"Were you a physics major before you started running an off-brand convenience store?"
The guy smirked. How Tess loathed him. He had no way of knowing how deeply his words cut, how Mark Rubin must yearn to manipulate time. Go back six hours and he could be in Zanesville now, waiting for his family to arrive at the Western Union office, assuming that the transfer was intended for Natalie. Go back six days and he could be sitting at a molded plastic table in McDonald's in French Lick, Indiana, a man's death no longer on his hands. Go back a month and he could refuse to leave for work on a Friday morning, have a chance to dissuade Natalie from this mysterious journey before it began.
"But we can play with time and space," Tess said. "In certain parts of the country."
Plucking Rubin's sleeve, she motioned for him to follow her outside, where she quickly dialed Gretchen O'Brien on her cell phone. Tess prayed for a voice, not voice mail. The prayer was answered. Perhaps Mark did have an in with God, because Tess didn't see how she rated.
"Gretchen? Tess. Didn't you just add someone to the network in the central Ohio area?"
"Yeah, east of Columbus. A retired librarian, with amazing online research skills. Great at financial stuff-SEC filings, Dun amp; Bradstreets-"
"I need some more basic legwork. We've got a lead on our missing family, at a Western Union store in Zanesville. They're stuck there for an hour because the server's down."
"But you don't have any paper on them, right? No warrant, no legal way to hold them?"
"No. If she finds them, she should just follow them as discreetly as possible, calling me on my cell to update their location. We'll start heading west on I-70 to get a head start and hope that they're heading east. Meanwhile, tell her the client will pay her hourly rate plus expenses plus a bonus if she has to go beyond eight hours today."
"Okay, but you should know she's not exactly used to this kind of fieldwork."
"She's within an hour of Zanesville, which is all that matters. Just get her on the phone and get her on the road as quickly as possible. She's our only shot."
"Too bad we don't have a Learjet, gassed up and ready to go from some central location."
"Very funny, Gretchen."
"Who's joking? I have big plans for the SnoopSisters. Sky's the limit. I've registered the domain name snoopsisters.com and I'm looking to get some sort of trademark protection. We're going to be the Starbucks of private investigation. You've got to think big, Tess."
Tess was too busy thinking little, hoping this one precious clue would bring Mark Rubin's children back to him.
They stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts on Reisterstown Road before heading to the highway.
"Kosher," Mark explained. "And quick.".
"I usually don't have a chocolate frosted for lunch, but sugar and caffeine will be a boon. Zanesville is at least eight hours from here. But if they head east, we could catch a break and overlap them."
"We're due for a break, don't you think?"
"Definitely." Tess, who had taken the first driving shift, was grateful she had a reason to stare straight ahead. She still didn't know whether to tell Mark what Larry Kirsch had said about Natalie's visits to the prison, the "services" she had provided. "Mark"-the name still felt funny in her mouth, but he didn't correct her-"how much do you know about Natalie's life before you met?"
"How much could there be to know? She was eighteen."
"And she had already decided to embrace Orthodox Judaism before she met you?"
"Yes, but she didn't know how to go about it. That was why she sought me out. Her father suggested I could help her find a rabbi who would oversee her education, prepare her for a bat mitzvah."
"How… propitious."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Nothing," she lied. "But her father's attempt to blackmail her later-"
"I told you, I was never tempted by Boris's games. Marriages must be based on trust. Whatever Boris wanted to tell me about Natalie was unimportant. She was so young. What could she possibly have done that couldn't be forgiven?"
Tess's thoughts were going somewhere else. If all Boris had on Natalie were his allegations about their own little prison-outreach program, as it were, she could have bluffed her way around that. A few tears, a convincing story, and Mark would have been willing to believe it was all a vile lie. Boris had something more concrete on his daughter-and a potential buyer, as he had told Tess, but one who hadn't paid him yet. If I don't get my due by the end of the month, he had said, I'll put it back on the market. Why had he been so definite about the date? Something was supposed to happen this month, the same month Natalie had disappeared.
"You should sleep," she told Mark. "We don't know how long we're going to be spelling each other behind the wheel of this car."
"I can't sleep," he said. "I got maybe two hours last night."
"You told me you slept fine last night."
"Two hours is fine for me. It's about as much sleep as I've had in the past month."
They had reached the turnoff that had taken them to western Maryland the day before, but the skies were not threatening today. The countryside's beauty had a mocking edge-the trees crimson and gold, the hills still green. Tess's cell phone rang, and she picked it up, expecting her emergency dog-sitter.
"Tess Monaghan?" The voice was an older woman's, enthusiastic and a little breathless. "This is Mary Eleanor Norris, and I've got 'em in my sights."
Chapter Thirty
ISAAC NOTICED THE CAR FIRST BECAUSE IT WAS A MlNI Cooper, a gold one. He loved Mini Coopers. He and his father had watched The Italian Job-the real one, not the remake-just last month. His father said he was pretty sure Michael Caine might be Jewish, which surprised Isaac because he didn't know Jews could have English accents. This Mini Cooper wasn't right behind them, but it never lagged more than a few car lengths back. The other cars on the highway whizzed past Zeke, who was driving a very steady fifty-five, staying in the right lane, unusual for him. He didn't drive fast, but he liked to zig and zag, muttering under his breath at the other drivers.
Then again, it was odd to be on such a big highway, which Zeke never seemed to pick. Plus, he had taken Isaac out of the car earlier than usual, and everyone seemed to be acting weird. Whenever Isaac glanced over his shoulder, the Mini Cooper was there. He twisted his body, so he was looking out the rear window, trying to catch the driver's eye. It was a woman, an old one. She had gray hair, and she used her cell phone from time to time, which shocked Isaac. He didn't think old people did dangerous things like that. He was even more shocked when she lit a cigarette. He didn't know anyone who smoked, except Zeke. Paul at his father's store sometimes smelled of tobacco, but that was from a pipe, which wasn't so bad because you didn't do it as much.
The driver noticed Isaac looking at her and pulled into the adjacent lane, keeping at the same pace. She seemed to give Isaac a friendly nod, but he wasn't sure. With a swift glance over his shoulder at Zeke, he began working his hand. She waved back. No, no, no, he wanted to scream. Watch me. Pay attention. But of course, he mustn't make any noise, mustn't do anything that Zeke would notice.
Too late. "How long has that car been back there, Warren?"
Isaac didn't answer. He never answered to that name.
"Yo, Isaac, my man. The gold Mini Cooper. Has it been with us for a while?"