Darlene Gardner - Wish Upon a Christmas Star

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?”