Finding Christmas. Gail Martin Gaymer
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
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
“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