Finding Christmas Page 6

  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.

  “I—I shouldn’t have called,” a woman whispered.

  “Who are you?” Her mind spun.

  The woman didn’t answer, and Joanne waited for the hang-up. She heard an intake of breath and then a whisper.

  “Was your daughter’s body found after the accident?”

  Your daughter’s body. Joanne heard a moan, but this time it came from her.

  She grasped the wall to support herself. “No,” she said. “Please leave me alone.” She slammed down the phone without waiting for a response, then gasped, realizing she’d made a profound mistake. She snatched the receiver from the cradle—only to hear a dial tone.

  Heart hammering against her chest, she wondered if the woman might have said more. Joanne’s eyes burned with hot tears as she retreated to the sink, and her hands trembled as she pulled off the stained paper and placed her finger beneath the cold tap water. She watched the blood swirl down the drain…like the hope that had dissipated with that telephone call.

  When the stinging sensation stopped, Joanne grasped a clean sheet of toweling, blotted her finger and headed for the bathroom to find a bandage. As she pulled the a
dhesive strip from its container, the doorbell rang. She glanced at the mirror, startled by her pale reflection. Carrying the bandage into the living room she opened the door.

  Benjamin stood behind the storm door cradling a bouquet of flowers, but his smile faded when he saw her face. He grasped the door handle and stepped inside. “What happened?”

  “I cut myself,” she said, holding up the strip.

  He placed the flowers on a lamp table and pulled away the toweling. “You might need stitches.”

  “Just a bandage. Okay?”

  He held her hand in his palm. “Then at least put an antiseptic on it. You don’t want to get bacteria in the wound.”

  She agreed and followed him into the bathroom, where she pointed out the cream. He spread the ointment on her cut, then covered it with the adhesive bandage. When he finished, he raised her finger to his lips and kissed the spot.

  She smiled while her heart ached. How many times had she kissed Mandy’s boo-boos?

  “How’d you cut yourself?” Benjamin asked, grabbing the flowers and following her into the kitchen.

  “Thanks for the bouquet,” she said, wishing she could forget the wretched phone call. She located a vase in the cabinet and filled it with water, then added the flowers. “It’s beautiful.”

  He touched her arm, and when she turned toward him, he looked into her eyes and shook his head. “Another call?”

  She nodded. Benjamin seemed to read her expression. “This one was worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “She asked me if Mandy’s body had been found.”

  “What?” His face blanched.

  “I hung up, and then I panicked. What if she knows something about the accident? I didn’t give her a chance to say anything else.”

  “Oh, Joanne,” he said through a deep sigh.

  He drew her against his chest and held her there while she breathed in his familiar scent. His arms gave her comfort, and pressed against him, she let her emotions flow freely while he swayed and caressed her back in small circles.

  Her tears soaked his jacket. Too much, she thought. Too much for one person. Yet she knew God promised not to give her more than she could handle. Finally she eased away, embarrassed that she’d allowed herself to give in to sorrow.

  “God gives me a lot more credit for strength and courage than I have.” She tried to smile—anything to break the gloom that seemed to follow her.

  He didn’t speak, but slipped his arm around her shoulders and led her to the sofa. “Here’s the good news,” he said drawing her closer. “You’ve had the third call.”

  “That was the victory,” she said. “I know what I should do now. Report it to the phone company and then call the police.”

  “What else would you do, Joanne? This is what you’ve waited for.”

  She held up her hand. “But wait. I’m confused. I’m terribly mixed up.”

  “We both are, and that’s why we need to report this.”

  Fear filled her. “No, Benjamin. I don’t want to scare her away. I need to know more. What if she knows something about Mandy. What if I do something that frightens her enough that she never calls back?”

  “Why is she calling? Let’s make some sense out of this. If this truly has to do with Mandy and this woman doesn’t want to be caught, then why is she calling? What’s her motive?”

  She pressed her face into her hands. “I don’t know.”

  “Joanne, look at me.”

  She ignored him and kept her face hidden.

  He slid his fingers beneath her chin and urged her to raise her head. “Look. You can’t solve this by yourself. We can ask to have the telephone tapped. That will tell us where the calls originate.”

  “They’ve been blocked.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Even blocked calls can be identified by authorities from the telephone switching facility.”

  Her gaze searched his. “I don’t know.”

  “I do know.”

  “I’m not doubting your word. I’m afraid. What if Mandy is alive? What if she’s in danger?”

  Benjamin’s face twisted. “You don’t know that Mandy is alive. This woman might know something, or she could have another purpose in mind. You don’t know anything. If Mandy is alive, time is of the essence. We’ll call the police. I have a detective friend who might help us.” He eased her onto the sofa. “Stay there, and let me call.”

  “I have a powerful feeling, Benjamin.”

  “Please don’t get your hopes too high. Crackpots roam the earth. They get their kicks from hurting people.”

  “I know, but I feel it in here.” She pushed her hand against her chest where her heart ached.

  He gave her a gentle look that brought tears to her eyes. Benjamin truly cared, and she thanked the Lord he’d come back into her life. So many people had fled from her after Greg died, but he’d returned. She rose. “I’ll come with you. I have meat on the counter.”

  “Meat? I thought we were going out.”

  “It was my surprise.”

  His gaze was tender. “Thanks, but right now, it can wait. Let me call and find out when Hank can see you.” He lifted his finger as a gentle warning and vanished through the doorway.

  Joanne leaned back against the cushion, feeling drained of energy. Benjamin’s kindness wrapped around her. His thoughtfulness went beyond the call of friendship, and she knew a home-cooked dinner or a night on the town could never repay him for just being there, especially now. She sensed she was on the brink of something, yet anxiety coursed through her. She feared Benjamin was right. Her hopes set her up for deeper hurt.

  She longed to disobey Benjamin’s finger-shake and follow him to find out what the detective would say. Instead she rested her hand in her lap, feeling the throb of the recent wound that matched the ache in her heart.

  Chapter Six

  Benjamin stood in the kitchen with his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. Who would do this to Joanne? He closed his eyes, grasping for unimaginable answers. Joanne didn’t deserve harassment. She’d been through enough for a lifetime.

  He glanced at the beef on the counter, and her efforts touched him. A home-cooked meal. What could be nicer for a man who thought a can of spaghetti was home cooking? So many times he’d sat at the kitchen table talking with Greg while Mandy played beneath his feet. Joanne, always the gracious hostess, would come into the kitchen with her warm smile and offer him a snack or something to drink.

  Benjamin propelled his legs to the telephone and pulled a list of telephone numbers from his wallet, then punched in the detective’s. “Is Hank Cortezi available?” he asked when an officer answered. Benjamin prayed Cortezi was on duty. He glanced at his watch, suddenly realizing the time.

  “Cortezi.” A raspy bass voice boomed through the receiver.

  “Hank, this is Benjamin Drake.”

  The detective listened while Benjamin told him the details.

  “We can put a trace on her line. That’s about it. Have her come in tomorrow morning. I’ll tell her how to get it set up. We’ll go from there and hope it helps. The calls probably mean nothing, but I’ll check out the reports we have here. When did her husband’s accident happen?”

  Benjamin gave him the date. The memory ate at his stomach as he relived the night in his mind.

  “I’ll let you know if I spot anything unusual in the report.”

  “Thanks, Hank. I’ll have Joanne there in the morning.” He lowered the telephone, then heard Cortezi’s voice again.

  “Drake?”

  Benjamin brought the receiver to his ear. “Yes.”

  “Tell her to think. She’s probably offended someone, or see if anyone’s paying unusual attention to her. You know, anything out of the ordinary.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  He lowered the receiver while his mind swam with questions. He knew little about Joanne really. He didn’t know her friends or co-workers. She hadn’t mentioned any friends since he’d returned, except the
woman she worked with. Who would play such a cruel joke? Joke? The word made him cringe. He turned away from the telephone. He and Joanne had to talk.

  Benjamin returned to the living room and eyed Joanne’s curious face.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “You can have a trace on your phone. He’ll explain it tomorrow when you go in to see him, but for now he suggests we talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Talk it through. He wants you to review the details of the calls. Come up with possible suspects.”

  “Suspects?” A puzzled look settled on her face. “Did he believe you? Did he think I’m crazy?”

  Benjamin strode to her side and rested his hands on her shoulders. “He believes you’re being harassed. That’s what’s important. You’ll go in and give them the statement, then find out about the phone trace.” He tilted her chin up. “Now you have to think.”

  “I’ve given it thought. It’s useless.” She placed her hands on his and grasped them. “Let me up and I’ll do something with that beef.”

  “Beef?”

  “In the kitchen.” She gave a head toss in that direction. “We can discuss it there. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  He didn’t think so. Not after all the confusion, but he gave up fighting her. He realized Joanne needed something to do to keep her busy. Nervous energy sparked in her eyes.

  He followed her, knowing she didn’t want food any more than he did. In the kitchen, she headed for the counter while he strode to the telephone and hit the caller ID log.

  “Blocked call.”

  “I told you. It’s always blocked.”

  He ambled back to the table and sank into a kitchen chair, watching her sauté the beef and slice onions. After she added water and covered it, Joanne joined him at the table.

  “If I hadn’t hung up, she might have said more.”

  Tears welled again in her eyes, and Benjamin reached across the table, capturing her hand. “If it’s important, she’ll call again. Something is obviously keeping her from talking.”