Page 1 of Look for Me

Chapter One

Martin MacFarland parked his bright tangerine 1966 Shelby GT350 in the last spot by the curb. He lifted his sunglasses to take a clearer look across the small street.

On a sidewalk bench in front of the Key Largo Chocolate Shop, a woman wearing a bright orange apron—that matched the colors of the sign above the windows behind her—was eating her sandwich the way his ex-girlfriend would—all around the edges first. Martin remembered teasing her about her eccentricities when they had both worked at his sister’s pottery studio, she as the office manager and he as his sister’s personal assistant.

Could that be Corinne Anderson?

Except for her long hair—in a new honey blonde color and tied back in a ponytail—she didn’t look much different from the last time Martin had seen her two days after his sister’s wedding four years before.

Had it been that long?

The August sunshine swept across the treeless Florida road, casting a bright spotlight on the woman seated on the bench. The more Martin stared, the more confident he was that she was Corinne.

I should never have let her go.

He hadn’t forgotten her after she ghosted him as soon as they broke up four years ago, but it wasn’t until he’d had a string of failed relationships for the next three years that he realized what he had missed.

Now that he was an income-producing co-owner of MacMuscles Classic Car Restoration, he could afford to settle down—with the right woman.

His sister Tina reminded him that Corinne hadn’t shown signs of being a Christian when she walked out of his life. Today, she might still be unsaved. If so, her worldview would be different from Martin’s. He had to keep in mind who would raise his future children.

Would the mother of his kids be willing to take them to a Christian church if she didn’t believe in God or Jesus Christ?

Nonetheless, Martin had to find Corinne. Whether she was a believer or not, Martin wanted to ask her forgiveness for stringing her along and then trying to marry her when he felt guilty about their intimate relationship.

It had taken Martin one more year to track her down, with most of the work done by his private investigator friend, Ming Wei, who had connections all over North America.

Corinne Anderson was Dinah Miller now, but the records showed she wasn’t married.

The reason she was living under an assumed name was anybody’s guess. Why did she change her name? Why was she hiding from the world?

And from me, perhaps?

Well, Martin figured she must not be in too much danger—because she only ran as far away as Key Largo, Florida.

He could make the drive in eight hours if he drove straight through—nine, if he stopped to refill the gas tank and get food.

No, he didn’t have to ask Ming for permission—even though Ming had specifically told him that he didn’t have more information beyond the chocolate shop. The private investigator was working on something, but he wouldn’t know what to tell Martin until Monday.

Monday!

After a restless four or five hours of sleep, Martin was wide awake at three o’clock on Thursday morning. Staring at the ceiling, he made a snap decision to go. He hurriedly packed up a small overnight bag, and he was on the road by four, reaching Key Largo at eleven, even stopping at a fast food drive through along the way.

And there she was. On the bench, under the sun.

As clear as day, that was Corinne.

Martin unbuckled his safety belt, but didn’t leave the driver’s seat. He drank the remaining lukewarm coffee from a late breakfast as his eyes fixed upon Corinne, aka Dinah, who had finished her lunch.

Martin rolled down his window. The blast of hot Florida air slapped away the cool air inside his car. It must be at least ninety degrees.

It was then that it felt odd to Martin that Corinne was wearing such oversized long-sleeved shirt and baggy pants.

As long as Martin had known her, she was the spaghetti-strap type of girl, going to work at Tina’s office in sleeveless blouses whenever she could, even if the air-conditioner was on full blast in the pottery studio.

However, four years later in subtropical Florida—with a late summer even hotter than coastal Georgia—Corinne was wearing such shapeless clothes. Why?

He wanted a closer look.

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