A Semi-Precious Christmas (9 page)

I grabbed his coat, pulled him closer, and planted a light kiss on his lips. “OK with me. Let's roll.”

Amee returned and slid into her seat, a smattering of fat snowflakes clinging to her hat. “Did I hear we're going somewhere?”

We pulled up to the church, heartened by the full parking lot. The three of us slipped in the main door and made our way to the sanctuary.

Everyone, perhaps a couple hundred people, stood singing
Silent Night
. The lights were low and candles flickered.

We slipped in quietly and crept to the front row. We joined the strain, and I lifted my chin, trying to be at peace and trust God for however this would turn out. I inhaled the joy permeating the air.

The pastor extended his hands to pronounce the benediction. We'd made it just in time.

Chris fairly vaulted up the three steps to reach the minister before the prayer started. He spoke softly in his ear.

“By all means.” Pastor Brown handed him the microphone.

Chris made eye contact with the congregation, nodding at people all over. “I'm Chris Lane. Many of you know me and my five-year-old daughter, Maggie.” His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat. “Maggie was kidnapped tonight.”

There was a collective intake of breath from the audience.

“We don't know where to find her. She's only five…oh, I already said that…and…and…I was hoping we could pray for her safety and speedy return.” He shuffled from one foot to the other and swayed on his feet.

Pastor Brown clapped an arm around his shoulder. “Absolutely, Chris. In fact, if any of you wants to join us in praying for little Maggie, please make your way up to the altar now. Let's surround our brother with our love and support.”

I catapulted out of my seat and landed on the other side of Chris, my arm clasped tight around his other shoulder.

Amee was right beside me as half the crowd surged to the front.

Those closest to Chris extended a hand toward him as they bowed their heads, many resting a palm on his head or his back. Hands settled on my shoulders as the chain of prayerful souls stretched around the sanctuary.

With a low, booming voice, Pastor Brown began to pray, right along with fervent murmurs of support from many of those present.

My spirit groaned with the heavy weight of anguish as Chris trembled, tears sliding down his face and dropping softly onto the carpet. I rested my head against his neck as my own tears joined his.

As the prayers drifted to a close, someone started singing
Away in a Manager
. It started out soft, and the melody traveled around the room. The space surrounding us brightened and shimmered.

Christ was there among us—as close as the air that I breathed and the beat of my heart.

16

Amee lent us her car, and less than an hour later, we pulled up in front of the police station, dog-tired and in desperate need of ideas and caffeine. We'd talked over every detail of the robbery we could remember, wracking our brains for clues of any kind. Where would Mean-Eyes go? It had to be him. Where would he take Maggie? And why was he back in my house to begin with?

We parked ourselves in Locksley's office, braving the clutter once again.

He had the answer to the last question. “An experienced burglar knows that insurance companies will cover the cost of most, if not all, of what they steal. He's probably been watching your house to see when replacement goods arrived. Better to fence a brand new TV than an old one.”

Mean-Eyes had been watching me? An icy shiver raised the hair on the back of my neck. He could have hurt me in a number of ways a dozen times over.

“The officers on the scene found the perp had jimmied the lock on your back door. Since you so rudely interrupted him, in his haste, he left your new TV sitting on the kitchen table. His getaway car was parked up the street but, obviously, your car was closer.”

Chris bent forward. “So, if he's got no use for Maggie, is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

I reached over, touched Chris's shoulder, and turned to Locksley. “Oh, that's got to be a positive sign, right? He didn't mean to take her.”

Locksley scowled. “It's hard to tell in a case like this. Criminals can be volatile. We'll just have to wait and see.”

Volatile. The memory of cold, unfeeling eyes blazed a trail through my mind. My stomach seized. Those brutal orbs still disturbed my sleep. I didn't even want to think of what he could do when provoked. The way he'd attacked Uncle Marty. Viciously. There was something wrong with a man like that. Something very, very wrong.
Dear God, protect that little girl.

We explained what we'd done so far about calling every blessed person we knew—at least from the list in Chris's phone.

I admitted my own phone and list of contacts was still in the car.

Locksley made notes on everything. “Don't bother calling Tiffany. I'm sorry to say my sister doesn't seem to care much about either you or Maggie.”

“What?” Chris asked.

“I misjudged you, Chris. Tiffany lied to me about all of it. Initially, she said you had the affair, and you refused to let her see Maggie. Now I know it was the reverse.” He glanced up and extended his hand to Chris. “Truce?”

“Truce.” Chris clasped his hand and punched him on the shoulder.

I rolled my eyes at the guy-speak.

“Would you let me see Maggie from time to time? When we find her, of course, and we will, God willing.”

“Yes. It would be good for both of you. She needs an uncle, and you can help me tell her some good things about her mother. Now let's do this. She's out there somewhere.”

Locksley nodded. “And she could be in serious danger.” He filled us in on what was already being done and challenged us to think outside of the box.

Chris visibly perked up now that he was part of the process.

Locksley filled up his coffee mug and cleared a spot on his desk so he'd have a place to set it. “I like your idea of talking to the younger guy. His name is Dwayne. Maybe Ms. Keaton-Jones can get through to him. I get the sense he's not a hardened criminal…yet.”

“You can call me Peri. And you're asking
me
to talk to him?” Being face to face again with the kid who'd robbed the store soured my stomach, but I would do this. How could I not?

“Worth a try. I'll take you to him, then. He's in a holding cell.”

And then it came to me. “Is his girlfriend here, too? If I can't get through to him, maybe I can get through to her.”

“Even better idea. I'll arrange it. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Dwayne and his girlfriend, Tamara, sat in gray folding chairs at a gray metal table, both sporting attitudes hot enough to wilt a Christmas cactus.

A guard stood prominently in the corner. The big gun in his belt and a physique reminiscent of a gorilla with a well-used gym pass boosted my spirits a little.

Tamara threw her hair over her shoulders and hunched.

Dwayne glared at us, thin-lipped mouth set in a taut line. He would be no help at all, so I started with Tamara.

I shifted in my seat to face her and offered her a tentative smile. “I saw you sitting in the getaway car on the TV footage. It didn't look like you wanted to be there.”

Her head came up and she snorted. “What do you know about anything?”

“I don't know much, but I'm betting you didn't have anything to do with the robbery of my jewelry store, either.”

Dwayne growled, but one raised finger from the guard shut him up quick.

Chris fired the criminal a warning glare and leaned over the table. He wouldn't let Dwayne get anywhere near me.

“You got that right. And I didn't have nothin' to do with the robbery at the convenience store, either.” Her face crumpled. “I just want to go home.” She ran a hand through her hair and reached into her jean pocket where she found…nothing. For a second, she reminded me of Amee when she was a teenager. I nabbed a yellow scrunchie from my own pocket, held it up for the guard's approval, and then presented it to her. After a brief hesitation, she snatched it from my hand, pulled her hair into a low ponytail, and gave me the barest hint of a smile. This girl was no angel by the company she kept.

Still…there might be something there I could reach. I lowered my voice and spoke in soft, measured tones. “Tamara, the man who was with Dwayne at the jewelry store kidnapped a little girl tonight.”

“My little girl. Her name is Maggie.” Chris's voice cracked. “She's five.”

“We don't know anything about that.” Dwayne piped up, insolence dripping from his words. “We've been locked up in this cursed hole, so don't go blaming that on us.”

Chris's neck stiffened.

“Oh, we're not saying you helped, but you might know the man who has her.” I shifted my gaze to Tamara and reached my hand across the table, palm up. Her hand was on the table only inches away. “Please tell us the name of the other guy who was at Keaton's. Please.”

Chris directed his attention to her as well. “Please, Tamara. We don't think Dwayne's friend meant to take her. He stole a car, and she was in the backseat.”

I moved my hand a little closer and touched her fingers. “If you know this guy, if you have any idea where he took Maggie, we really need your help.”

She stole a glance at her boyfriend. “So now your Uncle Desmond's gone and run off with a little girl. A child. I didn't sign up for this crap, Dwayne.”

Desmond. His name was Desmond.

Tamara scooted her chair away from Dwayne and clasped my hand. Her eyes bored into mine. “Hey, if I tell you where you can find him, can you get me out of here?”

Dwayne sucked in a breath. “Shut up, Tamara.” His lip curled as he glared at her.

The girl scooted toward the table, chair legs screeching on the floor.

Dwayne made a grab for her. Bad move.

Before Chris was half-way out of his seat, our vigilant guard had Dwayne on the floor in a headlock. Dwayne was escorted—none too gently—out of the room, his curses ringing in the air.

Tears trickled down Tamara's cheeks. “I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Dwayne's Uncle Desmond has a hunting cabin in West Virginia, not too far. I was there once with Dwayne. I'll bet I can even take you there if you get me out of here.” She swiped at her wet face. “Please? Can you get me out?”

Locksley strode into the room. He'd heard every word.

We bid Tamara farewell and I promised to do what I could for her.

We turned to leave.

Locksley shouted, “Benson! The weasel crossed state lines. Call the Feds.”

The place became a whirlwind of activity.

~*~

A gentle hand cupped my shoulder and warm lips touched my forehead. “Peri? It's getting late. How about I take you home, huh?” I unfolded myself from the thinly padded chair at the station and stretched the kinks out of my back.

Chris pulled the hair back from my face and tucked a few strands behind my ear. His thumb caressed my cheek.

“What time is it?”

“Twelve-thirty.” His arm slipped around me and pulled me close.

I stifled a yawn and blinked. “Any news? Sorry. That's a dumb question. You'd have woken me before now if…”

Locksley walked down the hall toward us, his face a wreath of smiles. “We've found her. We've found Maggie!”

Chris's feet left the floor as if his sneakers had wings attached. “Is she OK? Is Maggie OK?”

I think I flew, too, when I jumped up.

“She's just fine. The West Virginia police have her, and they're on their way back here.” He glanced at his watch and sank in a chair across from Chris. “ETA about an hour.” He extended his feet and let out a heavy sigh.

A crushing weight rolled off my chest, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “Where was she? How'd they find her?”

“You'll never believe it in a million years. Desmond dropped her off at a church in West Virginia during the Christmas Eve service. She just walked into the sanctuary. Just walked right in. Don't that beat all? Not in a million years…”

Chris and I shared a look. And grinned.

God's fingerprint was unmistakable.

17

Christmas morning arrived. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window, landing with a flicker on the carpet. I always loved waking up on this very special day; but today, I'd already received the best present a person could receive. The safe return of Maggie. It would be hard to top that!

I snuggled in and enjoyed the coziness of the comforter and the two cats plastered to either side of me. It was about time I got a little affection from Ginger. I reached over and caressed her behind the ears. Her faint purr warmed me.

The squeals of delight when Maggie had spied Chris the night before echoed in my memory. What a glorious reunion, and I was included in the round of hugs and kisses. Desmond hadn't harmed a hair on Maggie's head. He'd even stopped at a convenience store to buy her an iced donut—with sprinkles, no less. That image of the crook didn't jive with the hardboiled robber at Keaton's, but I thanked God for Desmond's unexpected kindness. Maybe there was hope for Mean-Eyes yet.

Was he still out there somewhere, or did the police have him in custody?

I'd sleep better when he was behind bars.

We would never know just how many hundreds of people had prayed, but Chris's TV station had issued a late night bulletin with the news, and thousands of texts, tweets, and other social media posts had zipped around the Internet.

Coffee. I needed coffee, and maybe some real food. The junk I'd eaten yesterday just to keep me going had unsettled my stomach. Maybe I'd just have tea and toast. I kicked off the covers and padded downstairs with two cats following on my heels. I pulled back the curtains over the kitchen sink to let the morning light warm and brighten the space. Snowfall the night before left feathery swirls on the lawn, like vanilla cream frosting on a sheet cake. I did so love a white Christmas. I'd just turned up the heat on a kettle of water when the phone rang.