Chasing Manhattan E-Book

John Gray

• Herausgeber: Paraclete Press
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 456

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

From the bestselling author of Manchester Christmas comes a new adventure full of love, generosity, and heart-pounding intrigue.  Following the runaway success of her first novel, Chase Harrington is hiding in Manhattan. Assuming the visions from her past are behind her, Chase takes an assignment that lands her in the center of a new mystery surrounding a mansion known as Briarcliff Manor and deceased millionaire Sebastian Winthrop. A letter, left by Sebastian, reveals three secrets surrounding the mansion where Chase is now living. Silent messages begin to appear, urging her to help those closest to her who are now in peril, including a deaf child shut away from the world and a war veteran still haunted by his past. With her handsome boyfriend, Gavin, and faithful dog, Scooter, at her side, Chase must unlock the secrets of Briarcliff, help those she has come to love and face the surprise ending not even she saw coming. This latest Chase Harrington adventure is so full of romance, kindness, mystery, and astounding twists and turns, it will leave you wanting to grab a flashlight and best friend, to go searching for clues in the dark.

Leseprobe

PRAISE FORManchester Christmas

“Sweet, romantic, and suspenseful, Manchester Christmas is an unexpected gift.”

—Richard Paul Evans,#1 New York Times best-selling author of The Christmas Box

“Stuffed to the seams with wholesome holiday cheer, Manchester Christmas is an adorable Christian romance set in a snow globe-worthy small town in Vermont.”

—Foreword Reviews

“Gray has authored three children’s books and has released his debut novel, a heart-filled book about a young writer who is drawn to a small New England town in search of meaning for her life. She encounters kindness, romance, and is pulled into a mystery. It has the sort of happy-ending story that everyone could use right now.”

—Berkshire Magazine, Massachusetts

“Manchester Christmas is a fun story, perfect for those times when you like a happy ending that brings a tear to your eye and a smile to your face.”

—CatholicMom.com

“The author brought to life the spirit of rural Vermont on every page. The characters are engaging. The story twists and turns in ways that make it difficult to close the book.”

—The White River Valley Herald, Randolph, Vermont

“Manchester Christmas also might be coming to a screen near you. The movie and television rights are being optioned by Brian Herzlinger, who is known for directing ‘Christmas Angel,’ ‘My Date with Drew,’ and ‘Finding Normal’ among others.”

—The Daily Gazette, Schenectady, New York

FOR MOM AND DAD.Your love made my dreams possible.

John Gray

author of Manchester Christmas

2021 First Printing

Chasing Manhattan: A Novel

Copyright © 2021 by John Gray

ISBN 978-1-64060-671-5

The Paraclete Press name and logo (dove on cross) are trademarks of Paraclete Press

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Gray, John, 1962- author.

Title: Chasing Manhattan : a novel / John Gray.

Description: Brewster, Massachusetts : Paraclete Press, [2021] | Summary: “Chase lands in the center of a new mystery when silent messages begin to appear, urging her to help those closest to her who are in peril”--Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021014088 (print) | LCCN 2021014089 (ebook) | ISBN 9781640606715 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781640606722 (epub) | ISBN 9781640606739 (pdf)

Subjects: BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Contemporary | FICTION / Women | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3607.R3948 C48 2021 (print) | LCC PS3607.R3948 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021014088

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021014089

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All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in an electronic retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Published by Paraclete Press

Brewster, Massachusetts

www.paracletepress.com

Printed in the United States of America

Chasing Manhattan

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Acknowledgments

About Paraclete Press

CHAPTER 1

59th or 50th?

For the first time in her life Chase Harrington was hiding. A self-imposed witness protection plan, made necessary because she wrote a book that inspired strangers to pack up their lives, drive cross-country, and seek her help fixing what was broken. In most cases, their lives. But a person cannot give what they no longer possess, and whatever magic Chase had conjured in the past, if it ever existed at all, was gone.

The true account of what happened to Chase in an abandoned church in Manchester, Vermont, and how she healed a hurting town was the stuff of legend, but it was over. The visions, or whatever they were, had vanished like a morning fog on a warm autumn day.

Chase was deeply in love, and it was the object of that love that held her hand tight and told her she needed to get away, at least for a while. Chase was smart, so she figured if the best place to hide a grain of sand was on the beach, then the perfect place for her to disappear was a big city, like Manhattan. And that’s where, for the last twelve months, Chase opened her eyes each morning with her faithful dog, Scooter, at her feet. This is where our story begins.

It was a beautiful fall day in the city that never sleeps. Maple trees with leaves the color of molten lava lined the sidewalks, their branches slowly swaying back and forth in the breeze as if dancing to music only they could hear. Chase needed to get outside and breathe it all in, knowing because she was anonymous here, she was safe.

As sunlight peeked over the tall buildings to her east, Chase could see it was a perfect morning for a jog. Her Australian Shepherd always tagged along for her runs in the country, but here, with so much traffic, it was too dangerous. Scooter didn’t mind hanging back, though, because of the fun he would find in the coffee shop that sat directly below the apartment Chase was renting.

After Chase did a quick stretch on the wide, rust-colored steps of her Manhattan brownstone, her pink and white Nike sneaks bounced lightly along the dirty and cracked streets of Gotham. Her thick auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail, as the matching blue lululemon pants and top hugged her size-four frame, causing more than a few heads to turn. Her pace was slow enough for her to stop on a dime, watching out for all manner of mayhem in such a busy place. Those bike messengers were the worst, flying by silently with some top-secret package to deliver.

Step by step she made her way from her overpriced apartment in the Lenox Hill neighborhood on the Upper East Side, toward Central Park for her daily three-mile run. The smell of sausage and peppers from the corner carts filled the air, awakening her empty tummy. Whitney Houston was singing about wanting to dance with somebody in the tiny white pro-beats that clung precariously to her ears, a birthday gift from her loving boyfriend, Gavin.

It was exactly seven blocks from her apartment on York Avenue to the entrance to the park on Fifth, but these were Big Apple blocks, so it took nearly a mile to cover it. Once in the park, she’d turn left and make her way toward the famous Plaza Hotel. There, horse-drawn carriages carried tourists on a half-hour loop through the park, as drivers with top hats and exotic accents pointed out where they filmed Ghostbusters or the rock where Macaulay Culkin met the pigeon lady in Home Alone 2. Chase smiled, thinking how she’d better watch out for those “sticky bandits” who chased little Kevin around.

Halfway into her run the singing was stopped by the sound of her phone ringing. It was tucked away in the small blue knapsack strapped to her back, next to a bottle of Fiji water. She assumed it was her driver, Matthew, wanting to know where to pick her up after her run, so she touched her left ear and said, “Hello?”

A warm male voice, one that still made her knees buckle, responded, “Hey, babe. You sound out of breath. You okay?”

“Yes,” Chase replied, “Just out for my run. Where are you, hon?”

Gavin Bennett, decked out in torn jeans and a red sweatshirt with the word GAP across the front, peered out of his silver and black Dodge pick-up trying to find a road sign. His dirty blonde hair was still like an untamed forest, framing that GQ-model face and ocean-blue eyes. Eyes scanning the landscape while trying to stay in his lane, he said, “Oh, there it is. I’m passing some place called Ram Map Oh.”

Chase laughed and said, “I think they pronounce it Ram-Uh-Poe. Like Edgar Allan Poe but with a ram at the front.”

Gavin smiled, picturing her with her hair back in a ponytail, wearing some perfectly matched outfit, weaving among and around pedestrians.

He finally responded, “Well whatever they call it, the GPS says I’ll be to you in forty-five minutes.”

Chase, not breaking her stride, replied, “Sounds good, cowboy. That should time out perfect. All I’ll need is a quick shower and we’ll grab dinner someplace nice.”

Gavin sipped the blue bottle of Gatorade that was resting in the cup holder and said, “Anything but sushi; we had that the last two times, my sweet.”

Chase loved the Japanese restaurant kitty-corner to her building, but knew Gavin was more a steak and potatoes guy. Still, you couldn’t blame a girl for trying to expand a farm boy’s palate. Plus, watching his face turn red when he put too much wasabi on a salmon roll was priceless.

“Don’t worry, Gav, I have a surprise for you. I’m taking you to Spark’s Steakhouse in Midtown. It has a perfect score on Zagat, serves up juicy steaks, and—you’ll love this part—it was home to a famous mob hit back in the eighties,” she said.

Gavin laughed, “So I’m going to eat where Tony Soprano got whacked? That sounds appetizing.”

Chase giggled as she ran. “It’s actually supposed to have great food.”

Before Gavin could reply, Chase’s ear bud made a beeping sound, letting her know someone else was calling. “Hey, babe, that’s my other line. Let me grab that and I’ll see you in less than an hour.”

Gavin was good about getting off the phone when Chase said she had to go, especially since the book came out and Chase’s life—heck, all of their lives—got turned upside down. So, he said, “No worries, hon, see ya soon.”

Chase tapped her left ear once again and gave another slightly breathless, “Hello?”

A familiar older man’s voice said, “Are we doing 59th or 50th for the pickup?”

It was Chase’s driver, Matthew Rodriguez, a retired New York City detective who came highly recommended by Sheriff Erastus Harlan back in Vermont. A friend of a friend in law enforcement is how Harlan found the guy, and Chase was so glad he did. Smart and honest, Matthew didn’t look at Chase like so many lesser men did, as some conquest. He had become almost a father-figure to her in these past twelve months, and even though he didn’t know all her secrets, he could tell Chase needed protecting, and he was more than up to the task.

“Hello, earth to Chase—can you hear me?” Matthew repeated to the silence on the other end.

“Yes, sorry, bud, my mind was wandering. Um, it feels like an East 50th kind of day.”

Matthew, sitting comfortably in the leather seats of his black 7-series BMW sedan, nodded, then said, “You got it. Oh, and by the way, Chase?”

Still running, but now with Fifth Avenue and the old FAO Schwarz building in her sights, Chase replied, “Yes?”

Matthew put the car in drive and said, “Someday you going to tell me why you keep going there? For real. And don’t tell me you’re praying, ’cause nobody prays that much or that fast.”

Chase waved him away in her mind with a quick, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, someday, Matthew, but for now …”

He checked his mirrors to make sure the coast was clear before pulling into traffic, responding, “But for now just drive the car. Keep it up and I’m gonna start calling you Miss Daisy.”

Chase stopped running for a moment to grab a quick drink out of her pack. “Miss Daisy?” she asked, confused.

Matthew laughing, “Oh, I keep forgetting, you were like two when that movie came out. Never mind, I’ll see you at East 50th and 5th in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Chase was the one smiling now. “You and those lambs. You would have fit in great back where I lived in Vermont. Lambs, cows, horses as far as the eye could see. I’ll catch you in a bit.”

A push of the button and Matthew was gone, replaced by Beyoncé singing about all the single ladies. The morning run finished, Chase was walking up Fifth Avenue now toward a big stone building she visited at least once a week. She was thinking, I’m a single lady, well sort of. But, probably not for long. She could tell Gavin was getting itchy to take things to the next level, and while Chase loved him, she needed time right now to get her life in order and figure out what came next, besides a wedding cake and place settings.

She walked by the famed Tiffany’s store and stopped in her tracks as a memory flooded her. Chase had taken a trip to New York City the summer before she started college, a graduation present from her grandmother. A handful of her high school friends were planning the trip, all the way from Seattle, but there was no way Chase’s mom could swing the plane ticket, hotel, and money for spending.

Grandma Margaret, “Marge” to her friends, overheard Chase telling her best friend, Cadence, on the telephone that she couldn’t go because she was broke. That’s when Marge took her husband’s old coin collection, collecting dust on the shelf, down to a dealer in Tacoma and got a thousand dollars for it. Those silver dollars, Buffalo nickels, and Liberty dimes certainly added up.

That was such a generous gift for a teenage girl who had never been more than fifty miles from where she was born. They stayed at the Hilton on West 54th Street, bought half-price tickets to the Broadway show Rent at something called the “TKTS Booth,” and ran around Times Square until 3 a.m. pretending they were Angel and Mimi from the show. Today for you, tomorrow for me, was the call of that crazy night.

Before they flew back home, the four girls walked up ritzy Fifth Avenue to see where the rich people shopped, and Chase went into Tiffany’s with her last fifty bucks, hoping to buy a souvenir. She didn’t care what it was, as long as it came in that famous light blue Tiffany box. An older employee, a well-dressed woman with blonde hair, saw how much money Chase had to spend and gently pulled her away from the other customers so no one could hear their conversation.

She whispered in Chase’s ear, “I’m sorry, sweetie. The cheapest thing we have in the store is a key chain, and those are seventy-five dollars.”

All of a sudden, after playing bigshot for the past forty-eight hours, the girl from the Pacific Northwest felt small and poor again. It stung.

The woman then did something incredibly kind, grabbing an empty Tiffany’s ring box from behind the counter and placing it in Chase’s hand. “Here, take a box and use it to hold something special. Someday, you’ll come back, and, on that day, it won’t be empty.”

Chase stood, lost in that memory, in front of Tiffany’s, making people in a hurry walk around her. She gazed through the windows at the fancy store, knowing she could purchase pretty much anything she wanted now, due to the success of her book. Funny thing was, she had no desire to go in. Every time she walked by though, she hoped she’d catch a glimpse of that older woman who had been kind to her that hot summer day seventeen years earlier.

She’d say, “You don’t remember me, but you were very nice to me when I was young and poor and pretending to be rich.”

It’s funny how moments like that don’t just leave a mark, but sometimes come back to take another bite. You can’t make friends with some memories, no matter how hard you try. The first time Gavin visited her in Manhattan they walked by Tiffany’s and he asked if she wanted to go in. Instead, they sat and had coffee at the Carnegie Deli, and she told him the story about the kind woman giving her the empty blue Tiffany’s box. She could see his heart breaking for her as she told it. It was another reason Chase knew she loved Gavin, sharing something so personal and knowing he was truly listening.

The thought of Gavin in the deli that day holding her hand made her smile when, “EXCUSE ME MISS,” someone said in a loud rude tone, reminding Chase that standing still in the middle of the sidewalk on busy Fifth Avenue was an invitation for a collision.

“Sorry, sorry,” she replied sheepishly, getting her feet moving again. As she passed a group of teenagers taking selfies outside the Versace store to her left, the all too familiar stone spires of her destination were beginning to come into sight. Parked outside the historic building was the black BMW with her charming driver, Matthew, behind the wheel.

He looked up from his New York Post and locked eyes with Chase, shaking his head with a tiny smirk that said, You’re nuts, young lady, but go ahead. I know you can’t help yourself. Go on in.

Chase threw him a quick wave and then went up the steps where a security guard recognized her from her frequent visits and gave her a friendly nod.

No vehicle, big or small, is allowed to linger long on Fifth Avenue, especially at the corner of East 50th near Rockefeller Center, but Matthew had no intention of circling the block or even shutting off the car’s engine. He knew that ninety seconds after Chase disappeared behind those big wooden doors, she’d pop back out and come directly to the car, hop in the front seat, and say, “Drive, please.”

Sure enough, as if he were timing a soft-boiled egg, Chase did exactly that, exiting the building as quickly as she’d gone in.

The security guard wished Chase a good day as she skipped down the steps, passing a large group of tourists who had just gotten off a Greyhound bus. They were young and wearing matching yellow t-shirts so they wouldn’t lose each other, cameras at the ready, heading toward the large stone structure. This particular building was a must stop for anyone visiting New York City for the first time.

As Chase placed her hand on the door of the BMW to get herself home for a romantic dinner with her sweet Gavin, she heard the guard announce to the noisy tourists, “Welcome to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

CHAPTER 2

A Quarter to Spare

It was a short drive from Rockefeller Center to the Lenox Hill area of Manhattan, and Chase refused to sit in the back seat, even though she was paying Matthew to drive her. It felt as if she’d be saying to the world, Look at me, the fancy girl with the fancy driver. She preferred instead to sit up front and chat, although today she was uncharacteristically quiet, her tongue still, her mind wandering, and her gaze out the car windows fixing on nothing at all.

Chase adjusted herself in the seat and felt a jab in her right hip, revealing something in her pocket, poking her. She wiggled around a bit to gain leverage, pushed her small fingers inside the tiny pocket and fished out a single shiny quarter. Chase rubbed the coin between her thumb and fingers, and it worked like a time machine, transporting her to a memory and place far away.

As the car eased its way through the Upper East Side, Chase looked down at the coin and said quietly, “Some kids don’t have a quarter, so I’d leave them one.”

Matthew, not taking his dark brown eyes off the road said, “I’m sorry, what about quarters?”

Chase liked and trusted Matthew, but in the year he’d been her driver she had never let him into her real life. She couldn’t tell you why. After all, he came across as one of the most stand-up men she’d ever met, as solid and trustworthy as he was handsome for his age. Yet today, there was something about the way he asked her that last question, a kindness in his voice, that caused Chase to let her guard down.

“Back where I used to live in Manchester, Vermont,” she began, “They had a store called Orvis; it was an L.L. Bean-type place.” Matthew nodded, “Okay.”

“Outside this store was a big pond filled with trout of all shapes and sizes. I mean these things were HUGE.”

She saw he was listening, so she continued, “By the back of the store, near the door that led to the pond, they had a gumball machine with fish food inside, and you could fill up a little paper cup with the food if you put a quarter in. You know what I mean?”

Matthew, following along, said, “So instead of getting candy like a regular gumball machine, you got fish food.”

“That’s right,” Chase replied, “and when you threw the food into the water the fish went crazy trying to gobble it up.”

Matthew could imagine the feeding frenzy in his own mind right now.

She continued as she looked down at the coin, “I was just thinking about that place and saying to myself that some kids didn’t have a quarter for the fish food. Some kids are broke, ya know?”

Matthew smiled, “I do. I used to be one of them.”

“Me too,” Chase said, smiling back. “Anyway, once a month I’d stop at Bennington Bank and buy a roll of quarters for ten bucks, then I’d leave it with Liana Bonavita, the nice lady who ran the Orvis store.”

Chase hadn’t thought of Liana since she left Vermont, prompting her to smile again and say, “Isn’t that a great name, Liana Bonavita. It’s almost lyrical.”

Matthew chuckled and said, “It is. It sounds like an exotic place you’d go on vacation. ‘Sorry, can’t talk, I’m catching a flight for Bonavita.’”

They were both smiling now at Matthew’s silliness.

“Anyway,” Chase continued, “I’d leave the quarters with Liana, and she’d keep them separate from the register, and when some kid was looking for fish food and didn’t have any money, she’d say, ‘Hold up, I have a quarter to spare,’ and hand them out, making a child happy.”

Matthew considered the kind gesture and in a thoughtful voice said, “Well, that was nice of you, Chase.”

She smiled and said, “I didn’t have a lot growing up, so things like that, not even having a quarter sometimes—I don’t know, I guess when I see a kid like that I want to help.”

Chase looked out of the car’s windshield at the busy traffic, but then her grin fell away as she remembered standing on a small wooden bridge that crossed the pond full of fish in Vermont. She and Gavin stood there more than once, talking, but the last time was an unhappy memory. It involved a very difficult conversation with Gavin, one where, in the end, she knew she had to leave Vermont, a place she adored.

Telling the man, you love, “I can’t stay here,” causes an ache that never quite leaves you.

Matthew saw the sadness in her face and said, “I know you are a private person, Chase, but I also know you are hiding from something here in Manhattan, and the thing is, I can’t protect you properly if I don’t know what it is.”

There was a long silent pause, then Mathew added, “Why are you here, Chase?”

Chase liked Matthew. He looked like a fluffy Antonio Banderas, the silver in his hair growing whiter by the day and the creases around his eyes telling you this was a man who had seen some things in his years as a cop. Even though he had retired from the force he still dressed like a police detective, with a neatly pressed dress shirt, slacks, and shoes. Appearance was important to Matthew.

Chase had ducked his polite inquiries for months, but seeing those kind eyes searching for a way to help her, perhaps it was time, she thought, to take the trust he had earned and put it to use.

She decided to just say it. “I’m a writer, Matthew, and a couple of years ago when I went to visit a small town in Vermont something happened to me that led me to write a book.”

Matthew considered her words and replied, “Something happened. Was it something good or bad?”

Chase put both feet on the front seat and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping them with her arms the way a child would who was about to tell a secret.

She went on: “No, not bad. Just strange. I lived in an old church building and started seeing things in the windows that ended up coming true.”

Matthew then, “You mean—literally seeing?”

“Yes, I mean I’d see something in the stained glass that wasn’t there before, and it turned out to be a clue to help someone in town,” she replied.

Matthew sat in silence as she added, “And before you ask, no, I’m not psychic. It hasn’t happened before or since.”

Matthew immediately thought about all the times she had finished her daily jog by taking a quick walk through St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and then his mind shifted back to what she just said about the church in Vermont. “Hang on, let me park first.”

After pulling the car into an empty spot in front of the dry cleaners Chase used often, Matthew turned facing her now and said patiently, “Go on.”

Chase locked eyes with his and said, “When I looked at the church windows, I saw people in town who were in trouble, and so I helped them. That’s all. I’m a writer, so I wrote a book about the experience, and when word got out, things got weird for me.”

Matthew was thinking hard now, trying to make sense of it, then asked, “What do you mean when word got out? You mean when people read the book?”

Chase nodded, “Sort of. Here’s what happened. I write and publish the book and it does all right, in sales, ya know.”

Matthew just nodded as he followed along.

“Then a TV station in Boston hears about it and sends a reporter from four hours away to Manchester to interview me. I do it, thinking I’m just talking to people in Boston.”

Matthew was confused now. “You weren’t?”

“No,” Chase began, “they do the story and put it up on the satellite and give it to CNN. Next thing I know my story and book have gone viral.”

“Well, that must have been good for sales, right?” Matthew said.

“Right, it was. I was on the bestsellers list two weeks later. But then people from all over who had troubles in their lives started making this pilgrimage to Manchester, asking me to look at the church windows and tell them if their mom was in heaven or where their lost cat was.”

Matthew thought for a moment then said, “And you had no clue.”

“No, I didn’t, and most of them just stared at me with these lost, sad eyes like …” Chase let out a deep sigh and didn’t finish the thought.

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. I get it now. So, you needed to get out of there for a while?”

Chase reigned in her emotions and said, “Yes, that’s why I’m here in a big city where nobody knows me.”

The two sat in silence another moment when Matthew finally asked, “Is that why you keep going to St. Patrick’s? Are you looking up at all those windows for something?”

Chase felt relief rush over her. It was good that someone understood and knew she wasn’t crazy.

“Yes,” she answered, “I literally do a quick loop inside, looking up at all that stained glass, and it always looks exactly the same. Whatever happened in Vermont, stayed in Vermont, and is apparently finished with me.”

Matthew touched her hand like a father trying to comfort a child, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Chase threw her hands in the air, shrugged her shoulders, “Beats me. I have a book everyone read, a bank account full of money, and here I am running around churches like some fool.”

Matthew didn’t say a word, just listening now.

Chase added, “And you wanna hear the funny part?”

Matthew nodded silently.

“Before Vermont, I’m not sure I even believed in God. I rarely went to church, so I keep asking myself the same question …” Her voice trailed off.

“Why you?” Matthew said firmly.

“Exactly!” Chase replied, “Why me?”

After another slight pause Matthew asked, “So how many more times am I picking you up at East Fiftieth?”

Chase responded, “You mean how many more times am I running through the church there?”

She pushed away a tear from her left eye, embarrassed she was getting this emotional about it. “Oh, I think we’re done. I think today was the last time.”

She looked at her watch, signaling that she really had to go.

Picking up on the signal, Matthew said, “Hey, before you duck out, did I ever tell you why my name is Matthew?”

Chase liked the fact that he was changing the subject. “Nope, I don’t think you did.”

Her thoughtful driver continued, “My mom was super-religious, and of all the stories in the Bible she loved the fact that Jesus chose Matthew as one of his special twelve.”

Chase wasn’t following. “I don’t read the Bible, so I don’t get the significance.”

He continued, “Matthew was a tax collector and only cared about money. He’s the last person you’d think Jesus would want for an apostle. He even told Jesus when they met, listen dude, I’m NOT the guy you want.”

Chase giggled. “He called Jesus ‘dude’?”

Matthew laughed. “Probably not, but you get my point.”

Chase thought a moment and said, “Maybe my mind is foggy today. What’s your point?”

He finished saying, “My mom always said even if you don’t believe in God, he believes in you, and he sometimes uses the least likely among us to do good things.”

Chase was on the verge of tears again, thinking about what Matthew said, replying in a slightly cracked voice, “And you think that’s me, huh?”

Matthew was the one shrugging his shoulders now. “Beats me, but why not? You’re a good person, Chase. I saw that the first day I met you. And I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me about Winchester, Vermont, and the church windows.”

Chase laughed, “Manchester, it was Manchester, but … thank you, Matthew.”

Chase felt like a twenty-pound weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she smiled at her driver and said, “Gotta go. Thank you for listening.”

Matthew Rodriguez watched his one and only client exit the vehicle and make her way toward the front door of her well-appointed building.

He noticed she left the quarter that was in her hand, the one that triggered all those memories, behind on the dashboard. Matthew scooped up the emotional landmine, tossing it into a dish with the rest of his loose change.

As he watched Chase pull the rubber band tie out of her hair, causing it to fall softly on her shoulders, catching the late morning light, Matthew had one powerful thought cross his mind.

He said it out loud, as if doing so made it more real, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Chase. I promise.”

What Matthew didn’t know was that he had the situation exactly backwards. It was Chase who would someday save his life.

CHAPTER 3

Fur-Ever Java

The Brownstone where Chase lived alone with her pup was four stories high. She rented the second floor, with tenants above and a one-of-a-kind coffee shop taking up a very lively residence down below. Chase smiled every time she approached the front door and looked up to see the large red and white sign that said Fur-Ever Java. The casual observer would assume it was just a play on words, but within thirty seconds of entering the coffee house, you’d understand what the Fur was about.

Chase was about to reach for the doorknob to let herself in when she heard her best friend call out to her. Scooter, an Australian Shepherd she’d saved from a shelter outside Seattle, was already in the window announcing her return. Scooter was smart and knew exactly how long his mommy’s morning jog took. One hour after she left, his piercing, light blue eyes would scan the block waiting for the black car to arrive that carried everything that mattered to him in the world.

Chase pulled the door open and braced herself for the two front paws that would hit her legs hard, just above the knee, Scooter’s way of saying I missed you.

“EASY, buddy,” she said, scratching the top of his furry head.

“Did he behave?” Chase asked the busy café, tossing the question to whoever wanted to catch it.

Raylan, the owner, said, “Are you kidding? He’s smitten with that Pug who just came in, Penelope. The two were thick as thieves while you were gone.”

Chase’s eyes scanned the café, and waddling over was a small dog with a light brown body and a jet-black face. Around the Pug’s neck was a handmade white cloth collar with the name PENELOPE sewn right in. The animal shelter on Bleeker Street in Greenwich Village had a volunteer sew those collars so any dog that was up for adoption would be easy to identify.

Chase leaned down to give her a pat on the head when Scooter suddenly pushed himself between them as if to say, Um, mom, she’s mine.

Chase looked at Raylan and said, “You’re not kidding, he likes her. It’s gonna break his heart when she goes.”

Raylan, a man in his forties, with a face that told a hard story and a crisp white apron tied around his waist, continued wiping down a table and replied, “Oh yeah, he’ll be heartbroken until the next girl comes in to visit.”

A well-dressed woman in her sixties holding an expensive Hermes bag was looking at pottery, specifically a clay bowl made by a local artist. Raylan was kind enough to offer a free shelf in his café to any of the local artisans so they could sell their wares. He wouldn’t even take a cut, letting them keep all the profits. In Raylan’s mind everyone needed a hand up sometimes, especially a struggling artist.

The woman holding the bowl asked in a rude tone, “Can I ask you why you have so many dogs in here?”

“GOUT, It’s definitely gout, Raylan.” The words came from a different woman with short red hair who worked part-time at the café and was busy not ringing up customers. Instead, she was staring at a laptop computer that didn’t belong on the front counter. She shouted to Raylan something about gout with a look of horror on her face.

Raylan turned from the customer who asked the question about the dogs toward the woman with the laptop and said, “Hang on, Deb. You can tell me about your horrible disease in a minute. I’m talking to a customer.”

Deb slammed the computer shut and walked in a circle talking to herself, “Gout, I knew it. And everyone said I just banged my leg on the stairs. It’s probably creeping toward my brain as we speak.”

Raylan, no stranger to Deb’s hypochondria, heard that last comment about it creeping and started laughing out loud.

The wealthy woman holding the pottery looking annoyed, asking, “Did I say something funny?”

Raylan straightened up, “No, ma’am. I was laughing at my worker. Every day she comes in here with some ailment and instead of RINGING UP CUSTOMERS,” Raylan said loudly in Deb’s direction, “She gets on the internet and puts in her symptoms and about twenty seconds later she’s convinced she has some horrible disease.”

Raylan could see the woman wasn’t amused or interested, “I’m sorry. What was your question again—why so many dogs in here?”

The woman folded her arms in front of her in a defiant stance and said, “Seems like a health hazard in a place you sell food.”

Raylan had gotten the question before and was growing tired of answering it. Chase, holding Scooter by his collar, was eavesdropping, so she decided to help him out.

“Mrs.?” Chase began with inquiry in her voice.

The woman turned a cold eye toward Chase and said, “Wainwright. Delores Wainwright. And you are?”

“Chase,” she replied with a smile.

The woman crinkled her nose, “Chase? Aren’t you a girl?”

Chase let go of Scooter’s collar now so he could go rub noses with his new girlfriend, Penelope, saying, “Yes, last I checked. Anyway, Mrs. Wainwright, can I ask you a question? I saw you looking at the pottery there … it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

The older woman paused, then said in a calmer tone, “It is.”

Chase continued, “Were you thinking of maybe buying some?”

The woman cleared her throat, “I suppose I was, but …”

Before she could continue, Chase said, “Not to interrupt, but I’ll bet you when you walked into this coffee shop you planned on getting coffee, not pottery, but because it’s here you happened to see it and like it and now you might get it.”

The woman was curious where this was going and said only, “Right.” Chase continued, “This Fur-Ever Java café is spelled like Fur, F-U-R, for a reason.”

Now it seemed everyone in the café had stopped what they were doing and was listening to Chase. She went on, “At any given moment there are hundreds of cats and dogs sitting in animal shelters in the five boroughs of New York City. People don’t adopt them because they don’t see them.”

“Raylan here,” Chase continued, now pointing over to her landlord and the coffee shop owner, “Raylan has agreed to bring two dogs in at a time from the shelter and let them kinda wander around the shop and meet the customers. And before you ask or look where you stepped, they have to be housebroken and friendly or Raylan doesn’t take them in.”

The woman was looking down at Scooter when Chase added, “Oh no, not this one. This pup is mine, but Penelope here and that white dog who is sleeping over in that corner are from the shelter.”

Delores noticed the other puppy, mostly white with dark swirl markings, all curled up and leaning against a wall with her eyes closed.

Raylan jumped in at this point adding, “I take in two dogs at a time and let them live here, and my regular customers get to know them. Nine out of ten times they get adopted by someone who has been around them a few times and likes them.”

The woman considered what she was hearing and asked, “And the health department allows it?”

Raylan scratched his chin, just below a large scar on the right side of his face, and said, “Let’s just say it hasn’t been a problem because nobody ever complained. The dogs and I have an arrangement. They agree to behave, and I save their lives. It’s a pretty fair deal.”

Penelope the Pug walked over, almost if on cue, and wagged her cropped tail, looking up at the older woman with loving eyes.

Delores couldn’t help but smile and said, “Well, they won’t hear any complaints from me. The health department, I mean.”

With that she took a small blue handmade pottery bowl and moved toward the register, causing Raylan to raise his hand and stop her.

“You must have missed the sign out front ma’am. Every customer who Penelope wags her tail at, gets a free bowl today. So, it’s on her. You have a wonderful day.”

The older woman, feeling almost ashamed of her ill-temper, smiled and said, “Very kind of you.”

She then surprised everyone when she reached down and patted the puppy on the head, “Thank you for the bowl, Penelope.”

Delores Wainwright took her new pottery and the coffee she’d already paid for and headed for the door.

Chase smiled and said to Raylan, “You’re going to go broke if you keep doing that, bud.”

Raylan laughed and brought his hand up to cover the scars on his face, an automatic reflex born of embarrassment. With Chase, and a few others he trusted, Raylan forgot the scars were even there. And the truth was, living above the coffee shop for a year now, Chase no longer even noticed what Raylan unceremoniously called his present from the war.

“GOUT, ravaging my body as you give away pottery.” Deb said out loud so the whole café could hear. She shouted louder, “CREEPING TOWARD MY BRAIN AS WE SPEAK.”

Raylan turned with a wicked grin and shouted back, “When it gets there it will find a vacancy sign.” Chase shook her head, laughing, and took up Scooter’s leash to take him upstairs to her apartment and get ready for Gavin and dinner.

Raylan couldn’t resist asking Chase, “Is stud muffin farmer boy coming into town again? More sushi? Is he thinking about moving in? I mean, in fairness, it is supposed to be an apartment for one.”

Chase shot him a look and said, “And that’s how it will stay. I told you Raylan, I’m an old-fashioned girl. There will be plenty of time for that stuff later.”

Raylan replied, “You mean after you’re married.”

Chase answered, “Of course, but there’s no rush.”

Curious now, Raylan asked, “So where does he stay when he drives down to visit?”

“His buddy from college lives just outside the city and has an extra room where Gavin can crash anytime he likes,” she replied.

Raylan smiled, “Well, I admire the traditional values.”

Chase started toward the door, with Scooter in tow, when Raylan called after her, “Hey, can you do me a favor? Take the box on the end of the counter, the one covered in tin foil, and leave it on the side steps as you head up to your apartment?”

Chase looked confused, so Raylan added, “It’s food, day-old stuff. I was gonna throw it away. Just leave it on the stairs. Please.”

Chase did as she was asked, and a half hour later the box of goodies was gone. She’d find out soon enough who took it and why.

CHAPTER 4

Carrie Bradshaw Lied

Chase’s jaw fell to the floor when, one year ago, she opened an email from a man with a strange first name and saw what he wanted for a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Chase’s first place after college in Seattle was $850 a month and that included utilities. When she rented an old church in Vermont, they wanted $1,200 a month, which was a big step up for her pricewise. But this was a whole new universe, paying $3,700 dollars for a 900-square-foot flat with a leaky showerhead and a bedroom that offered a spectacular view of a brick wall.

Still, Chase checked around and saw that in the higher-end neighborhoods where she wanted to live, not far from Central Park, what Raylan was asking was more than fair, especially when you consider that the place came with two parking spaces at a nearby garage. Perfect for a woman with a vintage ragtop Mustang and a boyfriend with a big truck.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the money. Chase’s first novel, Manchester Christmas, sold 600,000 copies when word got out that it was based on a true story. People ate up stuff like that, especially if there was a paranormal element to it. She even got a call from a Hollywood director, Brian something or other, looking to buy the rights to her story. He kept going on about the movies he’d made and his date with actress Drew Barrymore, when Chase politely cut him off and said, “Sorry pal, not interested, but tell Drew I said hi!”

Still, every time she turned the key and went into the tiny apartment, Chase couldn’t help rolling her eyes at how little all that money had bought her.

Most women Chase’s age grew up binge watching Sex and the City and following the amazing life of Carrie Bradshaw. They all bought in to the belief that you could write a weekly column for a newspaper no one ever heard of and make enough money to afford a large three-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village.

“Carrie Bradshaw lied,” Chase said out loud to her tiny apartment the very day she moved in.

Still, she couldn’t complain. Most adults in their thirties who worked jobs in Manhattan were forced to live like sardines, three to an apartment, if they wanted the Upper East Side. Most found themselves taking trains to and from work, from one of the outer boroughs. Chase was lucky, because the book had sold so well it afforded her this option. The money also allowed her to hire a driver and avoid flagging down cabs in the rain or riding the subways at night. A young 135-pound woman walking alone in the dark in any big city was never a good idea, so her driver and friend, Matthew, was an extravagance she could justify.

Her apartment door opened into a small living space with hardwood floors that needed refinishing, which made her happy because it also meant Scooter’s nails couldn’t make them any worse. Mounted to the right of the door was a small coat rack where she hung her black leather jacket, Scooter’s leash, and Gavin’s cowboy hat if he chose to wear it. When she first moved in and he began visiting, Gavin wore the tan Stetson all the time, but he soon learned that kind of headgear earns you lots of stares and comments. More often than not lately, Gavin just left the hat on the passenger seat of his truck.

The walls of her apartment were exposed brick, making it difficult to hang photos properly, and her couch was a small two-seater, just enough room for the two of them to watch TV.

Gavin, having grown up on a farm and being used to miles of space and blue sky above, felt confined in the big city, but if this was where his sweetheart needed to be right now, he was willing to make the long drive to see her. Most men wouldn’t have been so patient, a year of this back and forth, but Gavin knew a keeper when he met one, and that was certainly his Chase. Still the give and take was feeling a bit too much like take as of late, and Gavin was growing restless in this cramped, noisy city.

The kitchen was also small with a four-top gas stove and one dangerous problem. The back burners wouldn’t light on their own, so you had to turn the gas on and then ignite them with a match. If you didn’t get it on the first try the smell of gas quickly filled the kitchen, making your second effort with the match crucial. Raylan told her, “If you can’t get it on the first or second try, shut off the gas, crack open a window and leave it be until the smell is gone.” Who knew making a cup of tea could be so rife with peril?

Chase signed a one-year lease, which was about to expire, and Raylan, the landlord, hadn’t mentioned her renewing it yet. He was so busy giving away pottery to people downstairs and trying to adopt out all these unwanted puppies, Chase assumed it had just skipped his mind. Chase didn’t love the apartment—it was a bit claustrophobic—but she adored the neighborhood, especially the café below. Most days it felt like an island of misfit toys due to the collection of odd ducks who frequently found their way in. Raylan was damaged from the war; the scars on the outside were easy to spot, but the others, which ran deeper, remained hidden away.

Deb on the cash register was a hoot, a phrase Chase’s grandmother Marge was fond of saying, and the locals who came in for scones and cappuccinos were fun to watch. Chase could sit for an hour at a corner table downstairs and just drink it all in.

“Characters for a future book,” she’d tell herself, as she sat in silence and observed them. And now today this new mystery, Raylan having her leave trays of food on the stairs for some invisible guest, intrigued her too.

Chase hopped in the shower, trying to wash away the morning run, as Scooter lay on the thick beige towel she left folded on the floor just outside the shower door. Chase would step onto it to catch the dripping water and Scooter would lick the tiny drops off her feet, tickling them.

“Stop it, silly,” she’d say to him, taking his drying technique as an expression of love.

Once dried off, she threw on a pretty pink blouse and designer jeans and was about to sit down to start her makeup when she heard Gavin’s footsteps on the stairs. There was something about the way he walked that told her it was him.

She looked at Scooter and said, “It’s funny how you can tell it’s someone you love just by the stomping of their feet.

Gavin used the spare key Chase had given him to engage the lock.

“Babe?” he called, as he swung open the door, sending Scooter running in his direction for a hug.

“Hey buddy, where’s mommy—making herself beautiful?” he asked the happy pup.

Scooter slammed his backside against Gavin’s leg and then turned on a dime and returned to Chase. There was no doubt whose dog he was. Gavin saw her cell phone charging on the counter and noticed there was a missed call and a voicemail.

“You got a message, hon,” he yelled toward the sound of the blow dryer hard at work on her thick wet hair. Chase’s beautiful face peeked around the corner from the bathroom and said, “See who it is.”

Gavin liked the fact that they held no secrets and could pick up each other’s phones without worrying that they’d be upset by something they saw. He unplugged the silver iPhone and looked at the screen and read the name aloud, “It says ‘Jennifer from college.’”

Chase shut off the blow dryer and moved on to brushing her teeth, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink, wishing she was half as pretty as Gavin always made her feel. The way he looked at her was paralyzing at times. No man had ever given her that sense of adoration before.

She finished quickly and came out of the tiny bathroom to give him a peck on the lips with her minty fresh breath. “Thank you for making the drive. How’s dad?”

Gavin took a seat at the kitchen table and said, “Good. Busy. Stubborn. The usual menu, I’d say.”

Chase’s mind just caught up with what Gavin said about the missed call and asked, “Did you say ‘Jennifer from college’?”

Gavin, still holding her phone in his hand, raised it up so she could read the screen. “Yep. That’s what it says. You’ve never mentioned her before.”

Chase looked perplexed now. “No, I haven’t. Gosh, I haven’t heard from Jen in like five years. She’s a writer like me but more a journalist.” Gavin, following along, asked, “What newspaper does she write for?”

Chase thought a moment, trying to remember, “I think she actually worked for a magazine in Chicago last I knew. Honestly, I’m not sure, it’s been so long since I heard from her.”

She then pushed play on the voicemail button and put it on speaker so they could listen together.

“Hey Chase, it’s Jen. First up, congrats on the book. Bestsellers list! Wow. Good for you. Anyway, I’m assuming you are still up in Vermont, but if you are taking a break from writing novels, I need a really big favor. I’m at the New Yorker now, the magazine, and our subscriptions and web hits are a bit down right now. I told my boss we were friends in college, and she asked if I could get you to do a special guest assignment for us. At first I thought no, I’m not even going to ask, I don’t like trading on friendship that way. But then something fell in my lap that I thought you’d be perfect for. Geez, I’m rambling on and this thing is probably gonna cut me off. Call me back when you get this message and I’ll tell you about it. Again, congrats on the book.”

With that the phone let out a beep and Jennifer from college was gone.

Gavin looked at Chase, trying to gauge her reaction, but he couldn’t get a clear read on her face, asking instead, “You want to call her back? You know, to take the job?”

There was an awkward moment of silence, so Gavin stepped deeper into the murky water, now adding, “You haven’t worked in a year, Chase, I mean, written. Might be good for you.”

Another pause, and then he finished the thought: “To work, I mean.”

Still thinking about the message and whether or not she was ready to dive back into writing, Chase finally said, “You excited for steak tonight? This place is supposed to be great.” She started toward the door to grab her jacket but realized Gavin wasn’t following after. As much as Gavin adored her, he hated when Chase did this, side-stepping a question she didn’t want to answer, so he just kept staring at her without saying a word.

She knew that look in those pushy blue eyes, so she said, “Yes, of course I’ll call her back. As far as working or not working … we can talk about it over dinner. Actually, there’s a few things we should talk about.”

Gavin could tell now was not the time to push her, but asked, “Are you going to call Matthew to come get us and drive us to dinner?”

Chase avoided eye contact as she picked up the keys to Gavin’s truck off the counter and said, “I thought we could give him the night off and you drive.”

Gavin knew what that meant. Whatever they needed to talk about might go sideways fast, and if they were about to have their first big fight, Chase would rather not have an audience in the front seat.