She sat as far from him as she could when he got into the truck. “I need to see Paterno,” she said as he threw the rig into gear. “I promised to make a statement.”
He looked at his watch. “How about one more stop first?”
“Where?”
Slicing her a bad-boy smile, he said, “I think it’s time you and I found a little religion.” His eyes twinkled with wicked pleasure as he drove a few blocks toward the center of town then took a side street. Five blocks later, he shifted down, slowing to a crawl. “This is where Cherise and Donald hang out,” he said, pointing to a modern-looking church. Painted slate gray, with a swooping roof that pinnacled in a copper spire, the church was the most imposing building on the block. A fluorescent sign near the street announced the times of the next week’s services. The Reverend Donald Favier was going to speak on the wages of sin. Beneath the announcement a verse from Psalms was quoted. The asphalt parking lot looked new and was sparsely occupied with a couple of sedans, a shiny Volvo wagon and a dark Jeep.
As Nick slowed, Marla studied the wide front porch and carved double doors. “I think I’ve been here,” she said, the hint of a memory teasing her brain. She bit her lip and tried to pierce the fog in her mind.
“Let’s go inside. See what’s up.” He turned into the parking lot and Marla’s feet were on the asphalt before he’d shut the door and pocketed his key. The closer they got to the church, the more certain she was that she’d been on these grounds, but not in the light of day singing hymns with a large congregation, or listening to the reverend spread the good word. No. The images that toyed with her mind were watery but dark and she had the feeling that she’d met someone here.
With Nick at her heels, she hurried up the few wide steps to the porch. He reached around her, intent on yanking open the door.
It remained firmly in place. Bolted shut.
“Shit,” Nick growled.
“The story of my life,” she said, and when he looked at her she waved off his questions. “I’ve been dealing with a lot of locked doors lately.”
“I guess God d
oesn’t work nine to five,” he observed.
Marla rewarded him with a pained expression. “Or maybe He’s just out to lunch.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
She sent him a scathing look. “This isn’t the place for your irreverence.” But she couldn’t maintain her stern expression and chuckled as they clambered down the stairs.
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Okay so you are funny.”
They took a flagstone path to the rear of the building where an etched sign on the door indicated they’d found the office. Nick knocked, then twisted the knob. No luck. The door didn’t so much as budge.
“So far we’re batting a thousand,” Nick observed as they heard the sound of an engine roaring to life. Tires screeched loudly from the other side of the church. “You don’t suppose we scared someone off?” Nick asked taking off at a dead run.
Marla raced after him, struggling to keep up with his longer strides as he circled the church, then stopped short in the parking lot.
Nick’s truck was where they’d left it and the two sedans and wagon were still parked in their spots. “There was a Jeep here a few minutes ago. Right?”
“I think so. Yes.” She nodded, trying to catch her breath as the short sprint had winded her. “It was parked over there, by that bush.” She flung a hand toward a scraggly forsythia, and took in deep breaths. Lord, she was out of shape.
“That’s what I thought.” Nick’s eyes narrowed on the empty spot.
“It could just be coincidence that the driver decided to leave—”
“My ass.” His lips compressed and he looked up and down the street, searching the slow-moving traffic. “Damn!” He kicked at a pebble and sent it careening into the tire of a Pontiac. “I saw a rig like that before. The night Cherise came to visit me at the hotel. Someone picked her up in a dark Jeep.” Nick squinted down the road, as if willing the escaping vehicle into his field of vision.
“There are thousands of SUVs in the Bay area,” Marla said, shading her eyes as she looked west, into the lowering sun. “It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for the same one to have picked up Cherise and then been parked here. Maybe it belongs to her husband, or the church or a friend.”
“It could be. Even so, do you think it was a coincidence that whoever was driving it, took off after we showed up?”
“Perhaps.”
“And perhaps not,” Nick said, all trace of his earlier humor evaporating as the first clouds began to roll in from the Pacific. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”