raised her coat collar and drew on her gloves. She’d been at this since breakfast, with just a ten-minute break for a lunch that had consisted of a cup of coffee and the world’s greasiest hamburger.
The priest had mapped out a big chunk of downtown Boston, and the two of them had divvied up the territory. Armed with a stack of flyers and a roll of Scotch tape, she’d spent the last three days plastering Kit’s face all over the sector he’d assigned her. Some of the shopkeepers she’d spoken with had been sympathetic and willing to help. Others were apathetic, even annoyed. One Chinese merchant actually shooed her away, flapping his apron and scolding her soundly with words she didn’t understand.
Her feet ached, her toes were numb from the cold, and she sorely needed a bathroom. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was nearly five. Quitting time. She paused on the sidewalk to get her bearings before heading for the Burger King where she and Clancy Donovan had agreed to meet.
She arrived ahead of him, made a quick pit stop in the ladies’ room before she bought two cups of coffee and took them to a window seat, where she could watch the activity on the street outside. Traffic was a tangled snarl at this time of day, and the sidewalks were jammed with people who strode past with brisk determination, finished with the day’s work and eager to get home for the evening. As she warmed her hands over her coffee cup, she wondered how the natives managed to tolerate this kind of cold, year after year. Winter seemed endless here in the Northeast. According to the calendar, spring was imminent, but somebody had forgotten to tell Mother Nature. Boston had to be the coldest place on earth, and March the coldest month.
In the purple shadows of dusk, she saw him coming half a block away. Head and shoulders above the crowd, Clancy Donovan moved with a distinctive, swinging stride, his long legs eating up the distance between them. He entered the restaurant and paused inside the doorway, his gaze scanning the room. She held aloft the cup of coffee she’d bought him. He saw it, rested a hand over his heart, and headed toward her. “God bless you,” he said as he squeezed into the seat opposite her and dropped his stack of flyers on the table.
“I figured you were probably freezing, too.”
“
Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies
.” He peeled the plastic cover off his cup and tore open a sugar packet.
“Excuse me?”
He glanced up, smiling as he emptied the sugar packet into his coffee. “Proverbs 31:10.”
“Of course. How silly of me to not recognize the verse. How’d it go for you?”
He busied himself opening plastic creamers and dumping their contents into his coffee. Stirring, he said, “About a seventy-five percent success rate.”
“That’s better than I did. For me, it was about fifty-fifty.”
“It’s the clerical collar. People are intimidated by it.” He put the cover back on and peeled back the tab. “Sometimes I can use that to my advantage.” Closing his eyes, he took a hit of steaming-hot coffee. Reverently, he said, “Nectar of the gods.”
She watched him with bemusement. He opened his eyes, caught her watching, and flashed a rueful smile. “My one addiction,” he admitted.
“And here I was, thinking you were perfect.”
“Far from it, I’m afraid. But I have a bit of news that might interest you. There’s a little Thai restaurant about five blocks from here.” He took another sip of coffee. “The owner recognized Kit’s picture. He says she was in there yesterday, looking for a job.”
Her heart lurched, and she cupped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered.
The priest leaned to the right, stretched a lanky arm toward a nearby condiment station, pulled a couple of napkins from their dispenser, and handed them to her.
She hadn’t realized she was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing at the corner of her eye.
The priest had mapped out a big chunk of downtown Boston, and the two of them had divvied up the territory. Armed with a stack of flyers and a roll of Scotch tape, she’d spent the last three days plastering Kit’s face all over the sector he’d assigned her. Some of the shopkeepers she’d spoken with had been sympathetic and willing to help. Others were apathetic, even annoyed. One Chinese merchant actually shooed her away, flapping his apron and scolding her soundly with words she didn’t understand.
Her feet ached, her toes were numb from the cold, and she sorely needed a bathroom. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was nearly five. Quitting time. She paused on the sidewalk to get her bearings before heading for the Burger King where she and Clancy Donovan had agreed to meet.
She arrived ahead of him, made a quick pit stop in the ladies’ room before she bought two cups of coffee and took them to a window seat, where she could watch the activity on the street outside. Traffic was a tangled snarl at this time of day, and the sidewalks were jammed with people who strode past with brisk determination, finished with the day’s work and eager to get home for the evening. As she warmed her hands over her coffee cup, she wondered how the natives managed to tolerate this kind of cold, year after year. Winter seemed endless here in the Northeast. According to the calendar, spring was imminent, but somebody had forgotten to tell Mother Nature. Boston had to be the coldest place on earth, and March the coldest month.
In the purple shadows of dusk, she saw him coming half a block away. Head and shoulders above the crowd, Clancy Donovan moved with a distinctive, swinging stride, his long legs eating up the distance between them. He entered the restaurant and paused inside the doorway, his gaze scanning the room. She held aloft the cup of coffee she’d bought him. He saw it, rested a hand over his heart, and headed toward her. “God bless you,” he said as he squeezed into the seat opposite her and dropped his stack of flyers on the table.
“I figured you were probably freezing, too.”
“
Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies
.” He peeled the plastic cover off his cup and tore open a sugar packet.
“Excuse me?”
He glanced up, smiling as he emptied the sugar packet into his coffee. “Proverbs 31:10.”
“Of course. How silly of me to not recognize the verse. How’d it go for you?”
He busied himself opening plastic creamers and dumping their contents into his coffee. Stirring, he said, “About a seventy-five percent success rate.”
“That’s better than I did. For me, it was about fifty-fifty.”
“It’s the clerical collar. People are intimidated by it.” He put the cover back on and peeled back the tab. “Sometimes I can use that to my advantage.” Closing his eyes, he took a hit of steaming-hot coffee. Reverently, he said, “Nectar of the gods.”
She watched him with bemusement. He opened his eyes, caught her watching, and flashed a rueful smile. “My one addiction,” he admitted.
“And here I was, thinking you were perfect.”
“Far from it, I’m afraid. But I have a bit of news that might interest you. There’s a little Thai restaurant about five blocks from here.” He took another sip of coffee. “The owner recognized Kit’s picture. He says she was in there yesterday, looking for a job.”
Her heart lurched, and she cupped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered.
The priest leaned to the right, stretched a lanky arm toward a nearby condiment station, pulled a couple of napkins from their dispenser, and handed them to her.
She hadn’t realized she was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing at the corner of her eye.
Similar Books
