Wish Upon a Christmas Star (11 page)

“Now let that dart fly,” he said.

She concentrated on what he’d told her, this time hitting the
ten, the twelve and the fourteen. Her contribution wasn’t nearly enough even
though Alex was the best player in their foursome. Jorge and Nalani prevailed
and advanced to the next round.

Alex snagged a table for two near the action, pulling out a
chair for Kayla. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had done that.

She sat down. Across from her, Alex looked darkly handsome.
“I’m sorry I wrecked your chances to do well in the tournament.”

“Forget about that,” he said. “I’m glad you could come at all.
I thought you might be tied up on surveillance.”

“I have to leave at ten o’clock,” she said. “I’m pulling
another all-nighter.”

“I might stop by later tonight to say hello, then.”

“Oh, I won’t be in my car,” Kayla said. “I’ll be watching Santa
from the comfort of my own home.”

His nose scrunched up. “How will you do that?”

“I’ll show you.” She reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out
her smartphone and went to the video stream of Santa. “It’s really cool. We
installed a wireless security camera in the souvenir shop across the street from
the statue.”

“We? I thought you were a solo operator.”

“I’ve got a—” Kayla hesitated, thinking about how to word it
“—a consultant who knows about these things. Once we connected the camera to a
router, we could access the feed. Voilà! Twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

“That’s why you keep looking at your phone,” he said.

She nodded. “I check Santa every ten or fifteen minutes. It
seems pretty unlikely anything will happen while the night’s still young,
though.”

“What if it does?” he asked. “Won’t you miss it?”

“I’m staying up all night, but the camera has a recorder and a
rewind button. Even if I don’t see the guy in the act, I’ll have him on
tape.”

Alex took a long pull of beer. “As long as the newspaper
doesn’t get any more embarrassing photos, sounds good to me.”

“About that.” Kayla took a deep breath. “There’s something I
should tell you. The
Sun
almost got a shot like that
this morning.”

She told him about waking up to find that somebody had marked
up Santa and how she’d rushed to a nearby drugstore for toothpaste and baking
soda and wiped Santa clean. As she was walking away, she’d noticed a
photographer wearing a
Key West Sun
T-shirt
approaching the statue. She hadn’t stuck around to talk to him.

“That was lucky,” Alex said.

“You’re telling me. The thing is, it was really early in the
morning. Before seven. Who’d expect a photographer to be on the scene so
fast?”

“Maybe the photographers make a habit of driving by Santa just
in case they can get another good photo,” Alex suggested.

“Possibly. But not that early in the morning. I think somebody
tipped him off.” Kayla wondered why this line of thought hadn’t occurred to her
before. “That could be how he got the photo of Zombie Santa, too.”

“Could be,” Alex said.

Kayla didn’t agree. She thought it was likely. She’d even go so
far as to say it was probable. She’d find out tomorrow when she paid the
Sun
photo department a visit.

CHAPTER EIGHT

L
OGAN
STRAIGHTENED
FROM
the wall where he’d been leaning, watching Maria
leave the latest in a seemingly endless stream of bar managers who booked live
talent. She headed Logan’s way, weaving through the crowd.

She met his gaze and gave a quick shake of her head. This guy
had never seen Mike before, either.

Unlike most of the other women in the bar, she wore neither red
nor green. In a pale blue summer dress and with her long hair swaying slightly,
she was the picture of tired elegance. Her shoulders sloped, the corners of her
mouth sagged and putting one foot in front of the other seemed to be a
chore.

Enough was enough, Logan thought. He closed the gap between
them and took her gently by the arm.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested.

He expected an argument, but she nodded and let him guide her
from the bar. After leaving the sunset celebration, they’d spent the evening
walking from one establishment to the next, operating on her theory that Mike
might be making some money playing the guitar.

They hadn’t found him, of course. Nor had any of the bar
managers who booked live talent recognized the photo.

“Disappointing night.” Logan stated the obvious once they were
outside the bar at the renovated historic seaport, better known as the Key West
Bight. During the day, the Bight was the place to arrange a day on the water or
to peruse the shops and galleries. At night, visitors frequented restaurants and
bars that stayed open into the wee hours.

“I might be on the wrong track with the guitar,” she said.
“Just because Mike was into playing as a teenager doesn’t mean he still is.”

Logan was silent, letting her talk.

“I still need to check out some local bars on the other side of
the island,” she said, lines furrowing her forehead. “And Kayla gave me the
names of some more valets and concierges I haven’t talked to yet. She thought
they might know of businesses that pay their employees under the table, just in
case Mike is flying under the radar.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Logan said. “For tomorrow.”

“But...” Her voice trailed off and her chest heaved. “You’re
right. I’ve had about all the frustration I can stand for one night.”

“Let’s take the scenic route back,” he said. “It won’t take any
longer if we walk along the water for a few blocks. That way, we can enjoy the
Bight before Christmas.”

“The what?”

“That’s what they call the holiday celebration that’s going on
down here at the harbor,” he said. “The Harbor Walk of Lights is the main
attraction. So far, I’m impressed.”

“I haven’t paid much attention.” She looked around now. Nearest
them, tiny white lights covered the trunks of palm trees, with strings of green
lights fanning out to the swaying fronds. The effect was festive and tropical
all at once.

“Wow, that’s pretty,” she said. “I think I would like walking
along the water.”

Holiday lights twinkled all around them, even under the water.
Logan knew that the city had hosted a boat parade earlier in the month. Most of
the vessels docked at the Bight were still decorated, with their lights shining
even though it was after midnight. Lights snaked up masts, encircled railings
and formed familiar shapes, wreaths, sleighs, angels, elves and trees among
them. Along the shore, some shops and restaurants had gone with an all-white
theme. Other lights glowed red, orange, green, yellow and blue.

“This is nice,” Maria said. “Different from the Southern Lights
in Lexington but just as beautiful.”

Logan hadn’t thought of the Southern Lights in years, a light
display that stretched for miles through the Kentucky Horse Park, celebrating
both the holiday season and the Kentucky horse culture.

“Do you still go?” he asked.

“Every year with Annalise and the boys,” Maria answered. “When
they were younger, they liked it so much they went twice, once with Annalise’s
husband and once with me. I haven’t gotten them out of the car yet, though.”

Most people toured the display by car, although some elected to
stroll through it. There was yet another way to see them.

“Remember when we jogged through the display?” He chuckled.
“That wasn’t the best way to appreciate the lights, especially when you
challenged me to a race the last mile.”

He’d let her take the lead because he enjoyed watching her run.
He’d liked watching her, period. He still did.

Maria was smiling. He didn’t know whether that was because of
the memories or the supersize garland that was draped around the ferry
terminal.

“You only won because you distracted me with those loud kissing
noises,” she said.

“Really?” He grinned. “I thought you lost on purpose so you
could give me my prize.”

He no longer remembered what he’d bet, only that he had every
intention of winning after she’d wagered a kiss. He’d collected it beside a
lit-up display of Santa riding a Thoroughbred. They hadn’t stopped kissing until
a young father with a bunch of kids in the car had laid on his horn. Then they’d
had an attack of laughter.

“We had some good times,” she said.

They approached a trio of live Christmas trees gracing a plaza.
Logan breathed in the scent of evergreens, enjoying himself more than he had
since arriving in Key West. “We’re still having them.”

“Not for long,” she said. “You’re leaving soon. It’ll probably
be another eleven years until we see each other again.”

He stopped dead. Even though the hour was late, couples and
small groups of people walked the harbor, their voices and laughter carrying on
the sea breeze.

“You really believe I’ll go to New York and forget about you?”
he asked.

“Why not? You’ve done it before.”

That was so far from the truth it was laughable. Maria had been
already married by the time Logan was a junior in college, but that didn’t stop
him from comparing every coed he met to her. All of them came up short. So did
the women he’d dated since graduating and moving to the city.

“I wasn’t the one who married someone else.” He hadn’t expected
his words to sound so accusing.

“Only because you jilted me,” she retorted.

He’d repeatedly resisted discussing the past with her, but he
couldn’t let that comment pass.

“That’s not how I remember it,” he challenged. “I wanted to
keep dating you while I was in college. You were the one who broke up with
me.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t care enough to take a chance on
us.”

“I didn’t care enough?” He heard the volume of his voice rising
and tried to tone it down. “How long did it take you to find another guy? Six
months?”

“At least Jerry loved me.”

“I loved you!”

She shook her head. “Not as much as Jerry. He had a single red
rose delivered to me every day for two weeks until I agreed to go to dinner with
him. On our first date, he said he knew I was the one.”

“So you married him when you were only twenty years old.”

“What did you think I’d do? Sit around pining for you?”

“I thought you’d eventually realize that by getting an
education I was making an investment in our future,” Logan said. “I thought we’d
get back together.”

“We never would have parted if you’d loved me enough.”

“How about Jerry?” Logan had believed he’d come to terms with
Maria’s marriage long ago, yet every time he said the other man’s name a shudder
ran through him. “If he loved you so much, why aren’t you still together?”

She looked away, out toward the rippling water and the
luminated boats. “It’s complicated. There were things about him I wasn’t aware
of when we got married.”

No surprise there. She couldn’t have known the guy very well
when they’d taken the plunge. Logan felt his hand ball into a fist. If Jerry had
mistreated her, he’d hunt him down and hurt him. “What things?”

She shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, yet he didn’t buy
that for a second. “He was...controlling. I wasn’t about to let him know where I
was every minute of every day, no matter how much he loved me.”

“Sounds more like obsession than love,” Logan said.

She seemed about to say more, then closed her mouth and shook
her head. “What’s the use of talking about this? What does it matter now?”

It mattered. He wasn’t sure why, just that it did. Now wasn’t
the time to discuss it, though, not when she was dead on her feet. He shouldn’t
have let himself get drawn into the conversation. She didn’t need any more
stress tonight.

“Okay,” he said. “But for the record, I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head, her expression unutterably sad. “Sorry
about what?”

“Sorry I didn’t fight harder for you,” Logan said. “No matter
how much you think Jerry loved you, it wasn’t as much as I did.”

* * *

C
OULD
IT
BE
POSSIBLE
that Maria had been wrong
about Logan not loving her enough? Not once in all the years since they’d been
apart had she second-guessed herself about the breakup. Until tonight.

He had sounded so sincere when he’d gazed into her eyes and
spoke of love.

A half dozen times since they’d left the harbor and started
walking back through the tourist area, she’d started to ask him why he hadn’t
tried harder to make her understand. She’d equated him not wanting to move in
with her while he went to art school in Louisville with not loving her enough.
What if she’d been wrong?

She continued to keep her thoughts to herself as they walked
side by side down Duval Street, because what she’d said at the dock still
applied.

They couldn’t turn back the clock. So what did it matter now,
eleven years after the fact?

A fair number of bars were still open, and most of the
restaurants and shops that were closed for the night had left on their holiday
lights. The moon and the stars shone in the clear night sky, adding natural
beauty to the evening.

A streak of light slashed across the darkness above.

“Oh, my gosh!” Maria stopped dead and pointed overhead. “Is
that another shooting star?”

“That’s a shooting star, all right.” Logan gazed upward, too.
“What do you mean by another one?”

“I saw one that night in Lexington when you showed up at the
restaurant to talk me out of coming to Key West,” she said.

“Hmm. I don’t think I’ve seen more than a handful of shooting
stars in my entire life.”

Could the star be a sign?

“My mother says if you see a shooting star before Christmas and
make a wish, it’ll come true.” Maria wasn’t sure why she told him that unless it
was to give her mom’s claim validity. Because, oh, she wanted desperately to
believe.

“I never figured you for the fanciful type,” he said, “but I
guess it can’t hurt to make a wish.”

Maria’s thoughts, exactly. She shut her eyes tight and mentally
repeated the wish she’d made that night in Lexington. She wouldn’t tell Logan
what it was, though. Her mother said the same rule applied to shooting stars and
the candles on a birthday cake. If you spoke your wish aloud, you’d jinx it.

She’d barely finished wishing when she caught the faint strains
of what sounded like guitar music. She strained her ears, trying to determine
whether it was her imagination. No. Somebody was playing a ballad on the guitar.
Not just any ballad, but one she’d heard Mike practicing in the basement.

“Sweet Caroline,” the Neil Diamond song with the catchy chorus.
Mike had been determined to perfect the song after he’d started dating Caroline
Webb, although nobody else in the DiMarco family would have labeled her as
sweet.

Maria laid a hand on Logan’s arm. “Can you tell where that
guitar music is coming from?”

“Sounds like the next block,” he said. “Probably a street
performer hoping for some change.”

“I think it might be Mike.” She gripped his arm. Her chest felt
so tight with anticipation she could hardly breathe. “That’s one of his favorite
songs.”

“Let’s check it out, then.” Logan didn’t hesitate, taking her
hand and crossing the street, heading toward the music. It was probably because
of what he’d told her earlier, that the less successful she was in tracking down
her brother the more open she’d be that someone else was behind the photos and
phone calls. At the moment, she didn’t care about Logan’s motivation. She held
on to him, glad he was guiding the way, while other thoughts whirled through her
mind.

She hadn’t heard the song “Sweet Caroline” in years. It was too
much of a coincidence that a random street performer would choose to sing it
after she’d seen the shooting star, wasn’t it? In case wishes weren’t enough,
she said a silent prayer that her quest was coming to an end.

“There’s a guitarist on the corner in the next block,” Logan
said, increasing his pace. She lengthened her steps to keep up with him, her
heart hammering harder with every one.

“Sweet Caroline” was still playing, its cheerful melody louder
now. Could it be that she was a few notes away from a reunion with her
brother?

A knot of people clogged the sidewalk ahead. Maria tried but
couldn’t see around them. Logan was not only taller, he had a better angle.

“Can you see the guitarist?” she asked breathlessly. “Is it
Mike?”

Logan craned his neck. Then he came to a standstill, tugging on
her hand to slow her down.

“It’s not Mike, Maria,” he said.

She started shaking her head even before he finished the
statement. “You can’t know that yet. Not from this distance.”

She pulled her hand free from his and broke into a jog, weaving
through the other people until nothing but sidewalk was between her and the
guitarist.

She skidded to a stop.

He was a heavyset black man.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” One of the young men she’d
brushed by called to her as he passed. “Things move slower here in Key
West.”