Secrets in the Sand by Carolyn Brown

            Abby allowed the chorus of excited talking to continue another minute. “Okay, everyone. Follow me to the pavilion.”

            She led the way with Freddy on her shoulder and Georgia walking alongside. A small hand crept into hers. A tiny, pigtailed girl with brown eyes as big as buckeyes skipped beside her. Abby swung the little girl’s hand. “Hello there. What’s your name?”

            “Angelina. I like your bird. I ain’t never seen a bird that big. Can I hold him on my shoulder like you’re doin’?”

            “I’m sorry, Angelina, but that wouldn’t be safe. Freddy’s a good bird, but if something startled him, he might bite.”

            “Where’d you get him?”

            “All the animals at Bayside Barn came here because their families couldn’t keep them.”

            Angelina stopped skipping and tugged Abby’s hand. “My family couldn’t keep me either. Can I come live here too?”

            Abby’s heart squeezed with the familiar breathlessness of regret. Regret for promises she’d made to a child she had loved completely and yet failed to save.

            A frazzled-looking woman grabbed Angelina’s arm, mumbled an apology, and towed the child back to her group.

            Abby kept her eyes on the pavilion and kept walking. The fresh scratches the kitten had made on her hands and belly stung with every movement. But her small pains were worth it, since the kitten was safe and secure in the darkened laundry room with a clean litter box, a soft blanket, and plenty of food and water.

            Abandoned kittens could be saved.

            Abandoned children, not so easily.

            ***

            Quinn backed out from under the kitchen cupboard and shut off the shop vac. He sat back on his heels and listened. What the hell…?

            He opened the sliding doors and looked across the pea-green pool water to the house next door. Over the tall hedges, he saw the tops of three school buses.

            School buses, parked next door?

            “Shit.” That would account for the high-pitched screams and squeals. What kind of place had he moved next to?

            Quinn clenched his jaw and pressed a thumb against his temple that throbbed as if someone had jabbed an ice pick into his head. His decision to sink every penny of his equity money into this place might have been a Very Bad Mistake.

            After a lifetime of following his gut and making snap decisions that often had negative (okay, disastrous) consequences, Quinn had recently promised himself that from here on out, he’d write out the pros and cons of any major decision before making it. He’d done that before buying this estate.

            Maybe the problem wasn’t with his decision-making process. Maybe he was just good at finding gold and spinning it into straw.

            He walked down the long gravel drive to the paved road and looked across the blacktop where a sea of yellow-flowering vines stretched to the distant horizon. It had seemed like such a grand idea to buy the crumbling estate across from all this wild extravagance. The invasive cat’s-claw vine smothered trees and pulled down structures, creating a thriving and beautiful wasteland, the first of four selling points for the property he planned to flip:

                Acres of yellow flowers across the street.

                Bayside view at the back—with the potential for waterfront access.

                Lonely country road on one side.

                Only one neighboring property, well hidden behind an evergreen hedge.

            He walked past that tall hedge to get a better look at the property next door. A double-panel iron gate stood open, flanking the entrance. A thick stone pillar surrounded an oversize mailbox. Under the mailbox, a brass plaque read:

            BAYSIDE BARN

            8305 WINDING WATER WAY

            The ice pick jabbed into Quinn’s skull again.

            He remembered hearing about this place when Sean’s class went here on a field trip in the third grade. Sean had come home sunburned, exhausted, and overexcited from a day at the barn and the hour-long bus ride to and from his elementary school in New Orleans. Sean had talked nonstop about the experience for the rest of the evening, then fallen asleep at the dinner table. For the rest of the month, he had galloped around the house every afternoon after school, waving a souvenir cowboy hat and yelling, “Go, Bayside Buddies, go!”