If Wishes Were Magic

by Barbara Baldwin

  “Have you seen AJ?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Chanti’s gaze snapped back to his. “No, have you?”

  He could tell by her quick reply and sparkling eyes that she was interested. Okay, so much for one side of the problem. Now all he had to do was find AJ and assess his interest. Unfortunately, Charlie wasn’t even sure he was still in the Chicago area.

  “Not for a couple of days,” Charlie answered her. “I doubt he’s back in Texas though. I’m sure he would have dropped in to tell me bye.” He watched as Chanti absently stirred her coke with the straw. “Something else going on you want to talk about? You know me, the proverbial bartender who’s always willing to listen.”

  She gave him a smile then sighed. “Just work troubles.”

  “I thought everything was going great.”

  She snorted. “That’s what happens when I say things like that. PR screwed up on the advertising and now I’m getting letters from all these little kids asking Santa for puppies and baby brothers.”

  Charlie whistled. “The campaign for the new line?” He was often her sounding board for new ideas and Chanti had told him her plans for expanding Mori Cosmetics.

  She nodded sadly. “What am I going to do with all the letters I’m getting, Charlie? The post office says they’re not responsible because they were delivered to the box I rented.”

  “Toss them. Who would know?”

  “I can’t do that. What about all those kids who thought they were writing the real Santa?”

  He quirked a brow at her.

  “You know what I mean. And it’s not just the ones who want puppies or dolls.” She dug in her pocket. “Here. Listen to this. ‘Dear Santa. All I want for Christmas is my daddy. My mom cries at night since Daddy left in his green clothes. Can you stop on your way to our house and pick up my daddy? Love, Jennifer, age eight.’”

  Charlie heard the catch in her throat and hoped she didn’t start crying. He couldn’t stand it when a woman cried. “Green clothes?” he asked quickly.

  She shrugged. “Maybe he’s in the military?”

  Crap, a single tear slipped down her cheek. He patted it with his bar towel.

  “I hurt for Jennifer and all the children who wrote wanting things their parents can’t afford, or that are near impossible to obtain. And we only got the first batch of letters today. What will tomorrow and the day after bring?”

  “Chanti, baby, you can’t fix some things.”

  “What good is all my money then?” She scowled at him.

  “Well, now, coming from the perspective of a man who doesn’t have it, I would say—”

  “Why not try, Charlie?” Chanti interrupted suddenly, her eyes alive with excitement.

  “Try what?” Charlie wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

  “Using my money to help make their fantasies come true.”

  He watched as she excitedly dug into her pockets, pulling out folded and scrunched letters.

  “How hard can it be?”

  Charlie slapped his hand on the stack of envelopes as they started to slide off the bar. As he restacked them, he studied the writing. “There are no return addresses on most of these. How are you going to do anything?”

  She groaned. “I know. My assistant, Annie, says it’s because children believe Santa already knows where they live. That’s the problem.”

  “I’d say a rather major one.” Charlie shuffled the letters again, a plan forming that just might kill two birds with one stone. Or figuratively one of the birds would kill him if it didn’t work. “Are you serious about this?” he asked.

  “Yes, why not?”

  “Then why don’t you get AJ to help?”

  “What does a cowboy from Texas know about finding lost parents and kids?” she challenged.

  “Didn’t he tell you…” Charlie studied her. “What did you two talk about the other night?”

  She shrugged. “Just stuff.”

  He quirked a brow. “And?”

  “And none of your business, Charlie Brown.”

  “So you didn’t tell him who you really are?”

  “Well, I didn’t lie to him, but you know how I feel about guys knowing my background. The stars in their eyes turn to dollar signs.”

  “You think AJ would be the same?” Charlie knew better. AJ was more about doing what’s right and what felt good than having a pile of money.

  “It doesn’t make any difference. He’s from Texas and doesn’t like the cold.”

  Charlie heard the disappointment in her voice and knew he was on the right track. He handed her the card AJ had given him. “Here. Call this number. I think you’re going to need some help.”

  He watched her study the card, which was simple white business stock, the letters A-I embossed in the center with a phone number below them. She looked back at him, a question in her eyes.

  “Low profile; very discrete, but I hear they are very good.”

  Chapter 4

  For the rest of the weekend Chanti tried not to think about what she could do with the letters. That proved easy enough because Wilma and George were set on decorating for the holidays.

  “We’re already behind the rest of the neighborhood,” Wilma told her bright and early Saturday morning when Chanti came down for breakfast. “Didn’t you see the mailboxes when you drove home last night?”

  Chanti poured a large cup of coffee, added her favorite French vanilla creamer, and groaned as the first delicious sip slid down her throat. “It was dark last night. I didn’t notice.”

  “Well, I did when George and I went to the store. The whole road was lined with poinsettias and snowmen and the mailboxes are wrapped like presents.”

  “We live two miles off the main road. It really shouldn’t make any difference.” Chanti was all for decorating; just not so early on her day off, but Wilma gave her the look, and Chanti soon found herself caught up in the spirit of the season.

  They hauled boxes down from the attic and from above the garage. Chanti tried to keep Wilma from lifting anything too heavy and George from climbing the stepladder to put the lights up, but soon gave up. They would do what they wanted, and acted as though she were a stick in the mud for not being as enthusiastic.

  By Sunday evening, the house was aglitter with light, luminaries lined the driveway on both sides, and a huge wreath added a welcome touch to the front door. She flipped the switch for the gas fireplace in the living room and sank into an overstuffed chair with a glass of wine. Wilma and George had trundled off to bed after dinner and she knew they were completely worn out.

  The Christmas tree stood like some regal lady bedecked with shimmering jewels, but all alone in one corner of the room. There were no presents wrapped and sitting beneath its branches yet, but even when there were, they would be few. George and Wilma never had a family, and Chanti’s parents were gone. She closed her eyes, recalling the laughter and happiness that had filled this room for years. Regardless of how important her parents had been to their professions, the Christmas season had always been about family.

  Every night they had gathered in this room, singing Christmas carols, playing board games and sharing plans for the holidays. Part of the fun was deciding what the Christmas Committee, which Chanti’s mother had started the year Chanti was born, would do for the less fortunate families in Hattiesville. The committee held fundraisers during the year, and then used the money to provide for families during the holidays. One year they had purchased huge food baskets; another saw all the children with new winter coats and hats and mittens.

  Chanti smiled in remembrance at the times all the women had met in this very room, their enthusiasm catching. When her parents had died, the committee had continued and Chanti thought Mrs. Mayfair was probably in charge now. Rolling her wine glass between her palms, she contemplated calling the Hattiesville matron and getting involved with the committee again. Looking around the huge room, she longed for it to be full of people once more. Perhaps they could have a holiday
party here and distribute whatever gifts the committee had decided to purchase.

  She took a sip of wine and then almost choked as she gasped. “What am I thinking? Why did I not think of it earlier?” She spoke out loud, jumping up from the chair and dancing around in a little circle. “Mrs. Mayfair can handle the committee in Hattiesville. I could have a party for the letter children.” She envisioned children of all ages playing hide and seek around the furniture, or arguing merrily over some board game. But then she thought of how many letters they would probably receive and suddenly the living room was packed, children crying when they got shoved from behind, the Christmas tree tipping precariously as some ornery little boy pulled on the branches. Worst of all, Wilma and George would be worn to a frazzle trying to cook and cater to all.

  Chanti sank back into the chair, completely disillusioned. “Make a plan,” she murmured to herself. “Concentrate on the steps that will take you where you want to go.” She could hear her dad, who had taught her more about business than any college course.

  “Number one; what do you want to do? Have a party,” she answered herself. “Number two – where?” She looked around the room, which was large, but she feared not large enough. “Not here, so where?” There were several places in the city that would work, including her company. Chanti wasn’t too concerned about the where at this moment.

  “Who?” she asked the next question. “All the children, of course,” she replied, followed quickly by, “How?” And the how of it was where she got stuck. She wasn’t worried about how to throw a party; if she couldn’t do it, she knew plenty of party planners who would be happy to help her. No, the how of this problem was how to find the children.

  Remembering her conversation with Charlie on Friday night, she walked through the hall to the entryway where she saw the business card she had dropped beside her car keys. Would a low profile, highly discrete investigation firm be interested in finding a batch of children who still believed in Santa Claus?

  * * *

  “A-I, may I help you?” a woman, with a soft drawl that reminded Chanti of AJ, answered the phone on the first ring.

  Chanti had an instant of panic as she tried to decide how to explain her situation. It would be better done in person, when she could show an investigator the letters. Reading them would surely soften the heart of anyone at this time of year.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hello. I’m looking for an investigator and a friend gave me this number,” Chanti said.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Chanti thought she had dialed the wrong number.

  “You don’t do investigations? I thought…” Chanti couldn’t recall exactly what Charlie had said this A-I firm did; or had he said at all?

  “We provide a lot of services, Ms…?”

  “Morrison, with Mori Cosmetics,” Chanti introduced herself. “I’m sorry. I think perhaps I was given the wrong information. I’m from Chicago, and if you’ll forgive me for saying so, you don’t exactly sound like you’re from the area.”

  The woman laughed lightly. “We’re an international firm, Ms Morrison, but you’re right. We’re not in Chicago, however, I do have a man in the area right now. Could you give me a little more information about what you need from us? It will remain strictly confidential, I assure you, even if we can’t be of service to you.”

  When Chanti briefly explained why she needed to find the children, there was another pause on the line. The woman probably thought she was some pervert. “Look, just forget it. I might be able to find someone closer to Chicago.”

  “Ms Morrison, I’ll have to check with Mr. Anderson to see if he would be interested.” Chanti thought she heard a giggle on the other end of the line. “In fact, this isn’t our usual type of project at all, but it might be just what he needs for the holiday. Can you give me a few hours to get back to you?”

  Chanti turned at the knock on her office door and waved Jake in. “That would be fine. I have a meeting right now anyway.” She gave the woman her number and hung up.

  “I stopped at the post office on my way in,” he said by way of greeting. “These are the letters from over the weekend.” He had a tub of mail with him, and Chanti could only be thankful there was only one.

  “Do you suppose there are any letters from women in there who managed to see past the error in the ad?” She hoped they could still have a contest of some sort.

  “I didn’t open any of them. Do you want me to?”

  “No, we might as well wait to sort everything once we decide what to do with them. Speaking of, have you come up with some brilliant plan?” Chanti already knew what she would like to do, but since she had given Jake this assignment, she would listen to what he had to say.

  “I did, or rather Annie and I did.” He blushed lightly. “Mori Cosmetics could sponsor a party and send invitations to some of the kids who wrote addresses on their letters. We invite them here and have the press present to take pictures and write the story. Chantilly Frost turns error to advantage – something like that.” He sat forward on his chair, his face first enthusiastic and then anxious as she contemplated him.

  “I love the idea of a party; in fact, those were exactly my thoughts. However,” she paused, not wanting to pop his bubble of enthusiasm but she had already decided she would not use this as a publicity stunt. “There will be no press release and no newspaper reporters at the party. And, we’re going to invite as many of the children as we can find.”

  He frowned. “You wanted advertising damage control. Why not use the press?”

  She shook her head, adamant about this. “This will be a private affair. Besides, Frost will do fine without the promotion.”

  “Just a small leak?”

  “No, Jake. Nothing.”

  “Then how will you find the kids? At least if there was a news release, we might be able to locate some of them through the media.”

  “I made a call this morning, and should be hearing back from a company that might be able to help us. In the meantime, I suggest you get busy opening and sorting letters. This will be your priority from now until Christmas.” At his look of surprise, she added, “Get Annie to help you. She’s very good at categorizing things. I’ll let you know as soon as I have someone to help with the research.”

  * * *

  By early afternoon Chanti still hadn’t heard from the lady at A-I. She decided to grab a late lunch, and told Annie to forward any calls to her cell phone. If no one called by the time she returned, she’d get out the phone book and start calling local agencies. She walked to a deli, had a quick sandwich and ordered a latte to go.

  As she reached the outer door to her office building, the wind caught her scarf, blowing it across her face. Trying to juggle her latte and purse as she untangled her scarf, she heard a male chuckle behind her. An arm reached past her shoulder and pulled the door open. She turned to thank the man.

  “What are you doing here?” Chanti stared in surprise at the tall Texan who refused to give up his cowboy hat even when his ears turned red with cold.

  He looked just as surprised to see her, but recovered quickly. “Gosh, you could be a little more enthusiastic. And I could ask you the same question.”

  “I’m sorry, I just have a lot…how did you find me anyway? Did Charlie give you my address?” Her heart beat erratically at the sight of him even as she wondered if Charlie had betrayed their pact. Usually, he was very protective of her, but then AJ was his friend.

  “Could we have this conversation inside? It hasn’t warmed up around here since the last time I saw you.”

  Chanti’s stomach did a little flip-flop. How many times had she dreamt about that one night and the kisses they had shared? She glanced up at twinkling blue eyes, crinkling at the corners as he smiled, and she knew he was thinking about that night, too. She involuntarily leaned forward, wanting to feel the warmth of that night, his lips hot and firm against her own.

  He sneezed and gave a violent shiver.r />
  “Honestly,” Chanti sighed, reaching out to grab a handful of coat to pull him into the building. “Why are you even in Chicago if you can’t stand the cold?”

  AJ shrugged out of his coat and ran a hand through his hair as they waited for the elevator. She gasped. She had thought him extremely attractive in jeans and a sweater, but the corporate look of tailored slacks, oxford shirt and tie just about devastated her. She had to lean back against the elevator wall as the door closed to regain her equilibrium.

  She watched his brows raise when she punched the button to the top floor.

  “To answer your question, I’m not supposed to be here. I finished my work and have a flight back to Houston tomorrow night. But my office said a woman called in need of help.”

  He turned his head, gazing at her from beneath lowered brows. “I didn’t know it was you.” The elevator bell dinged, opening to her suite of offices on the top floor. He let her go ahead of him, stepping off the elevator and glancing around. “You weren’t exactly forthcoming now, were you, Chantilly Lace?”

  The heat of his gaze and his sheer size standing in her tasteful but dainty outer office had Chanti stammering. “It’s … Lynn.”

  “What?”

  “Chantilly Lynn, if you insist on adding my middle name.”

  He frowned at her and she knew he was, for some reason, mad. “Maybe I should be calling you President Morrison.”

  “The president is of the board. I’m CEO.” She watched his frown deepen. “Look, never mind the titles. What do you mean I called you?”

  “Anderson Investigations.” He handed her a card; the same card Charlie had given her, except this also had a cell number handwritten on it.

  “Well, it appears I’m not the only one who misrepresented himself,” she said as she walked past Annie and into her office. Someone was playing her, and she hoped it wasn’t Charlie. They had been friends too long.