The St James Affair

“That’s great that you’re helping out inner-city kids,” Jen said.

“It’s an outstanding idea,” Elaine announced.

“Thanks. I’m sorry to say, funds are low this year. We’re going to need a miracle to keep the league going.”

“You ought to have a gala.” Jenny beamed at him. “Trust me, we know about this stuff. We’re publicists.”

He looked blank.

“We are responsible for getting our clients’ faces in front of the press, or getting their products mentioned in magazines as the hot new must-have. That sort of thing,” Elaine said. “I’ve never heard of your organization. You should do some PR for exposure. It would increase your contributions tremendously. Trust me, I know the benefits of PR.”

“Yeah? What do you charge?” When she didn’t answer, he grinned. “I can’t afford you. Anyway, the time I put in is just as important.”

Everyone went for their bags. It struck Elaine that she hadn’t always hated Christmas. Sure, her self-disciplined approach to life had never allowed her to indulge too freely in the frivolities of the season. But, now that she thought about it, she once loved the warmth and joy of the season, the sentimental music and the spirit of generosity that took over even the most miserly of individuals. When had that hardened into annoyance and exasperation?

Watching Tony, she knew precisely when. It began the night he’d let her down. Right then had begun a slow erosion of the spirit. Hope had deflated, giving way to bleak reality. She’d begun to view the world through the eyes of a cynic. In the most holy of seasons, she saw greed instead of generosity, phoniness instead of sincerity. She’d learned to expect the worst of people and she was never disappointed.

Hiding her troubled thoughts, she rummaged deep in her handbag, sifting through gear she toted everywhere but the shower.

No wallet.

She frowned and rummaged some more, searching for the smooth leather case stuffed with plastic cards and folded bills.

No wallet.

“Something’s wrong here,” she muttered. She dumped the contents of her purse on the table, then put them back one by one. She felt Tony watching, and realized he had focused on her key chain, the one with the silver skate. It had been a gift from him, years ago, the only thing he’d ever given her. So what? she thought. Let him make what he would of it. She knew why she carried it.

As she sifted through the clutter on the table, a sinking feeling plummeted through her. “Somebody stole my wallet.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c4d9a0ae-2036-550c-baf9-9a82a9863993)

“YOU’RE IN LUCK,” Melanie said, gesturing at Tony. “We got a professional right here.”