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“How about Mike?” she asked. “Did he ever talk about going there?”
“I don’t remember,” Caroline said. “But I do remember the warmer the weather, the better he liked it.”
That was true. Even during light snowfalls, about the only kind they got in Lexington, Mike had complained as though they were enduring blizzard conditions. The climate in Key West would appeal to him.
If he were alive. Oh, God, could her brother be alive?
Maria was holding Caroline’s phone records. That was the place to start. She’d just finished a background check she was running for a client, leaving her free to unravel the mystery. She got up from the chair, went to her desk and picked up a pad and pen.
“After I look into where the phone calls came from, I’ll be in touch,” she said. “What’s a number where I can reach you?”
Caroline crossed one long leg over the other. “I’d rather you didn’t call me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll contact you.” She tapped a manicured finger against her lips. “Here’s the thing. I don’t want my fiancé to know about this. I don’t want anything to interfere with the wedding.”
“Why would it?”
“Austin’s last name is Tolliver,” she said. “His father, Samuel, is the former governor.”
Caroline could have added that the family was rolling in cash. Maria seemed to remember the Tollivers had amassed their fortune from tobacco and horse racing. She recalled that Samuel Tolliver had provided the bulk of the financing for his campaign for governor.
“Austin’s following in his father’s footsteps. He’s a state senator. This fall he’s running for Congress. I can’t take the risk the press will pick up on this story.” For the third time, Caroline rummaged in her handbag. This time she pulled out a checkbook. “I can pay you.”
To find her own brother? Maria’s stomach turned over at the thought. “I don’t want your money, Caroline.” She was surprised her voice was even. “The question is, what do you want?”
“If Mike is alive,” she said, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, “I just want him to leave me alone.”
When Caroline was gone, Maria tried to call up the routine steps she took on missing person cases. She heard blood rushing in her ears. Her heart beat so fast she couldn’t concentrate. After all this time, could Mike really be alive?
She got up from her chair and stepped outside, hoping the cool, fresh air would enable her to think more clearly. A chill ran through her and she hugged herself. At five-thirty, and almost the shortest day of year, it was already dark. A thin streak of light slashed through the sky.
A shooting star!
Shooting stars were magical, her mother had claimed when Maria was growing up. If you saw one before Christmas and wished upon it hard enough, she used to say, your wish would come true.
The only other time Maria had spotted a shooting star before the holidays, she’d wished for Rollerblades, and they’d appeared under the tree on Christmas morning.
What could it hurt?
She focused on the streaking light and wished with all her might.
* * *
LOGAN COLLIER LAID THE tall, bulky box containing the artificial Christmas tree against the stairs and positioned himself behind it.
“Need any help down there?” his mother called from the top of the steps.
“I’ve got it,” he answered. “I just need you to move out of the way.”
He shoved, inching the box a few steps at a time up the stairs until reaching the tile floor of the kitchen. Like the rest of the modest, two-bedroom house where his parents had lived for more than thirty years, the kitchen was big enough but just barely. It would be a tight squeeze to get the box past the table.
“Can you get it to the living room for me?” His mother was a warm, cheerful blonde who got way too into the spirit of the season. On her green sweatshirt, Santa jumped his reindeer-driven sleigh over a snowy rooftop.
Logan pushed, propelling the box across the tile floor, onto the carpeting in the living room and toward the spot where his mother always set up the tree. He’d been surprised not to see it decorated already when he’d come home last night from Manhattan, where he’d lived for the past twelve years since he’d graduated from college.
“Tell me again why we’re putting up a tree two days before your trip.” Logan wasn’t out of breath, but neither was he breathing easy. He needed to take the time from his busy schedule to hit the gym more than just two or three times a week.
“We’ve got to make the most of what little time we have together, honey.” She always called him that. In his early teens, it used to bug Logan until he’d found out she’d had two miscarriages before he was born and one afterward.
He ripped open the duct tape somebody—probably Dad—had used last year to bind the box, then pulled up the cardboard flaps to reveal the tree branches.
“You’re trying to make me feel guilty about not spending Christmas with you and Dad, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Maybe a little,” his mother admitted.
“Not gonna work,” Logan said. “Not when you’ll both be cruising the Caribbean.”
His parents would leave for the trip this Wednesday, six days before Christmas. Logan had made the travel arrangements to coincide with his own return to New York City.
“If you didn’t feel guilty, honey, you wouldn’t have bought us the tickets.” Mom stood back while he set up the base of the tree and got the lower portion in place. “You don’t have to keep treating us to trips, you know.”
Actually, he did. Because his mother had battled diabetes and other health problems for years, his parents had made do on his father’s salary while Logan was growing up. Dad earned enough as a forklift operator in a warehouse to cover necessities but not extras. In recent years Mom had been healthy enough to work part-time as a cashier at a grocery store, but Logan had a sense they still struggled.
“Don’t take away my fun, Mom,” he said. “I like treating you.”
“Then I don’t understand why you can’t come with us,” she retorted.
Logan got down on his knees and started plumping the branches. “I told you why. I have to work.”
“You always have to work.” She positioned herself beside him and grabbed a limb, shaping one of the flexible plastic branches to achieve maximum fullness.
“Dad’s at work right now,” he pointed out.
“Today is only December 17,” she said. “Your father has Christmas week off like normal people.”
“The holidays are a great time to network.” Logan had been employed by a financial planning service in New York City ever since he’d moved there. He’d steadily climbed the ranks, in large part because he understood what it took to get ahead. “We’ve got a lot going on for our clients next week. Parties. Dinners. A suite at the Knicks game. I have to be there.”
“I’m glad you have a good job,” his mother began. Logan got ready for the “but,” certain he already knew what she’d say.
“But don’t you think you should spend your money on the woman you’re going to marry instead of on me and Dad?” she finished.
He straightened, went to the box and withdrew more of the tree. He got another piece in place before answering. “That woman doesn’t exist, Mom. I’m not engaged.”
“You’re thirty-three years old, honey. That’s not so young anymore.” She sounded as though she was breaking a difficult truth to him. “Are you at least dating someone?”
“Occasionally.” He dated off and on, when he had the time, but rarely went out with a woman for more than two or three dates.
“Anyone special?” She asked the same questions every time he visited Kentucky or he flew her and Dad up to see him in New York. He was used to it by now. He even had a strategy to deflect the inquisition: say as little as possible.
“Nope,” he said.
After a few moments of silence, his mother changed the subject. They talked companionably of inconsequential things for the next hour while they decorated the tree with the ornaments and lights Logan brought up from the basement.
After Logan topped the tree with the traditional gilded angel that had been handed down from his grandmother, they stood back and admired their handiwork. With the afternoon sun streaming through the picture windows in the living room, the tree’s tiny white lights mimicked flakes of snow. His mother favored an artificial tree because of the risk of fire associated with a real one. Since she’d started putting pine-scented potpourri underneath the tree, he couldn’t tell the difference.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into the other day,” his mother said conversationally, her voice sounding too innocent to be true. “Maria DiMarco.”
Yep. Logan was right. His mother had an agenda.
“Maria looked great. She’s such a pretty girl, with that black hair, those blue eyes and the pale skin.” His mom paused. When he said nothing, she added, “She’s single again, you know.”
That wasn’t news to Logan. By his estimation, Maria had been divorced for four years and two months.
“Real subtle, Mom,” he said wryly.
“But you haven’t even brought home a girl to meet me since you and Maria broke up,” she said.
“Maria and I were over in high school,” he answered. “I haven’t seen her in years.”
More than eleven years, to be exact. The last time their paths had crossed was at Mike’s memorial service. With her then-husband by her side, Maria hadn’t said more than a few words to Logan. He hadn’t expected her to, not when her brother wouldn’t have been at the Windows on the World restaurant at all if it hadn’t been for him. He was amazed that her sister, Annalise, still used him as an investment advisor.
“You two used to be so in love,” his mother continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “What would it hurt to see if the spark is still there?”
“Maria married somebody else,” he reminded her.
“Only because she was confused. She wouldn’t have even looked at another man if you hadn’t—”
“Drop it, Mom,” he interrupted, more sharply than he’d intended. It had taken him a long time to get over Maria DiMarco, but get over her he had. “I’m not going to see her.”
“Not even though it’s almost Christmas?” his mother asked in a small voice.
He knew without saying that she considered it a magical season when anything could happen. No doubt because she was always watching those sappy holiday movies on the Lifetime channel. Real life didn’t work that way.
“Not even at Christmas,” he said.
* * *
THE POUNDING ON THE locked door of her office sounded heavy enough to break the thick, tempered glass. Maria’s head jerked up from her computer screen to make sure the closed sign was still in place. Beyond it, her older sister peered in at her.
Maria sucked in a breath through her teeth, not ready to deal with anyone in her family and itching to get back to her work. She’d just run her brother’s social security number. Even though she hadn’t been able to find any activity on it since 2001, there was more she could do. Using Google to search for his name and variations of his name, for starters. Followed by a thorough social networking investigation. If Maria pretended not to notice her, maybe Annalise would go away.
The pounding got louder.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” She got up from her chair and crossed the office, deciding not to say anything to Annalise about Mike. Not until she had hard evidence that he was alive. She composed her features and unlocked the door.
Her sister pushed it open, barely giving Maria enough time to back away. A blast of chilled air followed Annalise inside, and she rubbed her bare hands together. She was dressed more for fashion than function, in the black leather jacket she’d gotten from her husband for her birthday a few weeks before.
“I was freezing to death out there.” Her teeth were chattering. “For a minute I thought you weren’t going to let me in.”
“I was caught up in something, is all.” Maria maneuvered past her and relocked the door.
“You’re ready to go, though, right?” she asked. “I thought we could hit the electronics store before we go to the mall. That way, you can get your presents for Alex and Billy out of the way.”
How could Maria have forgotten? Annalise had offered to help her pick out Christmas gifts for her teenage nephews. They’d also planned to search for presents for their parents, their brother Jack and his girlfriend, Tara, before ending the evening at Annalise’s favorite restaurant.
Maria glanced back at the computer. Caroline Webb had left only forty-five minutes ago, not nearly enough time to make headway on finding out whether Mike could be alive. “I’m sorry, Annalise. I can’t go, after all.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She waved her index finger. “You don’t get to back out after I went to the trouble of getting a babysitter and dressing up. I even put on makeup!”
Maria’s naturally pretty sister always looked nice. She’d gone the extra mile tonight, letting her brown hair down from its usual ponytail and pairing her leather jacket with black dress slacks and heels instead of jeans and sneakers.
“I’m sorry,” Maria said. “Something’s come up and I need to work.”
“This close to Christmas? You said you were taking some time off, like you always do over the holidays.”
Maria glanced at the computer again. It seemed to be beckoning to her. Once she finished her searches, regardless of what she found, she intended to make an airline reservation to Florida.
“Things have changed,” she said. “I have to go out of town for a few days.”
“What? We have tickets tomorrow night to The Nutcracker,” Annalise protested. “And you said you’d help me out the rest of the week at the Christmas tree sale.”
The yearly sale benefited her youngest son’s baseball league. Annalise was one of the organizers.
“You’ll have to find someone else to take my place,” Maria told her. “This is important.”
“Where are you going?” Annalise demanded. It would have been difficult to tell that Maria was the only one in the room with training in interrogation. Then again, the two sisters were close. They never kept secrets from each other.
“Key West,” Maria said.
“Florida? I don’t ever remember you going that far for a case before,” Annalise said. “You’ll be back in time for Christmas, right?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Her sister narrowed her eyes, propped her hands on her hips and demanded, “What’s going on?”
Maria’s instincts told her to remain mum. However, that wasn’t realistic. If Annalise was reacting this badly to her possible absence at Christmas, other family members would, too. Maria needed somebody to smooth the waters and support her alibi.
“You’d better sit down,” she said.
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“Then promise you won’t freak out.”
“You’re freaking me out by acting like this,” Annalise declared. “Just spit it out.”
Maria forced the words through her lips. “I think Mike might still be alive.”
