Читать книгу Wish Upon a Christmas Star - Darlene Gardner, Darlene Gardner - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
LOGAN SPOTTED ANNALISE DiMarco the instant he entered the noisy Italian restaurant, which was decorated for the holidays with strung holly and tiny white lights.
He barely had time to breathe in the scents of spicy tomato sauce and baked bread before she sprang to her feet. After pausing to say something to her dining companion, a black-haired woman with her back to the door—who had to be Maria—rushed to his side.
“Hey, Annalise.” Logan leaned down to kiss her cheek. He’d barely connected when she grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the side of the hostess stand, nearer the exit and the coat rack.
“Hey, Logan,” she said conversationally, as though she hadn’t just hijacked him. “Thanks for coming.”
Annalise had the dark hair and light eyes common to the DiMarcos, except her hair was brown and her eyes green. The oldest sibling, she was also the only one with children. With Logan’s help, she and her husband had invested wisely enough that they should be able to fulfill their goal of paying for their two sons’ college educations.
“For a minute there I thought you were going to push me out the door.” He would have gone through it eagerly if Annalise had changed her mind about what she’d asked of him.
“Nothing like that,” she said. “I was getting you out of Maria’s field of vision. You know, in case she turns around to see if I really went to the restroom.”
He groaned. “I thought Maria knew that I was meeting both of you here.”
Annalise shook her head. “Not exactly. You know how I called and asked if you needed directions to the restaurant?”
“Yeah.” He’d thought that was odd considering Donatelli’s had occupied the same location for twenty years.
“I was supposed to tell you not to come. Maria practically ordered me.”
“Ordered you? That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not good,” she confessed. “Her exact words were something like, ‘No way in hell am I talking to him.’”
Logan winced. He should have anticipated that. The days were long gone when Maria would jump into his arms and kiss him whenever more than twenty-four hours went by without them seeing each other.
“Don’t let it bother you,” Annalise said. “Maria doesn’t want to talk to me about this, either. She hasn’t changed, you know. She’s still hardheaded when she makes up her mind about something.”
Logan cleared his throat, preparing to ask the question that had been uppermost in his mind since Annalise had phoned him. “Does she really believe Mike’s alive?”
His voice broke on Mike’s name. Logan hadn’t spoken the youngest DiMarco’s name aloud in years. He’d thought about him, though, especially when the anniversary of 9/11 rolled around. On those dates, Logan was consumed by memories of Mike DiMarco.
A teenage couple entered the restaurant hand in hand, their eyes locked on each other, the corners of their mouths lifted in smiles. It wasn’t only the girl’s long, straight black hair that reminded Logan of Maria. It was the way she looked at her boyfriend.
“She’s a private investigator,” Annalise said. “She has to know there could be another explanation. And the way she was talking, it sounds like she’s leaning that way.”
He nodded once, fully understanding why Annalise had phoned him. Mike DiMarco was dead. Period. Nothing but pain lay ahead for Maria if she let herself believe otherwise.
“Okay. I’ll do my best to convince her she’s on the wrong track.” He swept a hand to indicate Annalise should precede him into the dining room, where the young couple was following a hostess to a table. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Oh, I’m not going back in there.” Annalise walked past him to the coat rack and rummaged through a number of winter garments before pulling out a black leather one. “I left my jacket over here so I could sneak out.”
Everything inside Logan went still. “Maria won’t like that.”
“Maria hasn’t liked anything I’ve said to her for the past hour,” her sister said. “She wouldn’t have come to dinner if she hadn’t promised to treat me. If I stay, it’ll seem like we’re ganging up on her.”
“If you go,” Logan said slowly, “I won’t like it, either.”
“Thanks for coming to help out,” Annalise said, shrugging into her jacket, which looked too thin to keep her warm. She headed for the exit but turned before she reached it. “Almost forgot to tell you, I drove. Maria’s car is at her office. You can take her back, right? Thanks!”
She whirled and fled, leaving Logan to gather his courage for a conversation he should have had in the aftermath of the terrorist attack.
There was something about that day he’d never told anybody, something that had been eating at him ever since.
If the information would help Maria, it was time he got it off his chest, even if it made her dislike him more than she already did.
* * *
ANNALISE WAS TAKING AN awfully long time in the restroom. If Maria had insisted on them both driving, she could have jotted down an apology on a napkin and sneaked out.
She regretted coming to dinner at all. She itched to be at the computer, squaring away her flight, or on the phone working the case instead of listening to Annalise tell her not to go to Key West.
At least she’d gotten it through her sister’s thick skull that she had no intention of meeting with Logan Collier.
The text tone on her cell phone buzzed. She rummaged through her voluminous leather purse on her lap, annoyed at herself for not putting the phone in the zippered compartment. The text was from Annalise and consisted of one word: Sorry.
“Hello, Maria.”
Logan. She jerked her gaze from her sister’s apologetic text to the man she’d once loved with her whole heart. The breath left her, exactly as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
He wasn’t quite six feet tall yet seemed taller because of his excellent posture. He was nearly as lean as he’d been as a teenager but more muscular. His thick brown hair was shorter, although it still sprang back from his forehead and the strands at his nape still curled. Age lent his regular features character and added fine lines that bracketed the hazel eyes she’d always thought were so pretty.
Maria had to consciously tell herself to stop staring and start breathing again. “Hello, Logan.”
“Mind if I join you?” He nodded to the chair Annalise had vacated after their waitress had cleared away the dinner dishes. Despite the apologetic text, Maria didn’t want to believe her sister had cut out on her.
“Annalise is sitting there,” she said.
“Was sitting there,” he corrected. “She’s gone.”
“I can’t believe it.” Maria shook her head as it sank in that her sister had abandoned her. “I told her I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“For the record, I thought you knew I was coming.” He indicated the chair again. “So can I sit down? You might want to say yes, because I’m your ride.”
Maria’s pulse skittered. It was all her sister’s fault. Annalise was going to pay.
“By all means.” She worked on composing herself while he took off his black wool car coat. Underneath he wore a burgundy long-sleeved shirt that made him appear vibrant and engaging. He settled across from her.
Before either of them could say a word, their young blonde waitress arrived with two cups of coffee and two slices of chocolate cheesecake. Annalise had remarked earlier in the evening that the girl looked as if she was having a bad day. Not anymore. A smile stretched across her pretty face.
“Well, hello there,” she said to Logan. “You must have just arrived. I couldn’t have missed you.”
“You’re right. I just got here.” One corner of Logan’s mouth lifted in a way that used to make Maria melt when they were teenagers.
The half smile appeared to have the same effect on the waitress. It had been that way in the old days, too. Females found Logan attractive. Maria had always thought it was because he didn’t seem to realize exactly how good-looking he was.
“My sister left,” Maria announced to get the waitress’s attention. “We won’t be having dessert and coffee, after all.”
“Are you sure?” She tilted her head and chewed her bottom lip. “I’m not certain I can take them back. You did order them.”
“Then just leave everything on the table,” Logan said. “We’ll be here for a little while longer.”
“Great!” Her enthusiasm was out of proportion to the situation. “Hope you enjoy!”
“Didn’t mean to step on your toes there, but she doesn’t seem real experienced,” he said when the waitress was gone. “Besides, I can always go for a piece of cheesecake.”
He’d always had a sweet tooth. In high school, when they were dating, Maria used to make it a point to have home-baked chocolate chip cookies on hand when they studied together at her house.
“By all means, dig in,” she said.
He took a bite of cheesecake, and her eyes arrowed straight to his mouth. With lips that were slightly full for a man’s, he had a gorgeous one. She shifted in her seat, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. They hadn’t been alone since they’d broken up, senior year of high school. In all that time, she’d seen him only once, at her brother’s memorial service. If, that is, she didn’t count the time she’d spotted him at the mall and ducked into a children’s clothing store to avoid him.
“How long are you home for?” she asked.
“Just a few days.” He’d never had much of an accent—most people who lived in the Lexington area didn’t—but any trace of Kentucky in his speech was entirely gone. “My parents are leaving for a cruise on Wednesday and I’ve got to get back to work.”
Ah, work. It defined him. If not for his insistence on going out of state to the University of Michigan to get a master’s degree in business so he could make the almighty buck, they’d still be together.
She’d wanted him to stick closer to home—and to her—by pursuing his dream of becoming a painter at an art school in Louisville. They could have moved into an apartment together, with Maria getting a job that would have paid the rent.
He’d called her proposal too risky, refusing to consider art school and declaring that he needed to be financially secure before he’d live with anyone.
The fact that he hadn’t loved her enough to take a chance on them still stung.
“Are you at the same firm in New York?” She didn’t know why she asked when she already knew the answer. The financial giant had hired Logan right out of college, where he’d managed to get both his bachelor’s degree and MBA in four years. If he’d changed jobs, Annalise would have mentioned it. She and her husband still used Logan to manage their finances. Since the firm where he worked was such a powerhouse, Maria was sure Logan kept them on as a favor.
“The same one,” he answered.
“And still conscientious, I see.” Maria couldn’t hold back the rest of her thought. “You’re rushing to get back to work when most other people are going on holiday.”
His shoulders stiffened. “It’s a good job.”
“I’m happy for you, then.” She wanted to know if he was still painting, except that was another volatile topic of discussion. Better to leave it be.
“How are things with you?” he asked.
“Can’t complain.” She picked up her fork, then put it down. She’d barely been able to choke down dinner. She wouldn’t be able to eat the dessert Annalise had talked her into ordering. “I quit the police force four years ago to go into private investigation. I’m a one-woman show, but I like it that way.”
“I heard you got divorced,” he said.
She was probably imagining the edge to his voice. He hadn’t cared enough to hang on to her, so why would her ex-husband be a sensitive subject?
“That was a while back,” she said. Before she’d left the sheriff’s office but after she’d made the decision to quit. “We weren’t a good match.”
Logan nodded, saying nothing, and added two creams and two sugars to his coffee.
“How’s the family?” he asked before he took a swig.
She avoided looking at his mouth, determined not to get sidetracked. “Everybody’s good. You keep up with Annalise. My parents are still working, and Jack’s going back to school to work with developmentally disabled kids. I think he’ll be engaged soon.”
“Glad to hear it.” Logan licked a drop of coffee from his lower lip. He put down the cup and rested his wrists on the table. “Do they know you think Mike might still be alive?”
The conversation and background music that had created a constant hum since she’d arrived at Donatelli’s Restaurant seemed to fade. Her ears rang with the question. No way could she avoid the subject any longer.
“No,” she stated. “I thought it would be better not to say anything until I know something definite.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s pretty obvious. Losing Mike was hard enough the first time. I don’t want them to have to go through that pain again.”
“That’s why I agreed to talk to you when Annalise called.” Logan leaned forward slightly, pinning her with his gaze. “Mike’s dead, Maria.”
She dragged her eyes away from the certainty in his. “How much do you know about what’s going on?”
“I only know what Annalise told me,” he said.
“Then I’ll fill you in.” Once she shared the details, maybe both Logan and Annalise would leave her alone to conduct her investigation. She relayed the day’s events, omitting nothing.
He listened in silence with his arms crossed over his chest. When she was through talking, he released a harsh breath. “Someone’s playing a sick joke. But it’s not Mike.”
“How can you possibly be sure of that?” Maria snapped.
“I already told you,” Logan said. “Mike’s dead, Maria. He died on 9/11. You’ve got to accept that.”
“Did you personally witness him going inside the World Trade Tower that day?” she asked.
“No, but I talked to him that morning. He was up early because he was working the breakfast shift.”
She picked up a thin wooden stick and stirred her coffee, watching the circular pattern as she thought about what Logan had said. Finally, she looked up to find his hazel eyes trained on her.
“What if he didn’t go to work that day?” she asked, the idea gaining momentum. “Mike never could stick to anything. He quit a ton of summer jobs for one reason or another.”
“Okay, let’s go with that,” Logan said. “Then why didn’t he come back to my apartment and get his things? Why didn’t he let anybody know he was alive?”
Very good questions, Maria thought. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
“Listen to yourself,” Logan argued. “You sound like you’ve already convinced yourself he’s alive.”
“I’m a private investigator,” she said. “I know enough not to jump to conclusions before I have proof.”
“You’ll never find proof, Maria. I know you want to believe Mike’s out there somewhere. Hell, I’d like to believe it, too. But he died that day.” Logan ran a hand over his mouth, a gesture that used to mean he was upset. His brows drew together. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She was almost afraid to hear it. This time she was the one who crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”
He pursed his lips and blew a breath out through his nose. “You know I was the one who got Mike the job at Windows on the World?”
Maria nodded. Logan had also given her brother a place to stay in Manhattan. At first she had been angry about that. She’d told her parents that Mike might have come home if Logan hadn’t let him sleep on his sofa. Her folks had countered that Mike might just as likely have lived on the streets.
“He didn’t much like being a busboy,” Logan said. “The morning the towers fell, he talked about quitting.”
“I knew it!” Maria cried.
“Hold on.” Logan put up a hand. “I hadn’t charged him anything up to that point. I told him he needed to help with rent.”
“So he was going to quit,” Maria said, her mind spinning. This revelation made it more likely that Mike was alive.
“You’re not hearing me,” Logan said. “He couldn’t help with the rent if he was unemployed. I told him he needed to keep the busboy job until he found another one. I talked him into going to work that day.”
“You don’t know that,” Maria retorted. “Mike was bullheaded. If he wanted to quit, he would have.”
“I don’t think so,” Logan said. “Even if that’s true, he would have gone in to work and given notice.”
“Not if he phoned,” Maria said. Something else occurred to her. “Maybe he didn’t feel any loyalty to the people there. Maybe he just didn’t show up.”
Logan shook his head. “You’re grasping at straws. No way would Mike let your family believe he was dead.”
“He dropped out of high school and ran away from home, Logan,” she said. “He was on the outs with us.”
“He wasn’t a vindictive kid,” Logan said.
“He was a rebellious one,” Maria countered. “My parents caught him drinking or skipping school or staying out all night lots of times. He wanted to do his own thing without getting hassled.”
“It’s one thing to be rebellious,” Logan said. “It’s another to let your family go through the heartache of believing you’re dead.”
Logan probably thought he sounded like the voice of reason. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him she couldn’t rest until she’d eliminated any chance that Mike was alive. Logan was just as closed-minded as always. If he’d been able to open his mind to possibilities, they’d be married right now.
“I hadn’t looked at it from that perspective.” She pretended to look thoughtful. She had to wrench the next words from her mouth. “Perhaps you’re right.”
His mouth dropped open. He closed it and let out a heavy breath. “Believe me, that doesn’t bring me any happiness.”
She nodded.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked.
“What do you think I should do?”
“You should drop it,” he said. “It’s a cruel trick that isn’t worth your time.”
Maria tried to look pensive. “You’re probably right.”
“So you’re not going to Key West?”
“What would be the point?” She put her credit card inside the leather billfold the waitress had dropped by their table, and rose. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”
He hesitated only a moment before answering. “Sure.”
On the way to the restroom, Maria stopped at the hostess stand and placed a request. Within minutes, she rejoined Logan. Her credit card was on the table, but nothing else.
“Didn’t the waitress bring me a receipt?” she asked.
Logan said, “I switched out our credit cards and went ahead and paid the bill.”
“Nobody asked you to do that,” she said.
“I wanted to.”
Because he was flaunting what a success he’d made of himself? Even as the thought came into her head, she knew it wasn’t true. Logan had always been generous with what he had, even when he was a broke high school kid.
“Thank you,” she managed to say. “We should go. You won’t be in town long. I don’t want to keep you from your family.”
“My parents like you,” Logan said. “They won’t mind waiting while I drive you back to your office.”
“They won’t have to wait,” Maria said on the way to the coat rack. He helped her on with her coat, brushing against her in the process. A shiver ran the length of her body.
“Oh?” he said. “Why’s that?”
She pointed through the glass doors to where a taxi idled at the curb. “I had the hostess call a cab.”
He looked wounded. “I would have driven you.”
“I know,” she said. “Have a nice Christmas, Logan.”
“You, too,” he said.
She pushed open the doors and hurried to the cab, forcing herself not to turn around for a final glance at him. When she closed the taxi door behind her, she felt as though she were shutting out a past that included Logan. Once upon a time, she never could have fooled him with that guileless act. The fact that she had done so proved they’d become strangers.
She choked back a sob. Now was not the time to let herself get teary over the way she and Logan used to be. She needed to concentrate on finding out whether or not her brother was alive.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON Maria drove over the Seven Mile Bridge that led to the Lower Keys. Her flight had landed in Miami almost three hours earlier. Flying into the major city had saved her hundreds in plane fare. Even with the cost of the rental car, she was still ahead of the game had she flown into Key West.
She’d expected the hundred-and-fifty-five-mile drive to go more quickly. How was she to know that the scenic route through the Florida Keys would be a two-lane road, with cars clogging traffic whenever they entered or left the highway?
If not for occasional holiday decorations on shops and houses, it wouldn’t seem a bit like Christmas. Long stretches of the Overseas Highway were flanked by shimmering blue water on both sides, sometimes dotted with sprawling areas of emerald-green. When she’d stopped for gas, the cashier had told her the green patches marked sea grass beds and shallow reefs.
The Seven Mile Bridge, which spanned a channel linking the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, was the most beautiful part of the drive yet. Seabirds soared through the clear sky, boats traversed the water and people fished from an old bridge, parallel to the new one, that was missing a piece in the middle.
Lexington and Logan Collier seemed very far away.
Maria was still irked at Annalise for calling Logan. It was crazy, but the old hurts had resurfaced as she’d sat across from him in the restaurant. Never mind that she’d been married and divorced since she’d been with Logan. She still felt like that girl who’d bared her heart and been rejected.
She’d almost convinced herself it would be okay not to inform Annalise that she was going to Key West. Almost, but not quite. After 9/11, the entire DiMarco family, Maria included, kept close tabs on each other.
She’d taken the coward’s way out, though, sending a text instead of phoning. Predictably, Annalise had responded by calling her cell. Maria hadn’t answered. She had more important uses for her mental energy than arguing with her sister.
She was already operating on a lack of sleep. Last night when she’d gotten home from the restaurant, she’d spent hours on the computer. She hadn’t been able to locate the right Mike DiMarco on any social network sites or find mention of him or Key West on the pages of his high school friends.
Every classmate she’d tried had a Facebook page except Billy Tillman, who’d been tight with Mike since grade school. She’d called Billy’s mother in an attempt to track him down. As Maria left the bridge for one of the string of islands that made up the Keys, she mentally replayed part of the conversation she’d had with Julia Tillman.
“Key West?” the woman had exclaimed. “Why would Billy be in Key West?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, Mrs. Tillman,” Maria said. “Has Billy ever talked about Key West?”
“I already told you. Billy’s in San Francisco. He moved there a few years ago.”
“Did he ever mention if any of his friends lived in Key West or vacationed there?” Maria asked.
“No. Never,” she said. “Who did you say you were again?”
“Mike DiMarco’s sister.”
“Mike? The poor boy who died on 9/11? That Mike?”
Maria had to stop herself from telling the older woman reports of her brother’s death may have been exaggerated. “That Mike.”
“Such a tragedy, that was. My Billy was torn up about it.”
“We all were, Mrs. Tillman,” Maria said and asked for her son’s cell phone number. Mrs. Tillman didn’t have it handy. Once she promised she’d have Billy call, Maria rang off before Mrs. Tillman could ask any more questions.
Maria didn’t want to explain about the phone call and photos Caroline Webb had received. She couldn’t listen to anyone else telling her how unlikely it was that her brother was behind them.
If even the ghost of a chance existed that Mike was alive, she needed to investigate. Admittedly, an envelope with a Key West postmark wasn’t a lot to go on. But until Maria scoured every inch of Key West and determined that her brother wasn’t on the island, she wasn’t ready to concede anything.
The task didn’t seem terribly daunting. The island was roughly four miles long and two miles wide, with hotels, shops and restaurants packed close together. She should be able to cover a lot of territory in a short amount of time.
Her first inkling that finding someone on the small island might not be that easy came thirty minutes later. She’d booked a hotel on the far side of the island. The traffic en route was bumper to bumper.
A pale pink, two-story building with a circular entranceway flanked by tall palm trees caught her eye while she waited behind a line of cars at a red light. The police station. An excellent place to start her search.
She pulled into the parking lot and minutes later walked into the empty reception area. A burly middle-aged officer with a full head of white hair manned the counter. His name tag read Sergeant Pepper. She did a double take. No, it was Sergeant Peppler. He gazed at her expectantly, a bored expression on his face.
“My name’s Maria DiMarco,” she announced. “Is there somebody I can talk to about a missing person?”
The sergeant perked up. “You can talk to me.”
Maria knew how the police worked. He wouldn’t hook her up with a detective unless he thought her story had merit. It wouldn’t hurt to get him on her side.
“I used to be on the force, too,” she said. “In Kentucky. The Fayette County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Oh, yeah?” He stroked a beard as white as his hair. With his coloring, he could probably get a second job masquerading as Santa. “What do you do now?”
It figured he would focus on the wrong part of her revelation. “I’m a private investigator.”
Sergeant Peppler snorted. In Maria’s experience, only about fifty percent of the cops she ran across had a full appreciation of the profession she’d chosen. The other half acted as though P.I.s existed to interfere with police investigations.
“So this missing person,” Peppler said, eyes narrowed, “it’s for a case you’re working?”
“Not exactly.” She reached into her purse, dug out a computer-generated age progression of her brother and set it on the counter. She’d gotten the image off a generic website that instantly aged people in uploaded photos. “I’m looking for my brother.”
The cop raised an eyebrow. “This is an age progression. How long has he been missing?”
She’d rather not tell him but couldn’t avoid his direct question. “Eleven years.” She fired the next questions. “Does he look familiar? Have you seen him?”
“No.” Peppler shoved the paper back at her. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
“That’s it? You don’t want to know why I think my brother is in Key West?”
“Lady, I’m sure you’re aware of how police departments operate,” he said. “It’s the start of the high season for us. That means crowds and lots and lots of tourists. We don’t have the resources to devote to someone who’s been missing for eleven years.”
“Could you at least see if he’s in your database? I think he might have lived here for a while.” Maria had nothing concrete to back up that theory. It stood to reason, though, that Key West’s remote location made it a good place if you wanted to fly under the radar.
The tired look came back into Peppler’s eyes. His mouth was set, as though he was about to refuse. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “If it’ll get you out of here, sure. What’s his name?”
“Mike DiMarco.” She spelled out the last name and provided her brother’s date of birth and social security number. Even though she’d already run Mike’s particulars through some national databases, she couldn’t trust that the information was one hundred percent accurate. To be thorough, it didn’t hurt to check local channels.
The sergeant held up a finger, went to a nearby computer and typed in the information. While he was busy, a woman with a black eye came into the station and got in line behind Maria. A minute later, Peppler was back at the counter.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” he told the woman. To Maria, he said, “Nope. Nothing on anybody named DiMarco.”
Just as she had suspected. She’d all but established that he’d have to be using an assumed identity. “He could be going by another name.”
“What name?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Peppler rested both forearms on the counter. “Why do you think your brother is in Key West under an alias?”
She knew better than to tell him everything. “Mike’s ex-girlfriend got an envelope of photos that appeared to be from him. It had a Key West postmark.”
“Appeared to be?” Peppler picked up on the operative words.
“I misspoke,” Maria said, annoyed at herself for planting the seed of doubt in Peppler’s mind. If Mike was in Key West, she’d never find him if she didn’t put a positive spin on things. “The photos were from Mike.”
The woman behind her made an interested noise, not bothering to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping.
A crease appeared between the sergeant’s white eyebrows. “Just because he mailed the photos from Key West doesn’t mean he’s in Key West.”
Maria couldn’t argue with that conclusion. She’d arrived at the same one a short time ago.
“I’m exploring the possibility,” she said. “Perhaps you could direct me to somebody local who knows everybody.”
“You’re looking at him,” he said. “I’ve lived in Key West all my life and been a cop for twenty-five years. You’ll be wasting your time talking to other locals.”
“I’m a native, too, and I’ve never seen him before.” The comment came from the lady behind Maria, who was peering over her shoulder.
“He could be a tourist.” The sergeant tapped the photo. “Problem is your brother might not look like this. He might have gained weight. He could have a beard. Or long hair. Hell, maybe he even shaved his head.”
Earlier in the year Maria had worked on a child abduction case in which an age progression played a key part. Thirty years after the kidnapping, the victim bore a remarkable resemblance to the aged image.
“Or maybe Mike looks just like this.” She didn’t see any point in prolonging her stay at the police station. Sergeant Peppler wasn’t going to provide any information that would help her. She got out a business card and set it on the counter next to the age progression. “Could you keep this and show it around to the other officers? If anyone recognizes him, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Don’t expect one,” the officer said. “People come and go in Key West. Even if that age progression is the spitting image of your brother, he might not look familiar to anybody.”
Maria left the police station, spotted a branch of the Key West post office and swung in. She didn’t have any better luck there. After checking into a slightly run-down hotel that had appeared a lot nicer on its website, she pounded the pavement in the tourist district, flashing a copy of the age progression at anyone who agreed to take a look. By the time she got back to her hotel at midnight, she was fighting frustration.
Unbidden, Logan’s voice filled her head.
“Mike’s dead, Maria. He died on 9/11. You’ve got to accept that.”
She’d accepted a lot of disappointment in her life, including Logan’s refusal to take a chance on her when they were both eighteen. She’d be damned if she’d accept this.
