He decided to wait and see.
Turned out to be a short wait. The two guys climbed into the truck cab, started her up, and pulled the truck outside. One jumped out to close the doors, and then they were driving away.
Jack eased back outside. The Suburban they'd pulled up in was empty. Just two of them.
He waited until the truck rumbled up to the road and disappeared, then he headed for his car at an easy trot. No need to rush. That big rig couldn't move fast on these winding back roads, and it sure as hell wouldn't be hard to spot.
Jack wanted to see where they intended to inter Jamie Grant. And then they were going to have to answer some tough questions.
5
"Body of Christ," Sister Maggie said as she took the host from the gold-lined pyx and, holding it between her right thumb and forefinger, raised it before Amelia Elkins's wrinkled face.
Amelia responded with a hoarse Amen and opened her mouth.
Maggie placed the wafer of bread on her tongue, and then they said a prayer of thanksgiving together, Amelia in her wheelchair, Maggie kneeling beside it.
Genny Duncan, the Eucharistic Minister who usually brought Holy Communion to the parish's shut-ins, was ill today, so Maggie had offered to take over for her. She was tired after the long day of working over the ovens and steaming kettles in the Loaves and Fishes, but that didn't mean these poor homebound souls should be denied their weekly communion.
When they finished the prayer, Amelia grabbed Maggie's hand as she rose.
"Can I fix you some tea, sister? I have some brownies my daughter dropped off. We could—"
Maggie patted her hand and smiled. "I wish 1 could stay, Amelia, really I do, but I have another stop to make."
"Oh. Yes, of course. I'm not the only one who needs communion, I suppose. I was just hoping…"
Poor thing, Maggie thought as she replaced the cover on the pyx. So lonely.
"Tell you what I can do, though," she said. "I can stop by tomorrow around midday and we can have lunch together. I'll bring—"
"Sunday lunch!" Amelia said, beaming. "And you won't bring a thing. I'll fix us some nice sandwiches. Do you like tuna fish salad?"
Maggie wasn't fond of anything made with mayonnaise, but she put on a brave face. "I'll bet you make a delicious one."
"I do. These old legs may be unreliable, but I can still whip up a mean salad. What time can you be here?"
"How does one o'clock sound?"
"One o'clock it is!" She looked years younger. "I'll have everything ready when you arrive."
A few minutes later Maggie was hurrying down the rickety stairway from Amelia's third-floor apartment, wondering if she might be spreading herself too thin. She had such trouble saying no to people in need.
She stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around. The light faded so early these days. She checked her watch. Just five o'clock and already the sun was down.
Well, only one more stop to go. She checked her list. Mr. Whitcolm lived just a few blocks away. Wonderful. She'd be back at the convent in time to set the dinner table.
She took two steps toward Fourth Street, then stopped.
"Thank you, Lord," she whispered. "Thank you for this second chance to do Your will, and to help those who can't help themselves."
As she started walking again a car pulled into the curb beside her. She angled closer to the buildings. The neighborhood was a lot safer than it used to be, but still had more than its share of drug dealers and other unsavory types.
"Miss?" said a man's voice.
Maggie slowed but didn't stop. She saw only one person in the car. A very large man, taking up most of the front seat as he leaned across from the driver's side. His features were indistinguishable in the waning light, his face little more than a pale moon floating just inside the front passenger window, but she was sure she didn't know him.
"I'm lost. Can you help me?"
The car wasn't flashy like the ones the drug dealers drove, and not a rattletrap like some of their customers'. Just a normal, everyday, respectable-looking Jeep. A family car.
Still, you had to be careful.
"I've been driving in circles down here," he said, a plaintive note in his voice. "All I need is someone to point me in the right direction."
She'd had to say no to Amelia. The least she could do was help out this lost man. She stepped closer to the car.
"Where do you want to go?"
"One of the housing projects."
"Which one? Jacob Rüs? Lillian Wald? There's more than one down here."
"I'm not sure. My wife wrote it down for me but she has terrible penmanship." He thrust his arm out the window. A slip of paper fluttered in this hand. "Can you make sense of this chicken scratch?"
Keeping her distance from the car, Maggie pulled the slip from his fingers and squinted at it in the twilight. He hadn't been exaggerating about the penmanship. It was terrible. Obviously his wife hadn't attended Catholic school. She thought she could make out an uppercase M and T on two adjacent words.
"It might be Masaryk Towers."
"That sounds right. Where are they?"
"Farther downtown. Are you sure…?"
"Something wrong?"
She'd never been inside the Masaryk Towers but had heard them referred to as a "vertical ghetto." It did not seem the kind of place a middle-class white man would want to go.
"Well, it has a rough reputation."
"Really? Maybe I'll just drive by. If it looks too rough I'll just keep on going and come back during the day."
"That might be a good idea." She pointed east. "Go up here, make a right on Avenue C, and take it down to East Houston. You can't miss it."
"Thank you very much. Are you going that way? The least I can do is give you a lift."
Yes, Maggie was going that way, but no, she didn't want to get into this stranger's car.
"That's very kind of you, but I have just a little ways to go and I need the exercise."
"Okay," he said. "I thought it only fair to offer." He held his hand out the window, not quite as far as last time. "Thanks for your help. I just need that address back."
"Oh, of course."
She'd forgotten that she still had it. She stepped closer, holding it out.
But instead of taking the paper, the man grabbed her wrist. As he yanked her forward, his other hand darted from the window and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Her scalp burned and she cried out in pain and terror. He pulled her arm and head through the window and into the car. Maggie screamed and then something hard and heavy slammed against the back of her head. Her vision blurred. She opened her mouth for another scream but then something hit her again, harder this time. Twilight became night.
6
Traffic had been awful. Everything seemed to be under construction. Three-and-a-half hours since leaving Jersey and rolling onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and they were only in the Reading area. Where in hell were these guys going?
Jack saw the truck's turn signal begin to flash and he followed it into a rest area. About time. He needed to make a pit stop and get some gas. But first…
He watched the driver and his buddy get out of their truck and head for the restaurant area. They locked the cab doors but left the big diesel engine running. Jack hurried around to his trunk and pulled the slim jim from his duffel bag of tools. Then he made his way to the passenger side. The truck cab was old and beat up. Probably didn't have a working alarm system, but you never knew.
Jack stepped up on the running board and looked around. The lot was mostly empty and quiet except for the rumble of traffic. Turnpike rest stops did not seem a popular Saturday night destination.
He slipped the slim jim down between the window and the door panel, moved it around in a circular motion until it caught. Jack took a breath, then pulled up. The lock knob on the other side of the window popped up.