It seemed like half the town was there, crowded into the all-purpose room that had been magically transformed to a Christmas bazaar. The crowd roamed up and down aisles of long tables, buying wreaths, handmade ornaments, fancy Christmas stockings and candles, and homemade baked goods.
Sam Morgan manned a table with Digger Hegman, who showed children how to work the wooden toys they had made. Carolyn Lewis stood nearby, showing a customer a long table runner of deep green velvet with gold trim. James thought it looked familiar then realized Leigh had been sewing up a bunch of those one night. How different the place looked from the night of Leigh’s shower, he thought. He glanced around, hoping to spot her in the crowd. She had promised to stop by around lunchtime.
He checked his watch, noticing it was just about one. A performance of the children’s choir was due to begin in the sanctuary. He followed the flow of the crowd in that direction. Leigh had helped design the choir costumes, he recalled, and had especially wanted to see the kids sing.
James stood at the back of the sanctuary, searching for her once again. She wasn’t there, he realized, so he positioned himself near the doorway, hoping to catch her if she came in.
The audience grew quiet as the lights dimmed. James heard angelic voices and turned to find the band of heavenly angels marching past him, two by two, down the center aisle to the front of the sanctuary.
They did looked adorable, he thought, with their delicate tissue paper wings and tilting halos. They definitely looked as if they had just dropped down from the clouds above.
Fittingly, the first song was “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,” which they sang as they climbed onto the risers and lined up in two imperfect rows. Sophie Potter’s granddaughter, Miranda, stood to one side directing them. James recalled that she had been an actress briefly in New York but had decided to live with her grandmother and run the family orchard when her grandfather died. It seemed a surprising choice for a young woman, but knowing Sophie and this town, maybe not so surprising after all.
The choir sang several more songs, delighting their audience. Mostly parents and grandparents, James noticed. They finally concluded with “Silent Night.”
James clapped hard as the angels took their bows. He wished Leigh hadn’t missed it. She would have loved seeing the kids sing, he thought, and he would have liked watching it with her. It could be her little girl up there, someday.
He caught himself with a rueful shake of his head. So much fantasizing lately, so much daydreaming. It’s going to get you into trouble someday, he warned himself. Still, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, the smile that seemed to appear automatically every time he thought of Leigh.
The lights went up and the audience began to leave. Still standing by the doorway, James was one of the first into the vestibule.
Vera rushed toward him out of the crowd, startling him from his pleasant daze.
“There you are. Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“What is it, Vera?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
“A strange man came by the house. He started asking all these questions about Leigh. He showed me her picture. He said she . . . she’s committed a crime and is wanted by the police. . . .”
James squinted down at her. “Leigh? There must be some mistake. That couldn’t be—”
“He seemed very certain. He showed me her picture,” Vera repeated. “And he said that Leigh Baxter isn’t her real name.”
James felt as if he had just been struck with a large wooden plank. He shook his head, as if to clear it from the blow. He noticed the curious glances of people passing by and suddenly realized that they were causing a small scene.
“Come to my office, Vera. I think we need to talk about this privately.”
Vera pursed her lips and then followed. This is ridiculous, James told himself, some absurd mistake. Leave it to Vera to get in a complete tizzy over nothing.
But when he glanced over at the older woman walking silently beside him, all the bright decorations and holiday cheer that surrounded them melted away. A dark, heavy panic engulfed him. There was something about this story that made his blood run cold.
JAMES FOLLOWED VERA’S CAR AS IT TURNED DOWN MEADOWLARK LANE and then down the driveway. Leigh’s car was not there, he noticed, but it was barely five o’clock. She usually didn’t get home from Dr. Harding’s office until six. Maybe they would find a message on the machine, a message that explained everything.
James was trying to keep a cool head and not jump to conclusions. The truth was, though, that Vera’s story shook him. And it hadn’t helped when he called Matt’s office and discovered Leigh had left for lunch and never returned. Still, he was determined to be rational. Maybe Leigh had a doctor’s appointment in Hamilton and forgot to tell them. Maybe she had gone off to the mall to do some Christmas shopping. There could be a hundred reasons why she had taken the afternoon off. There was probably a perfectly simple explanation.
James followed Vera up the path and watched as she put her key into the lock, her hand trembling. She had been so jumpy, he had hardly been able to get the whole story. He decided not to dwell on it right now. Asking more questions only made Vera more nervous and incoherent. He would wait for Leigh. That made more sense, he thought.
He hung his jacket by the side door and Vera went into the kitchen to start dinner. James felt at loose ends. He picked up the newspaper and went into the living room. The big house seemed eerily quiet, too quiet. He sat down with the paper and scanned the headlines, wondering if he should call the police and report Leigh’s disappearance. No, that was panicking. But she was due to have her baby any minute. What if she was out running an errand this afternoon and found herself going into labor?
No, that couldn’t be it. If something like that happened, she would have called somebody. She would have called me, James thought. He was sure of it.
Every sound outside made him lift his head—a branch brushing the window or a car passing on their lonely road. It wasn’t Leigh’s car though, he thought, listening. He didn’t hear the familiar crunch of gravel in the drive. He reached for the paper again, and the doorbell sounded.
“James, would you get the door please?”
Vera came into the hallway, watching as he went to answer a second ring of the door chimes. “If it’s that man again, I don’t want you to let him in.” Her voice was stern and she held the frying pan at her side, a weapon at the ready.
“Don’t worry, Vera. I’ll take care of it.” He willed his voice to sound calm while his heart beat wildly. He took a breath and pulled open the door.
The man who stood before him was just as Vera had described him: about fifty, dressed in a tan all-weather–style jacket, with a brown knit shirt underneath. His black hair was thinning on top and sprinkled with gray, cut conservatively short. He wasn’t quite as tall as James but stoutly built, with broad shoulders and a paunch that hung over his belt.
“Can I help you?” James asked politely.
The man smiled at James, his face wide and soft-looking. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. I’m looking for this woman. Have you seen her?”
He held out a photo of a woman. James didn’t recognize her at first and felt himself start to relax. But as he looked more closely, familiar features began to surface through the stranger’s image. It was Leigh, he realized, though her hair was lighter, a tawny shade, and fell straight to her shoulders. She wore a lot more makeup than he was used to seeing on her, and she was dressed in some sort of formal dress with what looked like very expensive jewelry. Still, her dark eyes were the same, as was her smile—her rare, unforgettable smile.
“You do recognize her,” the man said softly.
“Who are you?” James said. “And what do you want here?”
The man smiled even wider, an unctuous grin that put James’s nerves on edge.
“Walter Coleman, I’m a private investigator. Here’s my card and my license.” He pulled a small lea
ther folder from his pocket and showed James his identification then handed him a business card.
What does this prove? James thought. He could have made this today at a copy shop.
“May I come in a minute? Just a minute, I promise. I have something to tell you about this woman. It’s important.”
James stared at him a moment, then stepped aside to let him in. Behind him he could hear Vera gasp. She had come out of the kitchen and ventured as far as the staircase.
Walter Coleman smiled at her and nodded his head. “Hello again. Mrs. Plante, right?”
Vera just stared at him coldly.
“Why don’t we go in here and talk?” James led the man to the living room. He offered him a seat on the couch and sat on a chair opposite.
“I’ll get right to the point, sir—”
“My name is Cameron, Reverend James Cameron.”
The investigator looked surprised by his title but set the photo of Leigh on the table between them.
“You recognized her,” the investigator began. “I bet she looks different now, though. Changed her hair color or something?”
James was about to agree, then instinctively stopped himself from giving Coleman more information. He didn’t like or trust the man. He was dreading what he might tell him, and yet he had to know. “Please, Mr. Coleman, get to the point.”
Walter Coleman sighed heavily. “What I’m going to say about this woman will probably shock you. You both look like nice folks, and I know it might be hard to take it all in at first. But please, just try to hear me out.” He leaned over and tapped Leigh’s photo with his finger. “This woman is a con artist, sir, what you might call a pathological liar. I’ve been looking for her for a while now, but she’s clever, always stays one step ahead of me.”
“A con artist?” James practically choked on the words. “That’s absurd!”
Walter Coleman showed no reaction to his outburst. “I guess I ought to have added an actress, too, an Academy Award winner just about.” He gave James a pitying look. “I’ll bet she told you some sad stories about herself. I’ll bet she borrowed plenty of money from you, too, didn’t she?”
“Well . . . yes,” James admitted. “I did help her out a bit financially. Vera and I both did. But Leigh felt very bad about accepting any help. She was very reluctant. She promised to pay us back, as soon as she was able.”
The investigator’s mouth twisted, as if he were trying not to laugh. “Sure. She was going to pay you back, every cent of it.”
“She was,” James insisted. “She took a job in town even though I told her I didn’t want the money back. She needed it to support her child—”
“Have you noticed any valuables missing from the house since she arrived?” Coleman asked. “Little things, silverware, say? Or small pieces of jewelry, things she could bring to a pawn shop.”
“A pawn shop?” James heard Vera gasp and suddenly remembered she was also in the room, standing by the door.
James looked over at her. “I haven’t noticed any belongings missing. Have you, Vera?” Silently, James willed Vera to stand tough and deny the accusation.
Vera blinked, her skin as white as paper. “I haven’t really . . . but there could be. I haven’t checked the silver chest in a while. . . .”
“Don’t feel badly,” Coleman said. “You aren’t the first. She’s done this before, taking advantage of innocent people like you with her schemes and deceptions.”
James had had about enough of this man and his accusations; he certainly didn’t need him swaying Vera.
“Leigh isn’t like that,” James insisted. “I know her. You’ve made some mistake here, I’m sure of it.” But his words sounded weak and unconvincing, even to his own ears. If only Coleman didn’t sound so blasted sure of himself.
“Leigh? Is that what she told you her name is? Leigh what?” Coleman pressed.
“Leigh Baxter,” James answered sharply. “I’ve seen her license and her car registration. That’s her name.”
The investigator gave him another of his pitying looks, as if he couldn’t believe James’s gross naïveté.
“Fake identification is fairly easily to come by, Reverend, if you know where to go. Unfortunately, even a driver’s license doesn’t prove much these days.”
James sat in stunned silence. He felt the blood drain from his head and for a moment thought he might be sick.
He couldn’t quite take in what Coleman was saying, but he had an awful feeling that, without meaning to, he had given the man something that he wanted. Whatever Leigh had done, whoever she was, and no matter how she had deceived him, James still felt an impulse to protect her. Maybe because the truth—or this man’s version of it—had not quite sunk in yet. Or because the two drastically different versions of her were so hard to reconcile in his mind.
And though he couldn’t put his finger on it, there was something wrong with this man. James studied him a moment then asked, “Who do you work for, Mr. Coleman? Who hired you to find her? You didn’t say.”
Coleman sat back, his expression going blank. “Her family. Her parents, actually.”
“She told me she had no family. She said she was raised by her mother in Ohio and that her mother was dead.”
Coleman shrugged a beefy shoulder. “I’m sure she told you a lot of things, Reverend. That’s just my point. She’ll say anything to play on a person’s sympathy.” His condescending tone set James’s nerves on edge.
“If she’s such a hardened criminal, why aren’t the police looking for her?” James challenged him. “Why did her family have to hire you?”
The detective squared his shoulders, his expression going hard again. “This woman is wanted for stealing money from a former employer. A great deal of money, actually. Luckily, the company didn’t press charges. They don’t want the bad publicity. But her family has asked me to find her, to bring her home so she can get help.” He looked down at Leigh’s photo again, his tone striking a serious note. “If you have any interest in her welfare at all, you ought to tell me what you know, Reverend, so I can bring her back to the people who can help her.”
“Oh, James, make him go.” Vera sat heavily in a chair by the doorway. She shook her head and stared at the floor.
James came to his feet. “I think you should leave now, Mr. Coleman.”
The investigator stood up then leaned over and retrieved the photograph. “I know you think you’re helping her. Believe me, you’re only making it worse. She’s in trouble, Reverend Cameron. She’s on the run.”
“On the run?”
“She’s gone, sir. Mark my words, you’ll never see her again.”
James felt as if the man had just picked up the fireplace poker and run him through the heart. He was sure his expression must have registered his reaction, but he couldn’t think fast enough to hide it.
“I don’t think you two really understand. This woman is a criminal. You ought to check your valuables, ma’am, see if anything is missing.”
Vera gasped and shook her head. “Oh, no, not Leigh. I can’t imagine that.”
“You’re wrong,” James said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The detective looked at him, a knowing flash in his eyes, and James was certain the man had guessed the depth and nature of his true feelings.
James walked to the front door and opened it. The detective followed slowly, taking his time. He paused at the threshold.
“If I can find her, and take her home, it will be much better for her in the long run. You could tell me where you think she’s gone. Maybe she mentioned someone, a friend somewhere? A place she likes to visit?”
“She never said anything like that. Now please go!” James stood shaking with rage. Even worse, he had knowingly lied. He hoped the good Lord in His mercy would understand.
Coleman was unfazed by his anger. “Think it over. Maybe you’ll remember something. I’m sure this has been upsetting news for both of you, but it’s better th
at you know the truth about her.” He closed his coat and stepped out the door. “I’ll be in touch, Reverend Cameron, Mrs. Plante. Thank you for your time.”
James shut the door and slid the bolt. He turned to Vera, who leaned on the banister.
“Oh, James, I don’t know what to think. Where’s Leigh? Why hasn’t she come back yet?” Vera started crying and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron.
James stood watching her, just a few feet away but feeling miles apart, as if he were watching Vera from a great distance. He felt overwhelmed himself, as if the earth were crumbling beneath his feet and he had nothing left to hold on to.
He thought of a thousand and one things Leigh had told him about herself or done. Things that didn’t seem the least bit suspicious at the time, but now flocked back to taunt him. The story about being a widow and her husband passing on from a sudden heart attack. Had there ever been a husband? he wondered. And that night on the road when they met, she said she was on her way to Cape Cod—but she had been driving in the wrong direction. Her sudden decision to stay on here seemed suspect as well. There probably was no friend in Wellfleet, he realized now. All the financial help he had offered her, paying for her car and covering her room and board with Vera; the way Vera had let that slide as well. . . . He felt the blood rise to his face, feeling played for a fool. Was it all true? Had she lied to them both so boldly, deceived them for so long?
“Mark my words, you’ll never see her again.”
The grim prediction echoed in his heart, like the peal of a bell, shattering everything inside him.
James pressed his hands to his head, feeling as if his brain might burst. Dear God, this can’t possibly be true. This can’t be happening. Please . . . let there be some explanation and help me to see it clearly.
James felt it deep inside, an answer to his silent cry to heaven: the knowledge that it was all true. He had been deceived and betrayed.
A Christmas Promise Page 25
