Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [56]
She hadn’t suspected. Not for a second.
He was at once elated, and at the same time, disappointed.
She hadn’t known him at all.
And hadn’t it been such a rush, seeing her here, under the same roof? She’d passed him his cup of coffee, smiled at his conversation, chatted graciously.
It had been a risk, he’d known, to stay, knowing she was there. But it was a risk he simply couldn’t resist taking.
She’d been right there, inches away from him.
But she never really looked at him. And had she really looked, might she have known?
Unlike that friend of hers, he frowned. That one had scared him a time or two. Something in the way she stared at him had set off his internal alarms. He hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t liked it one bit.
And she’d sicced that dog on him, he was certain of it, sending it down to the water’s edge to frighten him.
He smiled in the dark, wondering how the dog had liked the sandwich he’d left for her.
He turned over onto his side. If he moved up on the pillow just a little, he could see the woods there in the moonlight. From the room’s other window, he could see the lake in the center of the town. He liked it here, as much as he had liked any place. Too bad he couldn’t stay on and on.
The time would come, soon enough, when he would have to leave and not look back, lose himself again, become someone else again. The thought made him sad. But he’d never forget the kindness of Father Tim and his Ministry of Hope. Father Tim had been good to him. Someday, he vowed, when he had gotten what he’d come for, he’d give something back. Anonymously, of course, but he would show his gratitude. After all, look at all Father Tim had done for him.
Fed him when he was hungry. Offered him shelter, a place to sleep. A place to hide.
Allowed him the use of that old van so he could travel about. Letting him work in the thrift shop so he could earn the money he needed for gasoline and tolls. Not to mention that the shop provided him with a source of clothing so he could always replace what he’d had to dispose of.
No questions asked, ever.
Yes, the Ministry of Hope had been very, very good to him. He was grateful to have found it.
He yawned and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, ordered himself to sleep. After all, tomorrow was going to be another busy day.
He smiled in the dark. He could hardly wait.
Chapter
Twelve
When Joanne Jacobson left her house at five-thirty on Wednesday evening, she never suspected it would be the last time she would ever pass through her front door. She’d paused momentarily to flick a tent caterpillar off the mailbox, then grimaced in disgust as she found another one crawling across the brick walk that she, with the help of her two brothers, had just laid the weekend before.
The thirty-four-year-old mother of two honked the horn of her station wagon impatiently, then gave it another blast just for good measure. Within seconds, the door flew open and her son flew out. If he didn’t hurry, she’d told him, he’d be late for the pregame warm-up for the first game of the new baseball season. Besides, she reminded him, she’d volunteered to man the refreshment stand that night, and she still had to pick up all those cases of soda, all those boxes of chips.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot at the ballpark, and after winking at him for luck—at twelve, he was too old to publicly kiss—she drove to the local beverage distributor. After having the cases of soda stacked into the back of her car, she returned to the ball field and drove around to the far side, where the stand was located, to park behind the small building that was constructed out of concrete block.
There was another car already parked there, another station wagon—late model, light silvery blue in color, its back gate standing open—in the single parking space. Not having time to search for the owner to ask that the car be moved, she parked next to it, mumbling curses under her breath that she’d have to carry all these heavy