Wish Upon a Christmas Star. Darlene Gardner

could have moved into an apartment together, with Maria getting a job that would have paid the rent.

      He’d called her proposal too risky, refusing to consider art school and declaring that he needed to be financially secure before he’d live with anyone.

      The fact that he hadn’t loved her enough to take a chance on them still stung.

      “Are you at the same firm in New York?” She didn’t know why she asked when she already knew the answer. The financial giant had hired Logan right out of college, where he’d managed to get both his bachelor’s degree and MBA in four years. If he’d changed jobs, Annalise would have mentioned it. She and her husband still used Logan to manage their finances. Since the firm where he worked was such a powerhouse, Maria was sure Logan kept them on as a favor.

      “The same one,” he answered.

      “And still conscientious, I see.” Maria couldn’t hold back the rest of her thought. “You’re rushing to get back to work when most other people are going on holiday.”

      His shoulders stiffened. “It’s a good job.”

      “I’m happy for you, then.” She wanted to know if he was still painting, except that was another volatile topic of discussion. Better to leave it be.

      “How are things with you?” he asked.

      “Can’t complain.” She picked up her fork, then put it down. She’d barely been able to choke down dinner. She wouldn’t be able to eat the dessert Annalise had talked her into ordering. “I quit the police force four years ago to go into private investigation. I’m a one-woman show, but I like it that way.”

      “I heard you got divorced,” he said.

      She was probably imagining the edge to his voice. He hadn’t cared enough to hang on to her, so why would her ex-husband be a sensitive subject?

      “That was a while back,” she said. Before she’d left the sheriff’s office but after she’d made the decision to quit. “We weren’t a good match.”

      Logan nodded, saying nothing, and added two creams and two sugars to his coffee.

      “How’s the family?” he asked before he took a swig.

      She avoided looking at his mouth, determined not to get sidetracked. “Everybody’s good. You keep up with Annalise. My parents are still working, and Jack’s going back to school to work with developmentally disabled kids. I think he’ll be engaged soon.”

      “Glad to hear it.” Logan licked a drop of coffee from his lower lip. He put down the cup and rested his wrists on the table. “Do they know you think Mike might still be alive?”

      The conversation and background music that had created a constant hum since she’d arrived at Donatelli’s Restaurant seemed to fade. Her ears rang with the question. No way could she avoid the subject any longer.

      “No,” she stated. “I thought it would be better not to say anything until I know something definite.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “It’s pretty obvious. Losing Mike was hard enough the first time. I don’t want them to have to go through that pain again.”

      “That’s why I agreed to talk to you when Annalise called.” Logan leaned forward slightly, pinning her with his gaze. “Mike’s dead, Maria.”

      She dragged her eyes away from the certainty in his. “How much do you know about what’s going on?”

      “I only know what Annalise told me,” he said.

      “Then I’ll fill you in.” Once she shared the details, maybe both Logan and Annalise would leave her alone to conduct her investigation. She relayed the day’s events, omitting nothing.

      He listened in silence with his arms crossed over his chest. When she was through talking, he released a harsh breath. “Someone’s playing a sick joke. But it’s not Mike.”

      “How can you possibly be sure of that?” Maria snapped.

      “I already told you,” Logan said. “Mike’s dead, Maria. He died on 9/11. You’ve got to accept that.”

      “Did you personally witness him going inside the World Trade Tower that day?” she asked.

      “No, but I talked to him that morning. He was up early because he was working the breakfast shift.”

      She picked up a thin wooden stick and stirred her coffee, watching the circular pattern as she thought about what Logan had said. Finally, she looked up to find his hazel eyes trained on her.

      “What if he didn’t go to work that day?” she asked, the idea gaining momentum. “Mike never could stick to anything. He quit a ton of summer jobs for one reason or another.”

      “Okay, let’s go with that,” Logan said. “Then why didn’t he come back to my apartment and get his things? Why didn’t he let anybody know he was alive?”

      Very good questions, Maria thought. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

      “Listen to yourself,” Logan argued. “You sound like you’ve already convinced yourself he’s alive.”

      “I’m a private investigator,” she said. “I know enough not to jump to conclusions before I have proof.”

      “You’ll never find proof, Maria. I know you want to believe Mike’s out there somewhere. Hell, I’d like to believe it, too. But he died that day.” Logan ran a hand over his mouth, a gesture that used to mean he was upset. His brows drew together. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

      She was almost afraid to hear it. This time she was the one who crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”

      He pursed his lips and blew a breath out through his nose. “You know I was the one who got Mike the job at Windows on the World?”

      Maria nodded. Logan had also given her brother a place to stay in Manhattan. At first she had been angry about that. She’d told her parents that Mike might have come home if Logan hadn’t let him sleep on his sofa. Her folks had countered that Mike might just as likely have lived on the streets.

      “He didn’t much like being a busboy,” Logan said. “The morning the towers fell, he talked about quitting.”

      “I knew it!” Maria cried.

      “Hold on.” Logan put up a hand. “I hadn’t charged him anything up to that point. I told him he needed to help with rent.”

      “So he was going to quit,” Maria said, her mind spinning. This revelation made it more likely that Mike was alive.

      “You’re not hearing me,” Logan said. “He couldn’t help with the rent if he was unemployed. I told him he needed to keep the busboy job until he found another one. I talked him into going to work that day.”

      “You don’t know that,” Maria retorted. “Mike was bullheaded. If he wanted to quit, he would have.”

      “I don’t think so,” Logan said. “Even if that’s true, he would have gone in to work and given notice.”

      “Not if he phoned,” Maria said. Something else occurred to her. “Maybe he didn’t feel any loyalty to the people there. Maybe he just didn’t show up.”

      Logan shook his head. “You’re grasping at straws. No way would Mike let your family believe he was dead.”

      “He dropped out of high school and ran away from home, Logan,” she said. “He was on the outs with us.”

      “He wasn’t a vindictive kid,” Logan said.

      “He was a rebellious one,” Maria countered. “My parents caught him drinking or skipping school or staying out all night lots of times. He wanted to do his own thing without getting hassled.”