his own cottage, which sent a welcoming glow into the dark chill. The whole of the mountain seemed shrouded by a dense cloud, the lights of Santa Barbara nothing more than a faint luminosity, as distant as the rush of waves hitting the shore far below.

  James opened his front door, then closed it behind him, re- lieved both to recover his sense of privacy and to be off-the- clock. When he’d completed his evening ablutions, he pulled on his comfortable robe and worn slippers, then sat in his favorite chair to enjoy reading some Charles Dickens before retiring for the night. But reading proved impossible.

  Nestled in his breast pocket, a small, vivid presence would not be ignored. Reaching inside, he retrieved the golden key ring and turned it over in his hand. More durable than dainty, exquisitely crafted, it was an assembly of three small treasures: a ring incised with a pattern of waves; a tiny, plump angel of puffed gold; and an ornately embossed key.

  She’d entrusted it to him so many years ago, the late Mrs. Calvin, and he’d known exactly where to find it when the time came. But then it went missing from its special hiding place, and now—just as mysteriously—it had returned. He hoped its sudden appearance hinted not at the handiwork of fickle Fate but, instead—as promised—signified the stately grace of Providence.

  As that Christmas morning began, dawn tapped on Zackery Calvin’s windows like a pesky elf. Irritated to be wakened so early, Zack squinted at the color leaking into his room. The elf, not content to be spirited away with Santa in the night, apparently lingered to paint the sky a bright Christmas red.

  Paintbrush . . . Miranda. Miranda Jones, painter and heartbreaker. Couldn’t he avoid thinking about her for one day? Zack twisted in his sheets. Well, you certainly made a fine mess of that, he berated himself. She was someone special who’d come into his life but, obviously, he hadn’t had the slightest idea what to do about her. And as if that weren’t enough, his indecision and ineptitude had apparently trampled on Cynthia’s feelings as well. She’d made that clear by taking back everything she’d ever given him. He’d have to tiptoe around her at brunch today, sublimating his own feelings—whatever they were—disenfranchised in his own home.

  Christmas morning was supposed to be a time of magical anticipation. Zack yanked the covers over his head and plunged himself back into the oblivion of sleep.

  Cynthia Radcliffe awakened Christmas morning determined to make a new start. Her eyes red from having cried herself to sleep, she started a pot of dark roast with cinnamon. After standing in a hot shower, she pulled on her cheeriest red sweatshirt and pants, then added a pair of Santa socks to keep her feet cozy in the chilly air.

  Better I’m alone today, she thought, no need to act the bright, Christmas nymph. But almost immediately, second thoughts swirled through her brain like the cream she stirred into her coffee. She could still go. She could be dressing now for brunch with Zackery. But the smart thing was still to turn him down. A woman had to have her pride.

  Thanksgiving two years ago. The uninvited images began surfacing again—their first meeting, their instant attraction, their outrageous flirtations. And then a wildly erotic romance that almost overspilled the boundaries of decency. Just before they’d have celebrated their second Thanksgiving together, he seemed mysteriously to fall off the edge of the world. Whether there was someone else, or whether this was just typical Zackery cowardice, she didn’t really know. The call had come not from him, but from James. In the most polite language, she’d been invited to retrieve her belongings.

  Fine. She’d made a clean sweep of his rooms a month ago. She’d packed everything she’d taken there and every single thing she’d added to his cottage at Calma. Not that she’d needed all of it—the boxes were still in her closet, unopened.

  When the Christmas brunch invitation came a week ago—left as a message on her answering machine, no less!—it had seemed perfunctory, as though Zackery didn’t have anything better to do, and as though he took it for granted she’d be there. The tone in his voice wasn’t nearly contrite enough. If he wanted to apologize and make amends, he’d have to be enthusiastic about it. But he didn’t suggest a romantic reconciliation. Instead, he asked her to “join the family at Calma.” The family? That could only mean the two Calvin men, junior and senior—brooding pouts from one, small talk from the other.

  Then Zelda called, wondering what Cynthia would be wearing. So Zelda was invited. How did she know I was? She answered her own question. She’s certainly wormed her way into the good graces of Zackery’s father in short order. But that might not be a bad thing. Zelda was at least a sometime ally—and not someone Cynthia wanted as an enemy.

  At first, Zelda even talked her into accepting. “Far better to look gorgeous, tantalize him for two hours, then leave for ‘another engagement.’” Zelda’s counsel had always been sound before. Cynthia just didn’t have the energy to pull it off. And a personal appearance with tear-puffed eyes would only make her look pathetic.

  Pouring more hot coffee into her cup, she walked to the storage closet and flung open the door. Yanking boxes from their hiding places, she dragged them all to the middle of her living room floor and opened their folded lids. It was time to rout the dark corners of her affair with Zackery Calvin. She’d start with these boxes.

  Peering into the first one, she couldn’t seem to make sense of its contents. A small bottle of tarragon with some rolled-up stockings; aspirin and cough medicine with books; make-up with a pair of running shoes; her scarves with a bottle of Chinese plum sauce. The matching bathrobes were in one box, but their ties were in another.

  The extent of the disorder surprised even her. What was I thinking? Cynthia asked herself. At the time, she’d been so overwrought she simply hurled things into whatever was handy. Best not to remember.

  Image

  Zack gave up his attempt to sleep in and tossed back his covers. He looked around his cottage, emptied of every trace of Cynthia. Though he hated to admit it, he missed her. Exhausting as she could be—and exasperating—she was a live wire. Into the murky pools of his self-absorption, she zapped the sparks of their mutual attraction. And her raw needs penetrated his smug solitude like arcs of high-voltage electricity cutting through insulation.

  Reaching for the hook on the back of his bathroom door, he pulled on the new robe he’d bought. It wasn’t nearly as thick and fluffy as the one Cynthia’d given him—and taken away. But he’d have to make do. He did owe her—he knew that. She’d put up with his shifting moods for two years. And then he’d hurt her by ignoring their relationship.

  Maybe jealousy had caused the real problem. His other relationship—the one with Miranda— No, he stopped himself. Don’t think about her now.

  Unexpectedly free for the holidays, he’d called Cynthia. Forced to leave a message on her machine, he’d taken her silence for a “Yes.” After all, he hadn’t really broken up with her. She’d always been there for him in the past. Maybe he’d just wanted to use her to escape more than his usual share of demons.

  To his right lay his shame about Miranda; to his left, his guilt about Cynthia. Somewhere there was a woman who’d be both friend and lover, advocate and challenger. Suddenly Meredith sprang to mind, Miranda’s wickedly saucy older sister. But he didn’t dare think about her, not while so much in his life was unresolved.

  Women! He thought. Can’t live with them, can’t live. . . . Maybe the only melody a woman could sing was a siren-song, and men were destined for certain shipwreck if they ventured too close to shore. But even at sea, he no longer felt safe.

  As sunlight struggled vainly to penetrate a heavy marine layer, Zack began to feel marooned in his own cottage, a bleak island in the sea of the Calvin property. Within the hour he’d be required to make an appearance at the main house for Christmas brunch.

  He pictured himself a small boy with his childhood dingy, grasping the tiller to negotiate a treacherous sea. On one
side, lurked a slippery rock he’d be smashed against if he got too close; on the other, a whirlpool threatened to suck him down into the depths. Something about the double bind felt disturbingly familiar. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t overcome the image of his little boat being smashed between Scylla and Charybdis.

  When the memory came, he could almost touch it.

  Mommy’s voice sounded loud on the other side of the door. “When shall we tell him?” she asked again. Daddy made his voice low, and Zack couldn’t hear what he said.

  His blanket had that nice smell after Mommy washed it. Tucked into his bed for the night, Zack listened to the ocean waves outside and wondered if frogs had wings when they grew up and whether or not they liked looking at stars.

  Something was wrong with Mommy. He wasn’t supposed to know she was sick, but he couldn’t help it. They argued about it sometimes, his parents. Zack didn’t want them to argue. He liked it better when they were nice to each other.

  Wind blew outside his window, and Zack pulled his favorite bear under the covers with him. Daddy said Santa would be coming tonight, and that if he heard any funny noises, he should close his eyes extra-tight and pretend he didn’t hear. If anyone saw Santa, he and his elves wouldn’t be able to leave presents.

  “He has to know!” Mommy’s voice was loud again. “And not just about me. He’s got to be told about himself!”

  For a while, Zack decided it wasn’t just Mommy who was sick. He must be sick too. If his parents were so scared to tell him, he knew someone who would. He’d ask James. He asked James about everything, and James never let him down.

  “All is well with you, Master Zackery,” James had assured him. “You’re healthy as the day you were born. Your dear parents only want what’s best for you. And if there’s something for you to know, they’ll tell you when the time is right.”