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Finding Christmas
Gail Gaymer Martin


A GIFT, OR A THREAT?Her daughter, Mandy, had died in the icy waters of Lake St. Claire, Michigan, three years ago–or so widow Joanna Fuller was told. At the urging of family friend Ben Drake, Joanna tried to accept her loss and move on. But mysterious phone calls reawakened her doubts. Was someone trying to reunite her with Mandy? In a frantic search for her daughter during the season of hope, Joanna unraveled the web of one man's hatred…and came face-to-face with the truth she'd known all along.









PRAISE FOR GAIL GAYMER MARTIN:


“Gail Gaymer Martin’s best book to date. Real conflict and very likeable characters enhance this wonderful romantic story.”

—Romantic Times on LOVING HEARTS

“…A romantic suspense novel you’ll want to read—during the day!”

—Romantic Times on A LOVE FOR SAFEKEEPING

“…an emotional, skillfully written story about mature subject matter. You’ll probably need a box of tissues for this one.”

—Romantic Times on UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR

“In The Christmas Kite, Gail Martin probes the depths of love and forgiveness. A tender and heartwarming read.”

—Lyn Cote, author of SUMMER’S END

“The Christmas Kite is a tender romance, the story of two wounded people learning to live and love again. And I guarantee that little Mac will steal your heart. Settle into your favorite chair and enjoy.”

—Robin Lee Hatcher, bestselling author of FIRSTBORN and SPEAK TO ME OF LOVE




Finding Christmas

Gail Gaymer Martin







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For the Son of Man came to seek

and to save what was lost.

—Luke 19:10


To Bob with much love

for making every Christmas a delight.


Many thanks to Marvel Erdodi for her banking information and to Detective Ron Wieczorek of the Grosse Pointe City Department of Public Safety for helping me find the perfect place for a murder. Thanks also to Jennifer Wells at The Parade Company for details on the Michigan Thanksgiving Parade. Finally, to my Chi Libris pals: Robert Whitlow, Jim Bell and Tom Morrisey, who provided helpful law firm info.




Contents


Chapter One (#u67b4462e-0c13-50fa-87f6-1fcdec257c6d)

Chapter Two (#uc7d2fad9-46ae-5d0c-87f9-29e1d638a7e9)

Chapter Three (#u5e3b2c62-7708-530f-ba3f-4cddb3066650)

Chapter Four (#u990e3d77-c702-5dd5-844c-00233e66313c)

Chapter Five (#u03801fbb-74b9-5bc6-bfbe-b783c9c83be5)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


“Mommy!”

The plea whispered in her mind. Not a voice exactly, but a feeling.

Joanne Fuller spun around, overwhelmed by the sensation. “Mandy?” A chill rolled down her back.

Her legs gave way and she sank to the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her three-year-old’s image hung in her thoughts like a star, once shining but now dimmed.

“Mommy!”

The fear-filled voice resounded in her head again.

Joanne pressed her hand against her heart to steady the beat. Why now, after three years? She knew it couldn’t be real. Yet lately, the cry had come to her in the night more than once.

Steadying herself against a chair, Joanne pushed herself up from the floor and waited for the dizziness to pass. Why was this happening? She’d gone through counseling, and the horrifying nightmares had passed. She’d become stronger, but she’d begun to question her sanity since the night her daughter’s cry had come to her in a dream.

The telephone’s ring pierced the silence and Joanne’s heart rose to her throat. She darted across the room and grasped the receiver, and when she said hello her voice came out breathless and strained.

“Joanne?”

She heard her name reverberating through the line across a canyon.

“Benjamin?”

“It’s me. What in the world is wrong?”

She crumpled into a chair, clutched her chest to calm the thudding that felt as if it would break her ribs. “It’s a long story. I can’t talk about it now.” Tears filled her eyes—tears of relief and anxiety.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice as reassuring as a morning cup of coffee.

“Where are you?” she asked, trying to get her thoughts together.

“Here in Detroit. I’m back.”

“Will you be here for the holidays?” Christmas. The vision rose in Joanne’s mind, and she felt overcome by the feeling of loneliness.

“I sure will. I’m here for good, I hope.”

The news settled over her, and she relaxed her shoulders. “That’s wonderful news. Will I see you soon?”

His warm chuckle met her ear.

“That’s why I’m calling. How about dinner? Tonight.”

Her stomach churned at the thought of food. Stress always affected her that way, but to see her old friend, she would force herself to eat. “Tonight’s good. I need company.”

“It sounds like it,” he said. His voice radiated tenderness. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

After she hung up, Joanne sat without moving, amazed at the emotion that filled her. Benjamin Drake. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral. Gooseflesh rolled down her arms at the memory. She, Greg and Mandy. Such joy. She’d expected it to last a lifetime. A perfect husband, a perfect child—both taken one cold November night. She’d begged God to tell her why, but she’d never heard His answer.

Joanne’s gaze shifted to the calendar stuck to the side of the refrigerator next to the curled, yellowed page of crayon scribbles. Tears pressed against her eyes again, and she tugged her focus from her three-year-old daughter’s drawing to the November dates. They’d died nearly three years ago today.

Drawing back her shoulders, Joanne hoisted herself from the chair, suddenly feeling tired, but thoughts of Benjamin returned and so did a smile. She hurried into her bedroom and pulled off her business suit, then rummaged through her closet and slipped on a skirt and sweater. She replaced her pumps with casual slip-ons, and her knotted calves eased as she settled into the soft suede shoes.

Joanne moved to the vanity and eyed her once-neat hair. She pulled out the clasps and brushed the long strands, ready to capture the wispy ends, but taking another look, she let it fall around her shoulders. Thinking of her old friend, she felt younger than she had in years.

As she turned toward the door, Joanne’s gaze fell on a small photo on her dresser of Mandy playing in a pile of autumn leaves. She’d taken the picture a month before her daughter’s death. Joanne picked up the photo and studied it. She could see Greg’s rake at the edge of the picture. Now she wished she’d stepped back to capture them both, but in those days, she and Greg only had eyes for Mandy. Joanne’s heart felt heavy again as she set the frame on the dresser top and left the room.

While she searched for her handbag, the doorbell rang. When Joanne opened the door she caught her breath. “Benjamin.” A rush of admiration washed over her—his dark wavy hair and chocolate-brown eyes, his familiar easy smile. “You look wonderful.”

His gaze drifted over her as he grinned. “You look beautiful as always.” He grasped her shoulders and pressed his wind-cooled lips against her cheek. “Ready?”

“I am,” she said, lifting a hand to capture his chin. “It’s so good to see you.”

She opened the closet and pulled out her jacket. Benjamin held it while she pushed her arms into the sleeves, then shrugged it on. She tossed her purse over her shoulder and checked the door lock before pulling the door closed.

Benjamin clasped her elbow as she moved down the snowy steps to the sidewalk. He opened the passenger door for Joanne, then rounded the car to the driver side. “What are you in the mood for? Italian? Mexican? American?”

“I’m in the mood to visit,” she said, patting his arm. “Whatever you’d like is fine.”

“Let’s try Jimmy’s,” he said, backing out of the driveway. “They have fish and Black Angus. Even pasta if you prefer it.”

As he drove through Grosse Pointe, they caught up on the past couple of years.

“Are you still at Solutions, Incorporated?”

“What else?” She smiled, realizing her job had become her life. “I just got a promotion. I’m heading the think tank. It’s exciting, and I have my own office with a window.”

“Good for you. And a window—now that’s really something.” He paused for a moment and his smile faded. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question surprised her. “You mean dating?”

He nodded.

“No. I’m not ready for that.”

“It’s been three years. I thought maybe…”

“No, I—” Dating hadn’t entered her mind. Ever.

The conversation lulled. Joanne didn’t mention the disturbing sensations she’d been feeling and Benjamin didn’t ask why she’d sounded stressed on the phone. She knew he would, sometime before the evening ended, but she was willing to wait.

They’d settled at a table and made their selections from the menu before Benjamin slid his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “So what’s all this about?”

For a moment she didn’t understand his question, but when she studied his face, she knew. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Give me a try,” he said, releasing her hand to pick up his water glass.

Joanne lowered her head. She formed the words in her mind though they made little sense. “I hear Mandy’s voice calling to me.”

A frown pulled at his mouth and his eyes darkened. “I’m so sorry, Joanne. I’d hoped—”

“I know,” she said. “I have been doing well until the past couple of weeks.” Her pulse skipped. “Greg and Mandy have been gone for three years…almost to the day.”

He slid his hand over hers again comfortingly. “I know. It’s tomorrow. It hit me this morning.”

A feeling of desperation hit her. “Sometimes I’m drowned by the loss, Benjamin. I awake disbelieving, praying it was only a bad dream, but the bed is empty beside me, no dent in the pillow. Mandy’s room is silent, and I know it’s true.” She glanced at the patrons around her, realizing her volume had risen.

She released a sigh. “This isn’t the place to talk about that, but I have no one really who’d understand.” She looked so deeply into his eyes that she felt lost in them. “Except you. They were part of your life, too.”

He wrapped his fingers around her hand and gave it a squeeze. The warmth filled her with memories, and she realized how much she’d missed his friendship. Benjamin had been such a good and faithful friend, always there when she or Greg needed him, and he had doted on Mandy.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s wonderful that you’re back in Detroit.” She tried to smile. “I’m praying the weird feelings go away. I should be over my grief by now.”

“Don’t expect so much of yourself,” Benjamin said, still holding her hand. “You lost a husband and child in the blink of an eye, and you’ve never had…” He paused as if not knowing what to say.

“Never had closure,” she said, knowing that’s what he meant. “I buried a husband and a tiny empty casket holding some of Mandy’s toys. That was all.” She felt tears surfacing on her lashes, and Joanne knew she had to stop. “If they’d found her body—if only they’d found her, at least I’d believe it happened.”

“I know. I wish I could make it better for you.”

He looked as desperate as she felt, and Joanne’s good sense and social graces returned. This was no time or place to talk about something so heart wrenching. She pulled herself together and drew in a deep breath.

“So how was Seattle?” she asked.

“Wet. Foggy.”

She grinned, and the experience felt wonderful—though it faded too quickly. “I didn’t realize you would be gone so long.” She hesitated and then added, “And with so few visits.”

His expression changed, and she sensed he was avoiding something he wanted to say. “You knew the firm opened a branch there. It took time. I had an opportunity to return earlier, but I decided to stick it out and finish the project.”

“I see,” she said, confused by the look on his face.

After the waiter arrived with their food, Joanne only shifted the pasta around on her plate, curious about Benjamin. He focused on his steak. She had many things to ask him—for one, why he’d kept such a low profile after he moved to Seattle. After attending the funeral, he’d called a couple of times, but as time passed, she rarely heard from him other than an occasional brief call or an e-mail at her office. He’d been Greg’s friend, a fellow attorney, but Joanne had always considered him her friend, too.

As she pondered, the answer fell into her mind. She spiraled the pasta around her fork, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. “Losing Greg was hard on you, too, I guess. Avoidance makes it easier.”

His head jerked upward as if he was surprised at her comment.

“I hadn’t really thought about that before,” she said.

Benjamin held his fork suspended in the air and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Greg was closer than a brother. It hurt.” He lowered the fork and set it on his plate. “But nothing like what you went through, Joanne. I felt lost on how to respond to you. I’d never known the kind of emptiness you had to deal with.”

“I thought you’d come home for another visit after the funeral. I was disappointed.” Disappointment had been her mainstay, she realized. Not only Benjamin, but her whole family had let her down.

He glanced away without speaking, looked back at her, taking a sip of water as he regarded her over the glass. “I wanted to. I wanted to be here more than I can ever explain, but…”

His voice faded, and she tried to read his expression. “But?”

“It didn’t seem right. You were a new widow, and I was a—”

“Friend. I considered you my friend, too, not just Greg’s.”

“You know you are, Joanne. You can’t think differently.”

“But I thought friends were supposed to be there when you needed them.” She heard the bitterness in her words and wished she could take them back, but she’d been hurt by so many people and hadn’t expected him to be one of them. “Benjamin, I’m sorry. Forget what I said. I’m having a pity-party here.”

“No apology necessary. You’re right. I let my own fears stop me.”

Fears? She didn’t know what to say.

“I was afraid people would talk.”

“Talk? I don’t understand.”

“About you and me. I worried about gossip—that Greg had been gone only a few weeks and his best friend was already hitting on his wife.”

She felt a flush crawl up her neckline. Hitting on his wife? She would never have thought that, and no one else would have, either. “You were nothing but a wonderful friend, Benjamin. Mandy loved you. Greg loved you and so did I.” She caught his look. “So do I,” she corrected. “I haven’t changed. You were always there for us. You even baby-sat Mandy once. Remember?”

A crooked grin brightened his face. “How could I forget? It was my first experience changing diapers.”

Joanne laughed, her body relaxing with the lighthearted feeling. “I didn’t know that.”

He set the glass back on the table. “I’m sorry about the past, Joanne. I’m here now, and maybe I can make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, my dear friend.” This time she slid her hand over his. “I was just telling you my feelings. You’re here now, and I feel better knowing that. It’s been lonely. I miss them both so much.”

“I missed all of you.”

He turned his attention to his dinner while Joanne clung to his comment. Being missed felt good. Her family lived out of state, and while they’d been attentive for a short while, their lives had gone on, and they had healed, while Joanne still worked at it. She’d struggled with the resentment until she hardened her heart to them, just as her family seemed to have done to her.

She tore off a crusty hunk of bread and nibbled on the corner as she watched Benjamin devour the rare steak. The red juice ran onto his plate, making her think of her own life juices that had drained away for so long until she’d started to heal.

Her work had saved her. At Solutions, she delved into other people’s problems. It was easier than dealing with her own issues. She could hand over a well-tuned plan to a customer for developing a new company policy or rejuvenating a sluggish business and feel good about what she’d accomplished. She’d started to feel at least halfway alive again—until she heard Mandy’s cry in her head.

After Benjamin finished his dinner and Joanne maneuvered her food to appear as if she’d eaten, he suggested they leave. They spoke little on the ride home, and when they pulled into her driveway, Joanne didn’t want to part company.

“This is the best I’ve felt in a couple of weeks. Come in for coffee?”

He sat without moving, then turned off the ignition. “Sure. Why not?”

Benjamin followed her inside to the kitchen and slipped his jacket over the back of a chair. “So tell me what else is going on in your life. No dating…so what keeps you busy besides work?”

The question surprised her, and she edged around to face him, holding the canister of coffee. “Not much, but I’m doing okay. Really.” She returned to her task and spooned grounds into the basket, poured in the water and hit the brewing button. When she turned back, he stood behind her, so close she stopped breathing.

“You can’t fool me,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“I—I…” She didn’t want to talk about all the old feelings, and she tried to sum it up in a few words. “It’s hard being a widow, that’s all.”

“I’m sure it is. Life changed for you.”

His searching gaze made her uncomfortable.

“What about your family?” he asked. “Do you see them?”

Her stomach tightened. “No, not really. I went home for Christmas last year but it wasn’t the same. We’ve drifted. They all have their lives.” She stopped herself from saying self-centered lives. “I just don’t relate to them. They seem to avoid most topics as if they’re afraid to remind me I’ve lost a husband and child.”

His hands tightened against her shoulders and his palms warmed her skin through her sweater.

“People can’t handle others’ pain, Joanne. I guess you just have to forgive them.”

She tensed with his comment. Forgiving was something she couldn’t bring herself to do, and it wasn’t only about her parents. Joanne truly felt alone but she’d finally accepted it. She had her work and, lately, her church. Now Benjamin had come back into her life—a real friend. That was all she needed.

“I’m sure the voice bothers you.”

“I’m just jumpy. I’m not sleeping well, afraid I’ll hear the crying again. I can’t explain it, Benjamin. It’s a feeling. It’s hushed, but I sense it, and I don’t understand it.”

“It’s the anniversary, I suppose.”

He backed away and leaned against the counter.

“I know,” she said, watching the coffee drain into the pot. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out two cups, set them on the counter and, when the decaf had brewed, lifted the pot. As she poured, the telephone’s peal startled her. Hot coffee splashed onto her hand and over the counter, searing her skin, and she let out a cry.

“Careful,” Benjamin said, hurrying to her side.

She scooted past him and turned on the cold water, then shoved her hand beneath the tap while the ringing continued.

“Want me to get it?” Benjamin asked, glancing at the phone but seeming more concerned by her burn.

“Please.” She studied her throbbing red skin, as the cool water washed over it, and listened to Benjamin’s voice as he answered the telephone.

“It’s a woman from your office,” he said, holding the receiver out to her. “Do you want to call her back?”

“No. I’ll take it.” She grasped the phone, already guessing what the caller wanted. She listened, then said, “I’ll remember, Nita. Thanks.” Joanne glanced Benjamin’s way and felt an embarrassed grin grow on her face. “No, you didn’t interrupt anything. An old friend is visiting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She felt uneasy at her friend’s teasing as she hung up the phone and gazed at the reddened flesh of her hand. “I’ll live.”

“This isn’t good, Joanne. You need to calm down. Your blood pressure will be sky high if you panic at every little sound.”

“I can’t help it. The phone rings. Someone knocks on the door. Anything that breaks the silence, I jump. It’s awful.”

Her gaze shifted from his concerned look to the counter, then to the table. He’d already poured the coffee and wiped up the spill. “Thanks,” she said, joining him.

He took her hand in his and eyed the burn. “Should you put something on that?”

“It’s fine.” She withdrew her hand, then lifted the cup, surprised he’d remembered she liked milk in her coffee. “Cheers.”

They clinked cups with a chuckle, then fell silent again. She and Greg had often sat at this table with Benjamin. He’d never married for some reason, and Joanne had often wanted to ask why but had decided it wasn’t her business. If he wanted to tell her, he would.

“After I dealt with my grief, do you know what’s been the hardest for me?” She surprised herself with the question and immediately wished she could draw it back.

“I could never guess. You’ve coped with too much.”

She bit the edge of her lip. Knowing Benjamin’s spiritual strength, she knew she’d brought up a touchy subject. “My faith.”

A scowl settled on his face.

“For the first year, I was angry at God. I couldn’t understand how a loving God could be so cruel. I wanted Greg alive. I wanted Mandy alive. I wanted to see her play with her little friends. I want to know what she looks like now and hold her against me and smell the shampoo in her hair. I know I shouldn’t be angry with God, but it’s been difficult.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. Benjamin reached over and used a finger to brush them away.

“I won’t argue with you, Joanne. You’ve been through so much, but you can’t blame God for all the evil in the world. Sin causes evil, and makes us trip and fall.”

“I know, and I feel ashamed that I’ve had to struggle to face that. Every time I think of my little girl’s body lost somewhere in Lake St. Clair, my heart aches. If only they could have—” She stopped and shook her head.

“Don’t chastise yourself. Remember that God doesn’t promise us a life without sorrow or pain. He does promise He’ll be with us always. We have to have faith.”

“Faith. We’ve gone full circle and we’re back to that. I’m hanging on, dear friend, but sometimes my grip weakens. I do a lot of praying.”

“You can’t go wrong with prayer,” he said, digging into his memory for a Scripture that had risen to the fringes of his mind. “I’m thinking of a verse in Isaiah. �Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and He will say: Here am I.’ That’s what prayer is, Joanne. It’s your cry for help, and God hears it. He’s with you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Thanks for reminding me,” she whispered. She raised her coffee cup and took a slow drink, then lowered it. Her expression appeared faraway and thoughtful. “It’s lonely going to church without Greg and Mandy. I still haven’t gotten used to that. If you ever want to join me, let me know.”

“How about this Sunday?”

Her look of gratitude rolled over him and roused his emotions. He’d tried to prepare himself for seeing Joanne again, but he hadn’t succeeded. The feelings he’d bound so tightly had loosened their bonds.

He needed to guard his heart and his good sense. She’d always been Greg’s wife, and she still was. He’d cared so deeply for her and Mandy, just as he’d loved his friend, Greg, but Joanne had always held a special place. Tonight his feelings were growing like vines of morning glories entwining through the secret places in his heart.

“I’d better go,” he said, pushing his chair back with such speed that he surprised himself.

“Did I say something?” Joanne looked startled by his abruptness.

“No. I have a busy day tomorrow and it’s getting late.”

He rose, and she stood, too, gathering their cups and placing them in the sink.

Joanne came around to his side of the table and touched his arm. “Thanks for being a good friend, Benjamin. I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Me, too,” he said, giving her a quick embrace. “Now, don’t worry about the dreams.”

“It’s not just dreams. I hear it when I’m awake.”

He forced himself to let her go. “After tomorrow, it’ll pass. The anniversary will be over, and then you’ll move ahead again.”

“I hope so,” she said, but a look on her face said she didn’t believe it.

As he stepped outside, her voice followed him through the doorway.

“It means something, Benjamin. I feel it in my heart.”

An uneasy sensation crept over him as he descended the porch steps, but he covered his concern and waved.

Joanne waved back and then closed the door.

Before Benjamin slipped into his car, the wind caught his jacket, and a chill gripped him—the wind, or was it apprehension?

It means something. The words echoed in his mind.




Chapter Two


Headlights glinted off the snow, and Benjamin squinted to shield his eyes from the glare. He had a headache. His feelings had knotted throughout the evening like a noose. Joanne seemed troubled. He recalled she’d seen a therapist after the accident, and maybe it was time for her to have a therapy booster shot.

Yet that wasn’t all that concerned him. Joanne had grown even more beautiful since he’d seen her at the funeral. Maturity and grief had added lines to her face, making her more real, more vulnerable, and the look touched him deeply.

As they’d talked this evening, his mind had journeyed back to that horrible night when Joanne called him. He had barely grasped what she’d told him through her sobs. Greg and Mandy drowned. No, he’d thought. The police have to be wrong. They made a mistake, he’d told himself over and over as he raced to her house through snowfall so similar to tonight’s.

But they hadn’t been wrong. The next morning Greg’s body had been found in icy Lake St. Clair, his still belted into his car. And Mandy…the divers never found her.

Pain knifed Benjamin’s heart at the thought. The beautiful child gone, her car seat still attached to the back seat, the belt unbuckled…The police said she must have disappeared through a partially opened window. The horror of it washed over him now, as icy as Lake St. Clair must have been. If he still felt the powerful emotion of Mandy’s death, he couldn’t imagine what Joanne must feel.

He drew in a ragged breath and tried to push the vision of that night from his mind. His headache thumped in his temples, and he pushed his fingers against one side to ease the ache.

Everything had seemed confused tonight. For years, he’d had strong feelings for Joanne, but he’d controlled them. She was his good friend’s wife—charming, amiable and lovely. Her mothering skills had amazed him. When Mandy was born, it seemed as though God had created Joanne for motherhood.

Though Greg had worked long hours, Joanne had never complained. She had done all she could to support his career and still have interests of her own. She’d been active at church and had participated in community drives and so many activities, Benjamin was amazed. He had always admired her, but then one day, he realized that Joanne also had begun to fill his dreams.

He felt ashamed when he finally admitted to himself that he was attracted to his best friend’s wife. The emotions had sneaked up on him. He’d thought his admiration was friendship, but it had become far more than that. He’d prayed, asking God to help him find a solution. Benjamin couldn’t stop being Greg’s friend without an explanation, and he couldn’t avoid Joanne if he was Greg’s friend.

The answer came at the law firm with the out-of-state project. He’d jumped at it. After Greg’s death, he left his heart in Detroit and moved to Seattle, built a life there. Women came and went, but no one captured his heart. He left the problem in God’s hands—he hadn’t known what else to do.

Now, project completed, he was back home where he belonged, and the same problem faced him. How could he be Joanne’s friend when he wanted so much more?

Donna Angelo stood inside the bedroom door and looked at her stepdaughter nestled in bed. Connie’s deep breathing assured Donna she was asleep. Her heart eased at the sight of the child so warm and cozy. Donna hadn’t felt warm and cozy for a long time.

She stepped into the hallway and closed Connie’s bedroom door. If her husband came home tonight with too much to drink and more ranting, she hoped Connie wouldn’t hear the noise. The child needed to sleep in peace—something rare for their household.

No matter how many times Donna waded through the details, she could never figure out when it had happened. She guessed their problems had begun slowly and built into a frightening undertone in their relationship.

Donna’s hands trembled as she headed down the long hallway to the kitchen. She wanted to have Carl’s plate ready when he arrived, hoped that the scent of food would make him less irritable. She rubbed her upper arm, feeling the tenderness resulting from last night’s fiasco.

Most every evening, Carl arrived home late. Sometimes he smelled of liquor, but she’d learned not to say anything. He always insisted his business had kept him out late. She never understood why the owner of a trucking company didn’t have someone who worked the night shift.

Then, when she caught sight of his duffel bag filled with hundred-dollar bills, she’d begun to wonder if the business fronted something illegal—but Donna knew better than to ask questions.

Yet tonight she had questions, not about his business, but about a restraining order she’d found in an old metal box in a basement storage closet. Why had his first wife obtained an order to keep him away? Had he knocked her around, too? Finally she decided the order had to mean Carl and his wife had separated. Yet Donna knew that Carl had been a widower. Nothing made sense. She wasn’t sure she could hold back her curiosity—although if she had any brains, she would.

The garage door rumbled open, and Donna hurried to the refrigerator. Before the door had opened, she’d popped Carl’s meal into the microwave. She hoped he would be in one of his rare good moods tonight.

When the back door opened, she glanced toward the sound.

Carl lumbered inside and tossed his keys on the counter by the door. “What you gawkin’ at?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She rubbed the bruise on her arm and studied his expression. Then she turned away to pull his salad from the refrigerator.

What had happened to the man she’d met? Carl—a widower with a small child—had swept her off her feet. Her heart had gone out to the little girl. Connie had seemed so timid, and Donna had realized the loss of a mother must have been devastating for the child.

When they’d met, Carl had shown Donna a good time. Though unpolished in many ways, he knew about fine restaurants and bought her expensive gifts, and before she knew it, he’d asked her to marry him. The courtship had been too short, Donna realized now.

The buzzer sounded on the microwave, and Donna opened the door and carried the plate to the table. Carl didn’t look up. He grabbed the fork and speared a hunk of beef.

“Get me a beer,” he said between chews.

Donna opened her mouth to tell him he shouldn’t drink so much. Then she closed it. One of her Christian friends had told her how much better her life had become since she and her husband had accepted Jesus, and Donna longed to share that with Carl. If he stopped drinking and developed a personal relationship with the Lord, maybe he’d stop pushing her around.

Knowing today wasn’t the day to make the suggestion, Donna retrieved the beer, snapped open the lid and set it beside his plate. She pulled out a chair and joined him, hoping he’d ask about Connie.

For a father, Carl showed little interest in his daughter. And that wasn’t all that bothered Donna. She could handle being pushed around, but sometimes he got rough with Connie. Nothing terrible, but just too threatening, and Donna felt fear each time she thought about what he could do to a six-year-old.

Carl finally lifted his head and focused on her. His eyes narrowed. “What’s bugging you?”

“Nothing. I just thought we’d talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything, Carl. Talk like most husbands and wives do. Tell me about your day.”

He snorted and dug into another piece of meat. “You want money, I suppose?”

She did. She wanted lots of money. Then she could take Connie and go far away where no one could find them. “No. That’s not what I was thinking, but it would help if I had a little pocket money.”

“I earn the money, and I pay the bills,” Carl said. “If you need some cash, ask me. Don’t I give you enough for groceries.”

Donna knew she was on dangerous ground. “Yes, but if I need clothes or—”

“Why do you need clothes? You don’t go anywhere.”

That wasn’t what she wanted. “A credit card would be nice.” She held her breath.

Carl’s hate-filled eyes sought hers. “You women are all alike—money-grubbing, unappreciative wenches. You and my mother. She drove my father to drink, and then he’d take it out on…”

The determined set of his jaw warned Donna she was in trouble. His hand snapped out, but she ducked back and he missed her.

“I don’t need anything, Carl.” Her voice pierced the air, and she feared Connie could hear them. “I—I just wish you’d come home earlier so you could spend time with Connie. She hardly knows you anymore.”

“That’s your job. Why do you think I married you?”

His caustic remark felt like a punch in her belly, and Donna drew back. “I thought you loved me,” she said, now realizing her belief was a fairy tale.

“You thought wrong,” he spat. “You’re the housekeeper and baby-sitter. I don’t even want to look at you.”

She calculated he wasn’t drunk tonight, just spiteful and he hadn’t hit her. Now seemed her best chance of having her curiosity answered about what she’d seen in the basement. “I found a paper in the basement today.”

His head shot upward. “What kind of paper?”

“A restraining order—a permanent order to keep you from going near Connie and her mother. What was that about? I thought you and—”

His fist smashed down on the table, lifting the plate from the surface and sending his butter knife clattering to the floor. He snatched it up and pointed it at her.

“Carl, I’m just confused. You said you were a widower, but if you and she weren’t together, then why do you have custody now?”

He leaned across the table and poked the knife at her chest. “Are you stupid? Her mother’s dead—and that’s where you’re going to be if you don’t quit snooping. Why were you in the basement? Stay out of there.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for my stuff, and I have to go there to do the laundry.” The look in his eye frightened her. “I suppose the question was stupid. Where else would Connie go but with her father?”

“Connie can go to her grave with you for all I care. You’re both a weight around my neck. Women are worthless.”

He eased the knife away from her chest, and Donna caught her breath. Another question about his name nudged her, but she wouldn’t ask, not if she wanted to live another day. “I can heat up some more stew.”

“It’s garbage,” he said, giving the plate an angry shove across the table. “Anyway, who can eat with your puss gapin’ at me?”

She started to say she was sorry again, but stopped herself. Donna wasn’t sorry. She’d put up with too much, and if she didn’t love Connie so much, she’d pack her bags and leave. If only Connie were her child, they could make their escape together—but she had no rights.

For the sake of Connie, she was stuck.

“So who was your friend last night?” Nita Wolfe asked.

Joanne swiveled in her desk chair and faced her co-worker, who was standing in her office doorway. Nita was one of those women with a good heart and the spirit of Cupid. If Joanne spent too much time talking with the copy machine repairman, Nita assumed it was a budding romance.

“Actually, an old friend of Greg’s,” she said.

Nita’s conspiratorial expression shriveled to one of disappointment. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. He’s a longtime friend who’s been away. Now he’s back in town.”

Nita perked up as she moved closer. “Married?”

“No.”

“Aha.” Nita raised her eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just never know what God has in store.” She put her hand on Joanne’s shoulder. “You’re too young to be alone the rest of your life.”

“Thanks for the wisdom, Nita, but I can handle my life just fine.” Even as she said the words, Joanne admitted to herself that her life was lacking. She’d made a valiant effort to move on in every area but relationships.

A movement in the doorway caught Joanne’s eye. She followed Melissa Shafer’s entrance into the office, noted the woman’s eyes shifting from one side to the other. Joanne guessed her motive.

“Am I interrupting?” Melissa asked, giving Nita a look.

“Not at all. We were just talking,” Joanne said.

“Just wanted to see what you did to the office.” She wandered behind the desk and gazed out the large window overlooking the Detroit skyline. “It’s nice to have real sunlight.”

Joanne opened her mouth to apologize and then closed it. Recently, they had both been interviewed for the same position. Joanne had been given the promotion. “It’s nice, but I’m not sure it’s worth the added work and worry.”

Melissa grinned. “You worry? Never. You’re too cool and collected, Joanne.” She glided away from the window. “Well, congratulations. You made an impression and I didn’t. No hard feelings.”

“Thanks,” Joanne said, amazed at Melissa’s understanding.

Melissa strutted back to the doorway and paused. “You can get back to business.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave and vanished into the hallway.

Nita’s eyebrows arched. “I like the inflection. I suppose she assumed we were talking about her.” Then she grinned. “I bet you did make a better impression during the interview.”

Joanne shrugged, already wanting to forget the conversation. “By the way, here’s the novel I said I’d loan you.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the book she’d brought from home. “It’s a good story, and a nice way to spend a quiet evening.”

Nita skimmed the novel cover for a minute, then lowered the book and studied Joanne’s face. “All joking aside, you look stressed. What happened? Did your friend have bad news?” She settled her hip against the edge of the desk and ran her finger along a picture frame propped beside Joanne’s telephone.

Joanne’s gaze rested on the photograph she’d taken of Greg and Mandy at the Detroit Zoo in front of the bear fountain. The sunlight played on Mandy’s blond halo of curls, and Joanne felt a tug on her heart at the memory.

“It’s a lot of things,” she said, “but nothing that Benjamin said.”

“Benjamin? He was your midnight visitor?” Nita sent her a perky smile.

“He left at nine.”

Nita chuckled. “I’m only teasing.”

Joanne drew in a long breath and tilted her head toward the frame. “Three years ago today the accident happened.”

Nita’s focus shifted to the photograph. She lifted it from the desk and studied the picture, then replaced it with sorrow in her eyes. “Oh, honey,” she said, leaning over to give Joanne a hug, “I’m sorry. Here I am pulling your leg, and you’re really upset.”

Joanne wanted to tell her that her upset was about more than the anniversary date, but she hesitated. “Don’t worry about it,” she said finally. “I’ve had other things on my mind, too.” Still, maybe Nita would understand. She looked into her friend’s serious face. “Do you believe in—” She paused trying to find a word that made sense. “In premonition?”

Nita looked puzzled. “You mean like a sixth sense?”

“Sort of.”

“Women’s intuition?”

“A little more than that.”

“A little more, how?” Nita rested her hands on the desk and leaned closer. “What’s going on?”

“Voices?”

The word caused Nita to draw back. She straightened, as if she thought Joanne had lost her mind.

Joanne wondered herself. “Not really voices. A feeling. It’s in here.” She pressed her hand against her heart.

“You’re hearing things?”

“I’m not crazy, Nita. The voice is like a child crying for help.”

Nita’s gaze didn’t waver.

“It’s Mandy’s voice.” Joanne heard Nita’s sudden intake of air.

“Mandy’s? Are you sure?”

“I’ll never forget my child’s cry. Never.”

“But she’s…”

“Dead, I know.” Joanne’s heart sank. “I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m hearing it. I keep asking myself what it means.”

“I have no idea what it means, but I think you should get back into counseling. I’m sure these things happen. Hopefully it’ll pass.”

Joanne shrugged, feeling defeated. “Maybe.” No one seemed to truly understand, not even Benjamin.

“Grief is a strange emotion,” Nita said. “It manifests itself in so many ways, and just when you think it’s conquered, it rises up again with a vengeance. You need to keep busy until the anniversary and the holidays pass. They’re difficult times of the year.”

“You’re right. After the accident, I lost the joy of Christmas…and my life.” Joanne tried to smile but her face felt frozen in a frown. “I need to get a new one.”

Nita chuckled. “Sounds like you gave it a start last night. You had one pleasant distraction over for a visit.”

“Don’t start that again. F-R-I-E-N-D. Put those letters together.” Joanne gave her a swat. “Get out of here. I have work to do.”

Nita edged her hip off the desk. “I came in here for a reason. Feel like Christmas shopping tonight?”

“Not tonight. Benjamin called a few minutes ago, and I invited him over tonight. How about next week?”

“Certainly,” Nita said with a grin. “I’d pass up shopping any day for that.”

Joanne realized she would, too. A sweet sensation wove through her chest. Having Benjamin around made her feel comfortable. He reminded her of the good days when things were normal. No voices. No deaths. Tonight she was eager to have some laughs. If Benjamin did nothing more than give her a few hours of peace, she’d be eternally grateful.

After Nita waved and left, Joanne tried to pull her focus back to her work, but lost the battle. Her child’s cries remained in her thoughts.

She angled her chair to face the computer screen and hit the e-mail button. A list of messages appeared. She saw one that made her smile and opened it.

Hi. Hope you slept well. It was so good to see you last night. Almost like old times. I’ll be in touch. I’m looking forward to it. I hope you are. Benjamin

The note warmed her heart, and she let her gaze linger on it for a moment before skimming the other addresses. Most of them were business e-mails but there was one she didn’t recognize—Shadow@123go.com. Curious, she hit the read button.

YOU THINK YOU HAVE EVERYTHING.

WELL YOU DON’T.

The capital letters shouted at her, and she peered at the words again, not understanding the meaning. A strange feeling came over her again.

What did the warning mean? She didn’t have everything. She’d lost everything she loved.




Chapter Three


Donna’s hands perspired as she fumbled through the old photographs she’d found in the manila envelope in the basement. She knew so little about Carl. She’d never realized it before. She sensed he had two lives, one he allowed her to see and one he kept hidden. She didn’t like either of them anymore.

“Mom.”

Her heart jumped when she heard Connie’s voice. “I’m down in the basement, sweetie. I’ll be up in a minute.” She glanced around the corner toward the staircase to make sure Connie hadn’t come down.

Donna pushed the items back into the metal box she’d found in the closet under the stairs. Old newspaper clippings, photographs, things she didn’t have time to scrutinize. She was ashamed of herself for being so suspicious, but the more Carl pushed her away and the more volatile he became, the more she wanted to know about him. Maybe if she learned something significant she could forgive him—or if not, have the power to escape.

A photograph fell to the floor, and Donna reached to retrieve it.

“Where are you?”

Donna’s chest tightened at the sound of Connie’s voice so near. She slipped the photo into her pants pocket, then snapped the lid on the box and slid it back into its hiding place.

“Right here, sweetie.”

Donna came around the corner and met Connie head-on. “Oops. Let’s get upstairs.”

“Whatcha doing?”

Her mind scrambled. “I was looking for something I misplaced. It’s not here.”

Connie gave her a questioning look, then skipped up the stairs ahead of her, calling back, “Can I have a snack?”

“Fruit,” Donna said, following her into the kitchen. “How was school?”

Donna rinsed off an apple and handed it to Connie while she listened to her tales of the “bad boys” in her class, Connie’s recess escapades and a star she had received for helping a girl with math.

As Donna began dinner, she watched the child—her animation, her blond ponytail swinging back and forth and her blue eyes wide with excitement. Donna sensed that Connie felt closer to her than to her father, and her heart swelled.

When Connie had finished her story and bounded off to change her school clothes, Donna slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the photo. She needed to get it back into the envelope before Carl found it and punished her for snooping—as he called it—but she believed a wife deserved to know something about her husband’s past.

When she lowered her gaze to the photograph, Donna’s heart stopped. Looking like he did before she married him, Carl stood outside a large brick home beside a dark-haired woman who held a toddler in her arms. Donna looked closer, trying to make sense out of the picture. If this was Carl’s deceased wife and Connie, something was terribly wrong.

This child had dark hair like her parents. Connie was blond.

Benjamin came through the front door in the wake of a cold wind. Joanne struggled to push the door closed.

“I think that’s what they mean by blowing into town,” he said, sliding off his jacket.

Joanne laughed. “I should have told you not to come over tonight.”

“No, I should have taken you out. There’s a nice rhythm and blues group at the Java Café. You’d probably enjoy them.”

“I might,” she said, motioning him into the living room.

He went ahead of her and settled into a recliner, then clicked up the footrest while she sank into a comfy chair nearby. “I hope you wanted me to make myself at home.”

She grinned again. Benjamin always seemed at home when he visited. He was the kind of easygoing guy she admired.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, eyes turned to the window.

“It’s snowing again,” she said finally. “The ski resorts must be thrilled.”

“I’m sure.”

Her gaze drifted to him, and she realized he was studying her. His look left her uneasy. “Is something wrong?”

He gave a quick nod. “I’m just thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“You and the voice. How’s it going?”

Again she didn’t like the flippant way he asked, but she knew he hadn’t meant it to sound callous. “I haven’t called the shrink yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, not that,” he said, scrutinizing her, “but something else happened today.”

“Yes, it did,” she replied, wondering how he could tell. “This time at work.”

“A phone call?”

“No. An e-mail. It was strange.”

“Strange how?”

She told him about the message and how edgy it had made her.

“It’s the same as a wrong telephone number. It’s easy to mix up an e-mail address. I’d guess it wasn’t meant for you.”

“Probably.” She pushed her uncomfortable thoughts aside.

“And it wasn’t really a threat, but just in case, save it when you’re at work tomorrow.”

“Why, if it’s nothing?”

“I’ll mention it to my detective friend Hank Cortezi and see what he thinks.”

“No. Don’t.” Panic settled in her chest. “I’ve already made a fool of myself. Let’s drop it. I’m sure it was sent to me by mistake.”

Benjamin leaned closer, his face strained. “I’m worried about you, Joanne.”

“I’m trying to reconcile myself to what it means, Benjamin. I know the snow, the holidays, make me nostalgic. It’s happened every year since they’ve been gone. The year they died I’d gone Christmas shopping early, and I buried some of Mandy’s Christmas presents in her casket.” Sorrow weighed on her again. “Every year, I remember…I want to forget.”

“It’s natural. Each year will get better.”

“That’s what I thought, but this year is worse.” She leaned toward him. “If I tell you something, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I think the voice is a warning of some kind.”

His face twisted into a puzzled expression. “Like a premonition.”

“Sort of, but more than that.”

“You’re sure it’s Mandy’s voice.”

“Yes. A mother knows her child’s voice, and she senses when her child is in danger.”

“Yes, but—”

“Wait.” She held up a finger and hurried into her bedroom to find her Bible. Last night she’d been reading the Christmas story, and when she’d seen the Scripture, the message validated her previous thoughts and bolstered her sense of sanity. It had been a blessing. Clutching the Book, she returned to the living room and plunked herself into the chair.

“It’s right here,” she said, flipping through the pages. “It’s in the Christmas story in 2 Luke. �All who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.’ Mary knew Jesus would face trials. It reassured me. Mothers feel things about their kids. I sense my daughter needs me, Benjamin.”

“I’m not going to disagree with you. I just don’t want you to worry about what it means. I think it’s the time of year. I truly think the voice will pass.”

The dinner she’d eaten churned in her stomach, and Joanne could only shake her head. “I don’t know,” she said finally.

“You need to cheer up, Joanne. Let’s do something different. Let’s go…” He paused, thinking, then grinned. “How about shopping? Ladies love to shop.”

“But men don’t, and anyway, I promised to go Christmas shopping with Nita.”

His face brightened as if relieved. “Okay, that saves me from a fate worse than…” He didn’t finish but chuckled instead. “Let’s decorate. It’s almost Thanksgiving. It’s never too early to put up a wreath and set out some holiday candles.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he’d already stood.

“Where do you keep all that stuff?”

“I haven’t been doing much with that since—”

“Time you did,” he said. He moved to face her and held out his hands.

Joanne couldn’t bear to dampen his enthusiasm. She grasped his hands and let him pull her to her feet. “It’s in the attic.” She pointed upward.

“One of those holes in the ceiling?” His tone reflected his fading eagerness.

“This decorating business wasn’t my idea,” she said.

He grinned. “Where is it?” He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face the archway.

Joanne led him into her walk-in bedroom closet and pointed to the drop-down ladder. “I’ll go with you so you know what to bring down.”

She snapped on the light from below while Benjamin climbed the ladder, then gave her a hand. At the top, she stood while he hunched to avoid the low ceiling.

She beckoned to him, and they moved across the plank floor to a pile of boxes. “It’s all here. Some of it’s labeled, but that’s not always accurate.”

In the gloomy light, they lifted lids and checked contents, and soon, they were lowering a few of the cartons to the floor below. Once the trap door was closed, Joanne piled three boxes into Benjamin’s arms, then took one for herself, and they carried them into the living room.

Joanne sat on the floor and Benjamin joined her, and together they opened the boxes and checked the contents. Soon Christmas candles, window wreaths, and garland for the fireplace lined the floor around them.

“What’s this?” Benjamin asked.

Joanne looked up and caught her breath. “It’s Floppy.” She reached out and grasped the plush, loopy-eared dog. “It was Mandy’s favorite toy. She slept with him every night.” Tears welled in her eyes as the scene rose before her—Mandy’s blond hair pressed against the pillow and Floppy nestled beside her.

Benjamin shifted nearer and opened his arms to her. “I’m sorry. I thought doing this might be a way to—”

He stopped talking, and she rested her head against his strong shoulder, accepting his comforting arms. “It’s not your fault,” she said, once she’d regained control. She eased back and pressed the dog against her chest. “I’d forgotten I’d put him in with the Christmas stuff. We had the ornaments out to decorate, before I got the call that—” She stopped. Benjamin understood; she didn’t need to explain.

She lowered the plush toy into her lap and brushed her fingers along its fake fur. “I’d planned to bury Floppy along with the Christmas toys, but…I couldn’t.”

“I understand.”

“I couldn’t, because I kept wanting to think it wasn’t true, that they were wrong. I wanted the doorbell to ring and, when I answered, a police officer to be there with Mandy in his arms, but it didn’t happen.”

Benjamin only looked at her, his eyes so sad she wished she hadn’t told him.

“Maybe this year will be a breakthrough,” she said. “It could be.”

“It could be,” Benjamin said, rising.

“I feel something special. I believe this year will be different.”

Benjamin’s chest ached from the sadness he felt surrounding them both. He’d adored Mandy and couldn’t imagine the pain Joanne felt as the child’s mother.

He’d done a lot of thinking since they’d last talked, and had questions that he wanted to ask, but he knew she was too sensitive today. He watched her caressing the bedraggled, stuffed dog, his long ears soiled from Mandy’s dragging him with her everywhere, and finally he had to look away or fall apart himself.

Then he mustered courage and spoke. “What makes you think this year is different? You don’t really think Mandy will come through that door, do you?”

Her silence put him on edge.

“Joanne, please, don’t—”

She held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t know why I feel this way, but I’ve never felt that Mandy was totally gone. Gone from me, yes, but not gone. I hear that voice, and it’s her, but she’s not three anymore. She’d be almost six. Reality tells me she’s dead, but I sense she’s alive.”

Benjamin’s heart sank. “She is alive in heaven, Joanne.”

“I know, but I mean…”

Her downcast look made him ache. Yet, common sense told him it could be no other way. He’d asked himself questions, too, about Mandy’s death, but nothing made sense. His attorney’s mind had sorted through the information and he had no doubt that a three-year-old couldn’t have escaped.

The question came to his lips before he could stop himself. “How could Mandy have survived the freezing water of Lake St. Clair, Joanne? We’re talking November.”

Joanne turned toward him, her eyes searching his. “Maybe she wasn’t in the car.”

“She what?”

“I’m not sure she was in the car, Benjamin. That’s the feeling I have.”

He knelt beside her. “Joanne, I didn’t like the details, either, and I know they never found her body, but what you’re thinking is far-fetched.”

“Far-fetched, but not impossible. In my heart, I knew that Greg would never let her in the car without her seat belt fastened.”

“What if Mandy unhooked it? Did you think of that?”

“She’d never unfastened the belt before. I’m not sure she knew how. I think someone else unhooked it. I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days.”

Her admission swam through his mind like a fish avoiding a baited hook. He couldn’t imagine the possibility, but he’d found that fact of the case disturbing, including the child floating through the partially opened window.

“And the window,” Joanne said, as if she had read his mind. “Why would Greg have the window open on a cold November night? The police speculated and dismissed that fact. It’s lived inside me for too long. I think something else happened that night. Before the accident.”

Donna sat on the edge of Connie’s bed and brushed the child’s soft cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re a beautiful young lady—do you know that?”

“Uh-huh. You always tell me I am.”

“Well, you are.” The words almost caught in her throat. “Connie.”

“What?” The girl peeked at her from beneath the blanket she’d drawn up to her nose.

“Do you remember your real mother?” Donna wanted to kick herself for asking, but she’d been plagued by questions and fears that she couldn’t control.

“No.”

Donna had figured the child wouldn’t remember much at her age, but she’d hoped.

“Is Daddy coming home?”

Connie’s voice wavered when she asked. Donna knew the child heard their arguments and her cries of pain when Carl knocked her around. She’d had to cover her bruises with makeup so that Connie wouldn’t see them. “He’s out of town tonight. On business.”

“Good,” she said, her pink lips turning up at the edges.

Connie’s faint smile reflected Donna’s sense of relief. The night alone would give her time to think—and to “snoop,” as Carl called it.

“I love you,” she said, bending over to kiss Connie’s warm cheek before she stood.

“Love you, too.”

Connie’s sleepy voice touched Donna’s ears as she slipped through the doorway.

Donna stood in the hallway to think. Tonight she had time to search for something that would help her learn more about Carl. Ever since she’d found the photo, she’d been sick with confusion and fear.

Carl had said he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow, which would give her time to put the photograph back and see what else he’d hidden down there.

The bulb had always been dim in the closet beneath the stairs, so Donna located the flashlight and carried it with her. Her nerves stood on end like the hairs on a scared cat. Every sound caused her to jump.

At the bottom of the steps she headed back to the door beneath the staircase. She turned on the faint light, then stepped inside. The room appeared to have been a small pantry at one time, but now it held miscellaneous items—luggage, boxes of papers in manila folders and the metal box.

She opened the box again and pulled out more of the photographs. Tonight she had time to study them. The same dark-haired woman appeared in numerous shots. One showed Carl with his arm around her. She had to be his first wife. The child appeared again, and Donna knew she wasn’t Connie. The features were wrong. She dropped the photos back into the envelope and set it on the floor.

Petrified by her thoughts, Donna delved into the metal box, rifling through old receipts, car registrations, and the restraining order envelope. Then she saw another legal-size envelope. She pulled out the document, and her heart stopped. Stella Rose Angelo, Plaintiff. Peter Carl Angelo, Defendant. Divorce papers. Peter again. She’d seen that name used in the restraining order. Donna skimmed the contents. His wife agreed to forgo some of her settlement in trade for his agreement to never see her or their daughter again.

And then she died?

Her hand shook as she stuffed the paper back into the envelope. Her mind spun with questions and fear swept over her. She knew Carl was abusive. He’d treated her badly, but so far, he hadn’t hurt Connie. Would he?

As Donna lifted the documents to place them back in the metal file, she spotted a newspaper clipping near the bottom of the box. Her tremors grew as she reached in to pull out the paper. Fingers fumbling, she unfolded it, and the headline flared before her eyes: “Attorney and Daughter Drown in Lake St. Clair.”

Below the article, Donna saw the grainy photographs—a man and a blond toddler. She gazed at the photo. Donna clasped her face, gasping for air. Black spots peppered her eyes, and an unbearable hum roared in her ears. She lowered her head and clung to the wall, fearing she would faint.

Donna stayed there until she regained control of herself. Then she inched upward, still grasping the closet wall for support. Her breath came in gasps as she scanned the text of the article.

Gregory Fuller and his three-year-old daughter Mandy drowned when Fuller’s car accidentally skidded into Lake St. Clair last night during a snowstorm. Fuller works for the law firm of Saperstein, Fuller, Drake and Welsh.

Donna skimmed the rest of the article with disbelief. Fuller had left his wife, Joanne, behind. Gregory Fuller. The name rang in her ears. Where had she heard it? She lowered her gaze to the envelope at her feet and gaped at the return address: Saperstein, Fuller, Drake and Welsh, Attorneys at Law. The divorce papers.

She eyed the restraining order sent by the same firm, then unfolded the document. The truth struck her. The plaintiff’s attorney was Gregory Fuller. Carl’s wife had hired Fuller to represent her, and a year later he died.

Joanne Fuller? According to the article, she lived on the east side in Grosse Pointe, about twenty miles from Dearborn.

Donna returned her gaze to the photos beneath the article, studying Mandy Fuller. Her head swam. Could it be? She lifted her eyes toward the basement ceiling. Connie was sleeping upstairs—Connie with blond hair. It couldn’t be. Donna loved Connie—she couldn’t be someone else’s child. Donna couldn’t live without her.

But what if—

“What are you doing?” The voice bellowed from the staircase.

Carl. Donna jerked and dropped the restraining order, then spun around.

Carl loomed in the doorway. “I told you to stay out of there.” He grabbed her arm and jerked her from the closet.

“What’s wrong, Carl?” Donna panicked, struggling to find an excuse. “I was looking for luggage to store some summer clothing.”

Carl clung to her with one hand and leaned in to grab something from inside the closet. Then he stepped back, hurling a piece of luggage across the basement. It struck his tool bench, and metal tools clanged to the concrete floor. With a swift move, he grasped her by the throat and pinned her to the wall.

Donna felt her breath leave her. She tried to speak, but choked. Color drained from the room. I have to get away. Connie must get away. The hum filled her head as her knees buckled.




Chapter Four


Joanne pressed the telephone to her ear but heard only silence on the line.

“Hello,” she said again.

Nothing. She lowered her gaze to the caller ID. Blocked. She hated crank calls, especially now that she’d become so nervous.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice rasping with irritation. She listened for a second more until a faint sound like a moan wavered along the wire, making her neck prickle. She closed her eyes, then dropped the phone onto the cradle and sank into a kitchen chair.

The desperate moan reverberated in her ears. Voices and silent callers. How much more could she take?

She let her frustration subside, then rose and headed for the coffeepot to make coffee for Benjamin. Joanne spooned in the grounds, added water, then wandered into the living room. The clock on her cable box showed 7:47. She had expected Benjamin earlier. Uneasiness filled her, but then she laughed at herself for being so jittery.

The phone rang again and for once she didn’t jump. Joanne knew Benjamin well enough to realize he’d call if something was keeping him. She strode into the kitchen and grabbed the receiver.

“Hello,” she said, expecting Benjamin’s rich, baritone voice.

Distant unclear sounds drifted over the line, but no one spoke.

“Benjamin?”

Then she heard it again—the emptiness.

It grated on her senses like nails on a chalkboard. Her knuckles turned white against the dark beige of the phone. “Either say what you want or stop calling.” Her own determined voice startled her. As she yanked the telephone from her ear, she finally heard something, and brought the receiver back to listen.

“I—I…” A woman’s voice.

“What do you want?”

Only a sigh wrenched the silence.

Breath shot from Joanne’s lungs like air from a pricked balloon. Anger fired within her. “If you’re not going to talk, then leave me alone.”

She heard a click, then an empty line.

Joanne slammed the receiver onto the cradle.

Sick people. They had nothing better to do than harass people. Play the jokester. But it wasn’t funny. Not at all. Then her thought shifted. She recalled the voice and the foreboding. The coincidence seemed too great.

Benjamin? Was he on the way? She called his numbers and got his answering machine. She hung up. The police. She needed someone. She grabbed the telephone book from a drawer, found the number and punched the buttons. Her body trembled as she waited.

“Grosse Pointe Department of Public Safety. Officer James. May I help you?”

Joanne opened her mouth and choked on the words. “I—I’ve received some strange telephone calls.” She sounded foolish.

“What kind of calls?” the officer asked.

She gave her name and tried to explain, but the more she said, the more insane she sounded. The officer obviously didn’t see the connection between her daughter’s death three years ago and two anonymous calls. Right now, neither did she.

“Was the caller abusive or obscene? Or were you threatened in any way?”

“They were hang-ups,” she said, realizing how trivial it sounded.

“Ma’am, two hang-ups doesn’t really warrant police action. You’re welcome to call your telephone company, but unless the calls are threatening or abusive, we can’t take action. After three telephone calls from the same caller, you can contact the telephone company and then we’d be happy to take your report.”

Frustration charged through Joanne. “Thank you for your time.”

“If this continues, call your phone company and then give us a call.”

“Thanks,” she said again, and hung up feeling mortified. He’d explained twice, as if she were stupid.

Joanne eyed the clock again, wishing Benjamin were there. Her mind reeled as she wandered to the living room. She sank into a chair and her hands trembled as she ran them along the nape of her neck, thinking about the calls. Two hang-ups was nothing, just as the officer had said. So why was she distressed?

She needed Benjamin to tell her she wasn’t losing her mind. Hearing Mandy’s voice in her head had been bad enough. Now, on the anniversary of her death, anonymous calls struck her as a cruel coincidence.

She lowered her face into her hands. “Lord, why? If You love me, why are You tormenting me like this?” But beneath her frustration, she could hear Benjamin’s voice: You can’t blame God for all the evil in the world.

Joanne lowered her head to the table and wept while her prayer rose from her heart, asking the Lord to forgive her. You’ve promised to be here when I call Your name. Here I am, Father, begging for mercy.

Her mind whirring with questions, Joanne rose and dragged herself into the living room. Weariness had overcome her, and she wanted to sleep. She stood for a moment in the light of the living room and watched the snow drift to the ground—white, pure, fresh, like a baby, like Mandy had been once.

Tears pooled in Joanne’s eyes, then rolled down her cheeks in rivulets. She’d felt sorry for herself for so long, and now this woman’s voice had dragged her back into self-pity.

Joanne shook her head, trying to release her twisted thoughts. What did it matter? God knew the caller’s identity. It wasn’t her place to sit in judgment. “Lord forgive this woman,” she said aloud. “Forgive me for thinking the calls had any evil purpose. Help me find peace.”

Gooseflesh rose on Joanne’s arms as a Scripture came to her: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.” Then verses rolled through her mind: “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” She’d read similar words the other night in the Christmas story, when the angels told the shepherds not to be afraid. The words settled over her like rays of the sun. She needed peace, too. “Thank you, Lord.”

She forced herself from the window as the snow blew into drifts, preparing the earth for everyone’s dream—a white Christmas. It hadn’t been her dream, but since Benjamin had returned, he’d brought a little light into her spirit. She wanted to talk with Benjamin and hear his calm, reassuring voice.

The sound of a car caught Joanne’s attention. She rose and went to the window. Benjamin at last. She opened the door and waited.

When he saw Joanne, Benjamin knew immediately that she was distraught. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said as he stepped inside. “I couldn’t get out of the dinner, and it went on forever. You remember Greg’s long evenings. It hasn’t changed.”

“I’m just glad you came,” she said, beckoning him into the living room.

He followed her through the archway. “What’s happened? More voices?” He sank onto the sofa as she paced in front of him.

“A voice, but this time a real one.”

“A real one? What do you mean?”

“Telephone calls. I had two tonight.” She finally settled into a chair.

Benjamin winced, knowing he should have been there earlier. His chest tightened. “What kind of calls.”

“Anonymous. Nothing, but they upset me. I called the police, but they can’t do anything. I made a fool of myself.”

“No you didn’t. You felt threatened. So tell me exactly what happened.”

He listened as she detailed the incident. His mind tried to make sense of it. He understood why the police had passed it off. Two calls—hang-ups really. What could they do? “What’s going on at Solutions? Is someone frustrated with your status with the company?”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine it being anyone from there. Certainly there’s tension at times, particularly in the powwow sessions when everyone has competing ideas, but no. No one would do that.”

“What about your promotion?”

“No. It’s no one from Solutions. I’m positive.”

“You never know.” He didn’t want to remind her that most crimes involved people who were family or friends.

“When Greg was alive, I learned to tolerate such calls. I’m sure you’ve had them. They were rare. Angry defendants usually blame the prosecuting attorney.” She looked at him as if seeking validation. “But why me, and why now? It’s morbid and awful.”

“It was a wrong number or a crank call. The world has some sick people.”

“I know, but…” She rose again to gaze out the window. “I’d probably blow if off if I weren’t so jittery already.” She turned and gave him a telling look. “I’m infuriated at myself for letting it upset me.”

“You have every right to be, but don’t be angry at yourself.” He stretched his arm toward her. “Come here.”

Her look softened as she walked across the room, then sank beside him on the sofa.

“Don’t forget, if it continues you can do something,” he said. “You can change your telephone number. Have it unlisted.” A new thought struck him. “You have caller ID, right? Did you notice—”

“It was blocked. Both times. I looked.”

“It’s frustrating.” He shifted his hand and rested it on hers. Her fingers felt as cold as his had been when he arrived. Benjamin pressed his warm palm against them. “I wish I had better news, but unless you’re threatened or continue to be harassed, like the officer said, you can’t do much about it. It’s one of those things.”

Joanne gave a faint nod. “I know that now.”

“People call wrong numbers all the time, and then they’re careless enough to try the same number again. Not bright, but not uncommon. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“I hope so,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.

“Have faith, Joanne.”

On Sunday morning, Joanne slipped into Benjamin’s car.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Not much, but let’s not talk about it now,” she said.

He gave her one of those looks that let her know if she were a witness in court he wouldn’t let her get away with it, but today he would. He backed out of the driveway and headed toward the church, talking about the weather and any mundane thing that came to mind.

“How’s work?” he asked.

“It’s suffering. I’m the head of a think tank, and I doubt that I could find the solution to punch my way out of a paper sack. My co-workers are giving me strange looks.”

Benjamin didn’t respond as he nosed the car into the church parking lot. He supported her elbow as they ascended the church steps, and she gave him the best smile she could muster to reassure him that her mood had nothing to do with him. Joanne wasn’t even sure what bothered her. The woman hadn’t called since Friday night. She should be pleased, but she wasn’t.

Joanne had a difficult time thinking the woman’s calls had been a wrong number. She sensed that, like the voice, the calls meant something, but church wasn’t the place to dwell on it. Today, she needed strength and rejuvenation.

As they settled into their seats, the service began. Music rose and the congregation lifted their voices in praise. Benjamin smiled as if he was glad he came. He’d mentioned he hadn’t been to church since he’d moved back from Seattle.

Church had become a difficult place for Joanne after the funeral. Joanne knew that might sound strange to most Christians, but she and Greg had shared so much there. They’d been married and had had Mandy baptized at the same church. They had been at worship each Sunday. After he was gone, she felt abandoned by Greg and by God. Now, with Benjamin beside her, she felt complete again.

When the sermon began, the message startled Joanne. As if the pastor knew her need, he spoke about evil attacks on God’s children. “It’s like a war, a battle of good and evil. God cries to us in one ear while the sin beguiles us in the other. We need selective hearing when it comes to good and evil.

“But those who are victims of evil, remember this from Deuteronomy 23: �For the Lord your God moves about in your camp to protect you and to deliver your enemies to you.’ God’s children are never alone in the fight. Though all seems lost, keep your eyes pointed to heaven and your ears tuned to God’s Word. He might speak to you in a whisper, but His power is almighty. Let these words from Psalms be your prayer as you face the powers of evil. �God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.’ Amen.”

As she rose for the prayers and final hymn, Benjamin glanced at her as if wondering if she’d been listening. She would assure him that she had. Having heard the message, Joanne knew she had to let God be her strength and refuge. Thank you, Lord, she said in silent prayer.

The last hymn began, and Joanne was surprised to hear Benjamin’s rich baritone voice as he belted out the last verse of “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus.”

“I needed that,” Joanne said minutes later as she slipped from her pew into the aisle.

“I did, too,” he said, sending her a tender smile.

He walked beside her into the cold, and she shuddered as they turned into the wintery wind.

“Want to stop for coffee?” Benjamin asked, slipping his arm around her shoulders as if to ward off the cold.

“That would be nice.” She glanced at him, afraid to gaze too intently. His closeness affected her in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt a familiarity she hadn’t felt since Greg died.

Benjamin nosed the car onto the highway and soon a small coffee shop appeared on the right. He pulled into the parking lot. “Is this okay?”

“Anything’s fine,” she said as she opened the door.

They hurried inside, and a waitress waved them toward a table. They ordered mugs of coffee, which were brought to their table immediately. Benjamin sipped the hot brew and Joanne lifted the cup and let the aroma surround her.

“Thanks for coming to worship with me today. I felt less lonely than I have in a long, long time.” She paused, then decided to continue. “I like the feeling.”

“So do I,” he said.

“I was thinking that you’re a glutton for punishment, though. I’m not the greatest company lately.”

She took a sip of the coffee and looked at him over the edge of the cup.

“You’ve always been good company, Joanne. You and Greg.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He set the mug on the table and leaned forward. “I think we’re avoiding something, Joanne. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s the same.” She gave a shrug. “I’m worried about the calls, yet disappointed she hasn’t called again. I need three, remember.”

He seemed to study the murky pattern in his mug.

“If I only knew what she wanted.”

He looked up. “It might have been a wrong number, and you can’t assume it’s a she, Joanne. People sometimes change their voices for crank calls.”

She saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes and felt the same emotion.

“Remember the sermon today,” he said. “God is in your camp. The Lord is your ever-present help in trouble.”

“I heard the sermon.” She immediately regretted the edge in her voice.

“I know, but believe it.”

Her terse comment hadn’t swayed him, and she felt good knowing he cared that much. She’d hurt him with her abruptness, and she longed to smooth the concerned look from his face.

“I’m so afraid when it all pans out to be nothing that you’re going to be hurt,” he said.

His hand slid over hers, and the warmth rolled up her arm. She sat a moment in silence, then drew back her shoulders and sent him a brave smile. “I’m making a big deal out of two calls. Maybe wrong numbers. Forget it. I will, too.” She rested her free hand on his shoulder. “I should have listened to you. You said tomorrow will be better. Maybe it will.”

Hearing her sound more positive lifted Benjamin’s spirits. “Good for you,” he said, tapping his index finger against her hand, hoping she’d smile. “You need a break from all of this tension. “Let’s do something fun, Joanne. Let’s be kids again and enjoy one day without thinking about all of this.”

Her brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, but he didn’t let the look stop him. “I’m not kidding. It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s go downtown to the Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

She gave him a disbelieving grin. “Are you sure you’re not kidding?”

“I’m not. How long has it been since you went?”

“Four years, I guess. We took Mandy when she was nearly two, but she was too young to enjoy it.”

“But did you?”

“Enjoy it? Sure. Who doesn’t love a huge parade like that one.”

“Then it’s time to go again—giant helium balloons, marching bands, floats, clowns. What do you say?”

“I say you’re ridiculous. Two adults going to a kids’ parade?”

“Let’s be kids for a day. Come on.” He chucked her under the chin, and she laughed.

“Okay, but if it’s freezing cold you’d better bring along a thermos of hot chocolate.”

“I’ll do better than that.”

Donna sat in the living room and watched Connie concentrate on her toy house. Sometimes she was amazed at the depth of love she felt for the child. She’d been her stepmother for less than three years, but time didn’t matter. Connie fulfilled her longing to be a mother, a pleasure her body would never allow her.

She remembered that when she met Carl, one of the draws for her was the child. Connie seemed so lost and so in need of a woman’s touch. Carl said he’d hired sitters to care for her, but that wasn’t a mother’s love. Donna had opened her heart to Connie.

“Can we go to the parade?” Connie asked, looking up from her playhouse. Plastic furniture and plump, molded characters were strewn across the floor.

“You mean the Thanksgiving parade?”

Connie nodded. “My friend Sarah is going. Can we go?”

Donna had never taken Connie to the parade. Carl wouldn’t take the time or effort to fight the Detroit traffic, then stand out in the cold to see the gigantic helium balloons and the floats or listen to the bands. “I’ll ask your daddy.”

Connie hung her head.

Donna realized the child knew her father too well.

“Could we go?” Connie asked.

“You mean just you and me?”

Her face brightened and she nodded.

Donna knew there were shuttle buses. Maybe if they went to Fairlane Town Center they could take public transportation. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Please.” Her blue eyes shone with excitement.

“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”

Connie accepted her offer and went back to her play, while Donna closed her eyes to think. Every child deserved to see the Michigan Thanksgiving Day parade. It was televised in cities across the U.S. It seemed unfair for Connie not to go. But Carl? He wanted his Thanksgiving turkey.

Carl wanted a lot of things—and gave so little.

Donna’s thoughts slipped again into escape mode. She had made two calls to Joanne Fuller, but she’d lost her nerve. When she’d opened her mouth, her voice froze. She’d been disheartened by her actions. Donna needed to know if Connie was truly Joanne Fuller’s daughter.

She sensed Carl was having business trouble. Or he was in trouble. He would never tell her, but she’d seen his behavior change for the worse these past few months. She was certain he’d gotten into some kind of racket and that it had backfired. When Carl had problems, Donna had greater ones.

Escaping had preoccupied her mind because she feared for her life. It seemed as if Carl took out his anger and frustrations on her. Now she feared for Connie, too, and she needed to make sure she’d found Connie’s real mother. It was beyond her comprehension how Carl came to have Connie, but she felt certain she had deduced correctly. After she made sure, she would devise a plan—a plan to escape.

Wouldn’t a mother pay a great deal of money to know her daughter was alive? Money would mean nothing with a child at stake. If Donna had cash, she could get away. She could even take Connie with her. Her love for the little girl had grown as deep as if the child were her own, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

If she made Joanne Fuller believe she would lead her to her daughter, the woman might be willing to pay her, but instead of leading her to Connie, Donna could take Connie and leave the U.S. She could go to Canada or Mexico—anywhere to be free of Carl’s cruelty.

She had to think her plan through carefully. One mistake and she could scare off Joanne or get the police involved. Or worse, Carl could find out and she’d be a dead woman.




Chapter Five


Joanne sat beside Benjamin as he drove down the side street off Woodward Avenue and took the ramp into the underground Cultural Center garage adjacent to the Detroit Institute of Arts. Traffic had bogged down as soon as they reached the downtown area as nearly a million people crowded into the area.

“Are you sure this is worth it?” she asked, as Benjamin pulled into a parking spot stories below the city.

He gave her a smile and turned off the ignition. “You tell me once we’re there.”

She swung open her door, and he met her as she stepped out. As they passed the trunk, he lifted the lid and pulled out two seat cushions with handles, and a car blanket.

“This won’t keep us warm, but it might help.”

His thoughtfulness impressed her, but she teased him anyway. “You forgot the thermos.”

“I told you I’d do better than that. Remember?”

He’d piqued her curiosity. She waited with him for the elevator to street level, and when they saw daylight, she realized they were at the front of the parade. The wind struck them as they exited, and she tugged on her gloves, then adjusted her scarf, wishing she’d worn a cap.

Benjamin motioned her to follow and they struggled through the crowd along the sidewalk. She wondered how they would see anything with such a bustle of humanity.

To her surprise, Benjamin reached a roped-off area near the grandstands and handed passes to a ticket-taker.

“Grandstand seats?” she asked, amazed he had such pull.

He gave her a wink. “I told you.”

She gazed in delight at the bleacher seating that would raise them above the crowd for a full view. As she headed up, her focus settled on the stage where Santa would speak with the children. Santa. Her heart gave a kick as her thoughts flew to Mandy. She’d never had a real kid’s chance to enjoy the bounty of Santa’s gift bag.

But Joanne had told her little daughter about Jesus. Joanne had sung her children’s hymns and told her stories about the Savior. Joanne had always been confident that Mandy was in heaven—

Her thoughts stumbled. No. Joanne didn’t know that for sure anymore—not since the voice. She tugged her heavy coat around her more tightly.

Benjamin gave her a questioning look, and she realized she’d fallen silent. “I was thinking,” she said without any more explanation.

Benjamin seemed to understand. The Thanksgiving parade was for children more than adults. It was natural her thoughts would be of Mandy. Filled with a sudden melancholy she climbed the stairs.

When they’d found a good spot about halfway up, Benjamin dropped their gear and glanced at his watch. “Let’s leave the blanket and cushions here to hold our spots. We have time to go inside.”

“Inside what?” She didn’t let him answer because she had another question. “How did we get grandstand seats?”

“I know people.” He grinned.

“So do I, but I guess it’s who you know.”

He put his hand on her back as they descended to the ground again. “I have a client who’s a sponsor. He gets sets of tickets and can use them as he wants.”

“And you’re one of the recipients,” she said over her shoulder.

He chuckled. “Along with the real bonus we’re about to enjoy.” He motioned for her toward the Detroit Institute of Arts sidewalk.

“We’re going to an art show?”

“No, but they have free coffee and muffins inside. We can come into the building to get warm and to use the rest room. Plus it’s much nicer than standing on the street, craning our necks.”

“I won’t argue that,” she said.

They ascended the broad stairway into the museum and warmth greeted Joanne when she stepped inside. The scent of fragrant coffee filled the air and a bounty of pastries were spread out for the guests. Benjamin guided her forward, and after they’d filled their cups and grabbed a pastry, he pointed her toward a table for two.

She set down her cup and shifted a chair. Before sitting, she slipped off her gloves and loosened her scarf and coat. She took a sip of the warm drink. “Yummy. This makes up for having to get ready so early.”

He grinned and took a bite of a Danish pastry, then followed it with a swig of coffee. His eyes smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Today Benjamin, the respected attorney, had become a child. His cheeks glowed from the cold wind or, even more, his excitement being here.

Outside, her heart had melted when he’d pointed to the children’s gleeful faces as they waited for the parade. Little tots bundled up in outerwear doubling their size—boots, snowpants, jackets, caps, mittens, and scarves wound around their noses.

“You like kids,” she said.

“I do. Very much.”

The question she’d longed to ask made its way to her lips. “Why haven’t you married, Benjamin? You’d make a wonderful father.”

The glow in his cheeks deepened, and Joanne realized she’d asked a sensitive question. She held her breath, fearing she’d put a damper on their morning.

After a moment he gave her a crooked grin. “You’ve never asked that before.”

Her pulse skipped. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it until recently, and then I figured it was none of my business.”

He chuckled. “But it is today?”

“My business?” she asked, catching his little dig. “Not really, but we’re friends, so I’m asking.”

“Fair enough.”

She waited, but he seemed to drift away in thought. Finally he looked her in the eyes. “I fell in love once, and since that time no other woman could compare.”

The candid statement answered her question, but again she couldn’t stop herself. “Did she die?”

He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “No. It was one of those impossible things.”

His face looked strained, and she knew she should stop. “She didn’t love you?”

“She did, I think, but not the kind of love I wanted.” He lifted his cup and drained it. “Are you ready? We don’t want to miss the parade.”

Joanne looked down at her barely nibbled pastry and realized she’d forgotten to eat. “Sure,” she said, taking another sip of coffee before rising.

Benjamin didn’t say anymore, and Joanne realized she’d asked too much.

By the time they climbed back into the stands, the bleachers were filled. As a marching band blared on the street, they settled onto the planks. A cold wind swirled upward beneath their feet and Joanne adjusted the seat cushion while Benjamin tucked the blanket around their legs.

Drifting above their heads was a huge helium elephant balloon, tethered to the ground by a host of volunteer clowns who tugged on the lines to keep it from flying away. Children clapped their hands and the crowd roared in her ears.

“Remember when the penguin balloon, Chilly Willy, broke loose years ago? It floated miles away.”

He grinned. “They found it in Canada just off Walpole Island, if I remember right.”

She grinned at the memory. Then a passing float drew applause—a bright spectacle with toy soldiers surrounding a large drum caricature whose arms stuck out from its sides forming drumsticks that beat a rhythm. Joanne loved the fun, yet she had a difficult time concentrating on the passing parade. Her mind fought between her conversation with Benjamin and her longing to have Mandy by her side.

A cheer rose, and Joanne turned to see the float of Santa’s sleigh, the highlight of the parade for the children. As she gazed into the crowd of sweet upturned faces, her stomach knotted. Standing below her near the street were a woman and child—a child with blond hair and oval face with features that matched her own.

Mandy? Her awareness sharpened and she felt a driving panic. She stood, her legs moving without her command.

“Joanne,” Benjamin called behind her.

She bounded down the bleacher steps into the crowd. Humanity surrounded her now, and she’d lost the child and woman. She searched the crowd for a hooded azure jacket, but the faces blurred and colors ran together.

“Mandy!” she heard herself cry, and people turned in her direction. She wavered, then stopped. Her heart thundered in her throat as hopelessness assailed her.

“Joanne.” Benjamin appeared behind her and drew her into his arms. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

She lifted her tear-filled eyes. What was she doing?

The shuttle bus swayed and bounced as it traveled along I-94 to Oakwood Boulevard. Donna brushed her hand across Connie’s hair. The hood of her blue jacket lay twisted around her shoulders as she nestled in the corner of the bus seat with her head resting against the window. The parade had tired her. They’d had to get up early to reach the shuttle and arrive downtown in time for the parade.

Donna had hoped to find a place at Grand Circus Park, but the bus had dropped them at the head of the parade. Once she realized that’s where Santa left the sleigh to speak to the children from the special stage, she had been pleased, but the crowd there had been fierce. Connie had had to squeeze through the mob lining the curb so that she could see.

The bus hit a pothole, and Connie’s head bounced against the window. She opened her eyes and gave Donna a sleepy smile.

“Tired?”

Connie grinned. “Nope.”

“Not anymore maybe.”

The child giggled. “I loved the balloons and the clowns best.”

“Really?”

Then she wrinkled her nose. “Best after Santa.”

“I thought so,” Donna said, holding out her arm for the child to cuddle against her.

Connie shifted and rested her head against Donna’s frame. Love filled Donna’s heart, and a deep ache pulsed in the pit of her stomach. She’d already taken too many chances. From now on, she had to be careful. She’d let her plan mull in her head. She’d never done anything illegal before, but now it was different. Donna needed to assure her own safety and most of all, that of Connie.

Carl seemed to be losing it. Donna envisioned one of his recent violent outbursts, and her stomach lurched at the memory. He’d called her names, threatened her and hinted that he’d rather see her dead.

She couldn’t blame his reaction on her questions about the past. Her interest had been motivated by his daily tirades. Donna needed to understand. More and more she gathered pieces of information from his late-night phone calls. He’d been involved in a car ring of some kind. His trucking company, apparently, was a cover for a car-theft business. She had no details, but she’d put two and two together.

Carl-Peter-whatever-his-name-was thought she was stupid, but Donna had more brains than he did. She’d cooked up a plan that would help her escape and take Connie with her, but first she had to make sure she had things right. She had to prove for certain that Connie and Mandy were the same child. If so, Donna knew a mother’s love would prompt the Fuller woman to take chances, and follow Donna’s instructions. She had to.

Donna had never imagined extorting anyone or hurting anyone, but to get away and to keep Connie in her life, she had no choice.

She felt a twinge of regret. Her friend’s message about Jesus had affected her. With Jesus in her life things could be different, but the Lord would have to be in Carl’s life, too, and she couldn’t imagine that.

No one was in Carl’s life—not Connie, not her. Carl’s focus was on Carl.

Joanne pulled a round steak from the refrigerator. After church that morning, when Benjamin had invited her out to dinner, she’d said, “Sounds good, but tonight, the treat’s on me.”

She knew he thought she would take him out to dinner, but she had decided that Benjamin would probably enjoy a home-cooked meal better than fine dining. She hadn’t made beef stroganoff since Greg died and today she would see if she still had the talent to make the tender morsels of steak swimming in a sour cream sauce so full of calories she should feel ashamed.

Ashamed. The word triggered thoughts. Joanne regretted her over-the-top behavior during the past week. Not only had she jumped too quickly to make something sinister out of the telephone calls, but now she’d reacted like a madwoman at the parade, chasing after a mother and child. What had gotten into her? With her jangled nerves and sense of foreboding, she needed help.

Pushing her worries aside, Joanne tackled the dinner. She pulled a knife from the cabinet drawer and began the ritual of cutting the steak into long thin slices. That was part of her secret. She liked beef so tender she could cut it with a fork.

As she wielded the knife, making the final slice, the telephone rang—and when she jumped, the knife slashed her index finger. She jerked her hand away from the cutting board. Blood oozed from the wound, and she held her hand over the sink while she grabbed paper towel.

After wrapping her finger, she picked up the receiver and said hello. That ominous silence ran through the wire. Bitterness, yet victory filled her as she eyed the blood seeping through the toweling. She needed this third call for the police.

“Hello,” she said again. It was the same pattern. She talked. The caller didn’t.




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