Christie hurried into the bedroom, pulled a lightweight sweater from a dresser drawer, and arranged it around her shoulders. She peered in the mirror one last time to make sure nothing was out of place. Tosha was on the bed observing her. When Christie left the room, the cat jumped down onto the floor and followed.
In the living room, Tosha padded past Christie and stopped just to the side of Cash. She looked up at him, inspecting him, perhaps, and, with determined steps, brushed against Cash’s legs, her tail wrapping around his ankle like a hook. Then she turned around and repeated the procedure. She walked to where Christie stood, looked up and gave a satisfied yowl. “I think you’ve been accepted,” Christie said. “Tosha is selective in who she marks.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Cash said, “but I thought your cat didn’t like me.”
Christie laughed softly, amused by his consternation. “She’s entitled to change her mind.”
“Typical female.”
“Be careful. You wouldn’t want to be branded sexist.”
“Never,” he said. A slight smirk tugged at his mouth. “Let’s be on our way before I say anything more damaging.”
At the restaurant Christie told Cash about the Farleys. “I felt such empathy for her. Imagine having your child snatched away, and after you have learned to live with the knowledge that you will never see her again, a specter of the past appears.”
“It sounds like you have doubts about this Dani person.”
“You have to admit that after thirty years of absence, the chances of a happy reunion are sketchy. I don’t want Mrs. Farley to be hurt again. She seems like such a gentle person, very vulnerable.”
“She runs an empire. How vulnerable can she be?”
“I don’t think going up against big business and corporate raiders is the same as dealing with the loss of a child.”
“You’re right. And Tom Gates’s investigation hit a brick wall?”
“That’s what he said. And you know that Tom is one of the best.”
“What about her birth certificate or other credentials?”
“Dani’s birth certificate doesn’t match Mrs. Farley’s daughter’s, but we both know that false documents aren’t difficult to come by.”
“I work with a couple of hotshot detectives, but I wouldn’t want to step on Tom’s toes by siccing them on your subject.”
“I’m afraid they wouldn’t uncover anything Tom hasn’t already. Do you realize what a burden that puts on me?”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Christie. The evidence will show the way.”
“Even when it’s thirty years old? I can’t compare a kindergartner’s primitive printing with a mature adult’s writing. I wish there was something else to go on.”
“Perhaps you should talk to this woman. Probe a little. Maybe the Farleys, and Tom, too, have missed something.”
Christie pondered his words. Both Tom and the Farleys might have missed something. “You’re right; first thing tomorrow I’m going to call Dani Shepherd and dig for a clue.”
“Just like Sherlock Holmes,” he teased.
“Thanks for being a good sport about my bringing work to the dinner table. I’m sure you would rather talk about other, more interesting, things.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Whether it’s work or personal, everything about you interests me. I want to know you on every level, understand you completely.”
She was momentarily at a loss for words. He was speaking of intimacy, not physical, but emotional, which was more intense.
“Christie?” He wrapped his hand around hers and she could feel the heat of their skin meshing. He leaned toward her and his breath made the candlelight flicker. She looked into his eyes for answers, but saw only questions. There was only one she needed to address: Was he falling in love with her?
After breakfast the next morning, Christie called Dani Shepherd. The phone was answered on the second ring with a breathless, “Hello.”
Christie introduced herself. “Mrs. Farley is cautiously excited to hear from you, Dani. After all these years, the possibility of having located her missing daughter is overwhelming. The Farleys hired me to compare your handwriting with Danielle’s. However, the enormous age difference between the writing makes it impossible. Perhaps other factors need to be explored.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you have any relatives that can back up or refute your father’s claim?”
“No. My father was closemouthed about my mother’s side of the family. He said they didn’t approve of him, and after my mother died, they threatened to fight for sole custody of me. As a result we moved and he broke all ties with them. I don’t remember my other grandparents.”
“So, you don’t have any letters or photographs that would identify you?”
“I have journals.”
“Journals?”
“Yes. I’ve been writing journals since I was a child. Fancied myself a famous author someday. I didn’t attain that dream, but I never outgrew the habit of almost daily diary entries.”
Bingo! Christie thought. “Do you have any of your earliest journals?” Even though it was a long shot, Christie had her fingers crossed that luck would be with them.
“Oh, yes, all of them.”
“I would like to see a couple of the first ones. Could you FedEx them—overnight delivery? The journals may supply the link we need.”
“I’ll send them right away. I only contacted Mrs. Farley to appease my stepmother.”
They said good-bye and Christie hung up the phone. She was optimistic that the journals might be an important piece in solving the puzzle. Her first impulse was to call Mrs. Farley and give her an update, but then thought better of it. Why raise her hopes prematurely? Instead, she called Cash. When he answered the phone, her excitement poured out.
“Whoa, slow down. I can’t understand a thing you’re saying.”
“You put me on the right track last night. I just got off the phone with Dani Shepherd. She keeps journals, Cash.”
“And?”
“She’s kept them since she was a child! And she still has them. She’s going to overnight a couple, and I should have them by tomorrow noon. Do you realize what this means?”
“You may be able to make a definite determination on the handwriting. I’m happy for you, Christie.”
“I hope this woman turns out to be Mrs. Farley’s daughter.”
“Don’t set yourself up for disappointment. The examination of the journals may prove that she isn’t.”
Christie fell onto the couch, deflated. “I wish you hadn’t reminded me. I was flying high and you just brought me down to earth.”
“No matter what the results, you will have done the right thing by Mrs. Farley. As much as you want to see her reunited with her daughter, you don’t want to see her duped.”
“You’re right.”
“On another note, last night was great.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“We’re a good match.”
“You think so?” She took a deep breath.
“I can’t get you out of my mind.”
“Do you want to?”
“No, not at all. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather think about, or be with.”
“It’s pretty early in the morning to be flirting with me.”
“How about continuing this playful conversation later in the day? My three o’clock appointment canceled. If you can ditch work early, we can go out for a sail. We can pick up dinner and eat on the boat. Temp should be moderate, and we can catch the sunset before we return to the dock.”
“I would love an afternoon on the bay. I’ll take the cable car and you can pick me up at work.”
“At your service, my love. How about three thirty? I’ll pick you up outside your building.”