The bus groaned and clanked as the driver braked to a halt in front of the station. I stared at the faded advertisements, searching for some hint of recognition, something to spark a memory...something.

The doors squeaked open and I took a deep breath. Here it was. Here was the town, the place I’d been born, the place I’d grown up, but it didn’t kick-start my memory the way the doctor had sworn it would.

I grabbed my duffle bag and got to my feet, adjusting for the slight sway of the bus as it rocked to a complete halt. I shuffled down the aisle and stopped at the door. I was the last person on the bus and the driver gave me a curious look. He took off the cap and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Bayport, son,” he said, gesturing with his cap.

I nodded. I’d seen the sign. I knew it was the final stop for this bus. I swallowed hard and felt a moment’s panic. What if Doctor Robertson was wrong after all. What if I wasn’t him?

Three weeks ago, I’d awakened in a hospital room with a vicious headache. And no memory. Doctor Amelia Robertson had found me herself by the highway, unconscious, with a nasty bump on my head. No identification, no idea who I could be.

But Doctor Robertson was undeterred, even after her husband told her to let it go. She’d searched over and over via the Internet until she found an old story of a missing son. She immediately showed it to me, assuring me we were a perfect match down to the birthmark. So why didn’t I remember my life? My family?

“You getting off, son?” asked the bus driver, startling me.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Guess this is my stop. Thanks.”

He smiled at me as I stepped off the bus, my heavy boots kicking up loose powder as I walked into the bus terminal. It was quiet at the moment and had an Old-World feel. A large Christmas tree was set up near the counter. The lights twinkled cheerfully, brightening the dreariness of the day outside.

I was here, in my hometown. Nothing looked familiar. What was I going to do now? I sat down on a hard wooden bench, letting the duffle hit the floor between my feet. Should I just catch the next bus out? Go back to New York City, take Doctor Robertson up on her offer of spending Christmas with her and her husband, David?

I shook my head, watching another bus pull up outside. I saw several people get off, hurrying to waiting cars or family, anxious to get out of the cold. The heavy clouds probably meant snow by tonight, I was sure.

A young woman walked into the terminal, a neon-green duffle bag in one hand. She had on a leather jacket that had seen quite a bit of wear, faded blue jeans and a cropped holiday sweater. Her long golden-blond hair hung nearly to her hips.

She strode over to the bench I was sitting on and slumped down with a sigh that turned into a yawn. She gave me an embarrassed look. “Excuse me.”

I nodded. “Long trip?”

She grunted. “Longer than I thought it would be.” She shifted on the bench and rolled her shoulders. She stiffened suddenly and looked around. “Darn it, they’re not here.” She glanced over at me. “What’s today?”

“Friday, the twenty-first.” I only knew for certain since a calendar hung behind the counter, the days marked off, as if someone was counting the days till Christmas.

She sighed again. “I told them I’d probably be here on the twenty-second. Guess the trip wasn’t as long as I thought after all.” She turned to face me and stuck out a gloved hand. “Holly.”

I stared at her hand and felt uneasy, wondering if I should give her the name Doc Robertson was sure was my own or the one I was given when I first woke up?

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to say, hi, how are you and shake my hand.”

For just a second I flashed to someone saying that, maybe from a movie. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. When I opened them, she was staring at me. “You okay?”

I took a deep breath and finally shook her hand. “John.”

She studied me for a moment. “John, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I realized that may have sounded defensive. I cleared my throat. “Sorry. It’s been...”

There was a shriek from the double glass doors. “Holly!”

Holly spun around and jumped to her feet. “Ivy, stop yelling.”

I heard the smile in her voice as a blond-haired girl clad in dark green ran up to her. The two girls hugged and then Holly turned around. “My baby sis, Ivy.”

“Hi,” I said. “John.”

Ivy smiled, her pale blue eyes twinkling. “Did you two ride down together?”

“I wish,” muttered Holly. “I got stuck with some old guy from Alaska who snored the whole trip down.”

Ivy giggled and tugged on her sister’s hand. “Well, let’s go. Papa is anxious to see you. Mama too.”

“And Missy’s got her head buried in the books as usual.” Holly bent down to pick up her duffle bag and then glanced at me. “Where are you staying?”

I blinked, realizing I hadn’t even thought of it. Doc had paid for the bus ticket but I think she’d assumed the second I’d gotten to Bayport, my memory would return and I’d go home. But I didn’t even know if that was home. “I don’t know.”

I watched Ivy give her sister a look and then smile at me. “Come with us then.”

“No, that would be rude. You don’t even know me.”

“I know your name is John,” said Holly with a grin.

“Your parents wouldn’t be too happy with some tagalong guest.”

Holly’s grin widened. “You don’t know my parents then. Come on.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

Holly moved close and I caught the scent of berries and fresh snow. “Looks like you need a place to hang your hat.”

“I’m not wearing a hat.”

She laughed. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Something squeezed my chest as a voice echoed out of the confusion in my head. I knew that voice but I couldn’t place it. Somehow I knew I’d been told that often. “Holly—”

“We have to pick up Mama at the community center and she can convince you to stay,” said Ivy.

I took a deep breath. “All right. But if your mother doesn’t approve, I’ll go elsewhere.”

Holly linked arms with me as I grabbed my own luggage. We headed outside to a heavy-duty double-cab truck. We loaded the duffles into the back and I got in behind the driver’s seat. Holly climbed up beside me, leaving the front passenger seat empty.

Once Ivy pulled out of the parking lot, Holly glanced over at me. “I imagine all the hotels are booked. So where would elsewhere be?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Didn’t get that far when I thought about coming here.” We passed a large brick-faced church. Outside was set up a nativity scene, with a spotlight highlighting the manger and Baby Jesus. For a second, I felt the heaviness of a small ceramic object and I flashed on a small image of a baby in a manger. A piece of someone’s nativity scene?

We stopped in front of a low-slung modern-looking building. Ivy got out of the driver’s seat and I realized I could see clearly into the main room through the large window. Two blond-haired women were sitting with some children dressed in costume. The woman with the bright red sweater and short blond hair was telling a story. The other woman turned around as Ivy went inside.

A chill swept over me. The second blond woman had vivid blue eyes and was wearing a dark blue sweater with black jeans. A trace of a lullaby wound through my head and was gone. Did I know this woman?

Ivy came back out with the blond in the red sweater. She climbed into the passenger seat and twisted around to look at Holly. “You made it, sweetheart. Your father will be so happy.” She slid a glance at me. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I cleared my throat. “Who is she?” I asked, pointing at the woman still in the center.

Holly’s mother narrowed her eyes. “Laura Hardy. She’s been helping me with the Christmas pageant.”

Ivy got behind the wheel and started the truck engine. “She’s really nice and patient, although she’s probably at her wit’s end.”

Was Doc Robertson right after all? “What do you mean?”

As Ivy backed out of her spot and pulled out into the stream of traffic, I turned to keep my eye on the woman. But Ivy swiftly turned a corner and the community center was gone from my line of sight.

“One of her sons has been missing for about a month now.” Holly’s mother sounded sad and I turned around to look at her. “Her husband’s been searching and searching but they haven’t been able to find anything.”

Holly leaned forward. “Mama, this is John. John, this is my mother, Carol de Santos.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Carol looked at Holly for a long moment and then looked back at me. “What’s your last name?”

I took a deep breath. I’d known eventually it would come out and I had dreaded this moment. “I don’t know.”

Carol stiffened in her seat and shot another look at Holly. Holly sighed. “Mama, it’s okay. I’m sure of it.”

“Holly—”

“It’s all right,” I said. “Just drop me at the next corner. I’ll figure out something.”

Ivy slowed for a red light and I reached for the door handle.

“No, absolutely not.”

I turned to look at Carol. “You don’t know me. I don’t even know myself.”

“You have a good soul, John. I can feel it. Come home with us. We’ll have some hot apple cider and cookies. I’m sure Missy’s started dinner.”

Holly let out a gasp. “Mama, it’s only been two months. Missy knows how to cook now?”

Carol rolled her hazel eyes. “Holly, be nice. Oh, it’s so good to have you home now, Holly. We’ve been missing you.”

I watched the scenery turn rural as Ivy drove for another twenty minutes. Finally, she pulled up to a beautiful two-story Victorian house that looked over a hundred years old. The yard and house were decorated with glittering lights and it seemed to glow in the coming darkness.

Ivy pulled up beside an old four-door sedan. In the dimness it could have been blue or gray but for some odd reason I felt I’d seen it before – often.

We got out of the truck and I got both my duffle and Holly’s, then we went inside. The foyer was draped with lighted garland and the scent of peppermint filled the house. Ivy took off down the corridor. “Missy! Holly’s here!”

Carol sighed. “There are times I think she’s only seven, not seventeen. Come on, John, let’s get you settled in a guest room.”

“Thank you,” I said, following her up the stairs.

*****

The tall fair-haired man held open the French doors and gestured grandly. “Please, Fenton, come in.”

Fenton Hardy stepped into the study, gravitating automatically to the fireplace, where flames crackled, making the logs spark on occasion. He shed the coat and laid it carefully on the chair, and then held out his chilled hands to the warmth.

“Have you had any news?”

“Nothing.” Fenton stared into the flames, feeling weary, older than his years.

Nicholas de Santos made certain the doors were shut and secure and then walked to his massive oak desk. He stood behind it, looking cold and ruthless, still clad in a dark blue three-piece suit that showed no wrinkles or wear although it was late afternoon now. His face tightened into a frown. “Damn.”

Fenton turned and warmed his backside. “I’m expanding the search beyond the five-state radius.”

Nicholas unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down in a luxurious tufted leather chair. “Fenton, it’s been a month.”

Fenton Hardy shook his head. “I’m not giving up.” He turned to see Nicholas staring down at his neat desk, fiddling with a pen. Six months ago, he’d done a small security job for Nicholas de Santos when he set up shop here in Bayport. He’d never dreamed the wealthy philanthropist would turn around and help him try to find his son.

Nicholas shrugged and stared at the flames. “I understand that. I understand perfectly, Fenton. But you have yet to consider that this is my fault.”

“What?” Fenton studied the man behind the desk. “How could it be your fault?” he asked, just a tad suspicious.

“You did manage to thwart Lucian de Ville. I’m afraid he may have retaliated. He is an...old and ruthless rival.”

Fenton moved toward the desk. “Nicholas—”

“He is not one for overt deviltry. He is subtle, sly and willing to wait for the outcome, be it months or years...”

“Nicholas—”

Nicholas shook his fair head and uncapped his gold pen idly, then recapped it. “I have attempted to aid you in this and I may have made it more difficult. If Lucian believes I am helping you, it may be for the worse.”

Fenton had found the man intriguing and mysterious when they’d first met. The man had silver-blond hair and the oddest color eyes he’d ever seen, not quite silvery blue, not quite green. “Nicholas—“

Fenton broke off as the sound of car doors slamming echoed through the house. Nicholas looked to the French doors that led to the rest of the house. “Ah, my middle daughter has finally arrived.”

Fenton nodded. “I’d better go.”

Nicholas stood up and walked Fenton to the outer doors. “Fenton, I am sorry about all this. I will try to track down where Lucian is staying. I do not expect him to be honest with me, but there may be some way I can convince him to tell me the truth about your missing son.”

“You forget, I have my fair share of enemies too.” Fenton didn’t add that his sons had a few as well. He caught a whiff of fresh baked cookies and wondered if the man’s daughters were getting into the holiday spirit, only to realize the scent was coming from Nicholas.

Nicholas stared into the fire. “And you may be right. But it does no harm to investigate all sources.” He gave Fenton a sheepish smile. “Here I am lecturing a master. Forgive me.”

Fenton felt even more curiosity at what Nicholas wasn’t saying. Before he could ask another question, the other set of French doors swung open. “Papa?” The speaker was a blond girl with pale blue eyes. She was clad in faded blue jeans and a cropped holiday sweater. Her gold hair was sun-streaked and reached nearly to her waist.

“Holly, welcome home.”

Fenton watched as the girl hugged her father. She turned to him and smiled. “Happy Christmas, sir.”

“Holly, this is Fenton Hardy. Fenton, my middle daughter Holly.”

Holly stepped out of her father’s embrace, searching Fenton’s face. After a long moment, she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here. Good bye, Nicholas.”

Nicholas nodded and watched him leave. He turned to his daughter. “Ah, you finally made it.”

“Yes, Papa. Ivy told me about the man’s son. Has he found him?”

“No. I wish there was some way I could help more, find the boy. Bring him home in time...”

Holly lifted her blue eyes to the ceiling. “So do I, Papa.”