Читать книгу Finding Christmas - Gail Martin Gaymer - Страница 12

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.