“Hardly, Blanche DuBois. I have a rather irksome prankster at my office. This was his pathetic attempt at a joke.”

“Well, come on up. Let’s see what we can do.”

Zach found the tiny stairwell that led to the loft. In the loft he found smaller versions of the church’s pews and an ancient-looking sound system. Nora sat on the balcony ledge and pointed to the pew in front of her.

“Come here, Kinky Easton.” She beckoned. “Amateur. You know you should always do an equipment check before you play.”

Today Nora wore jeans and a white blouse. With her hair down and loose about her shoulders, Zach was drawn to her despite himself. She reached for his hand and he felt a current go through him when her fingers touched his wrist.

“So what do you think?” he asked, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation of his hand in hers. “Some sort of wire cutters? Or can you pick the lock?”

“I can pick it. But I don’t have to.”

Nora reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her keys. She flipped through a couple of them, stuck one in the lock and turned it. The cuffs popped open and fell off his wrist.

“Wonderful,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She stuffed the keys back in her pocket and picked up the cuffs. “These are police issue cuffs. The key on them should have worked.”

“It didn’t. Both Mary and I tried.”

“Your prankster was really trying to cause trouble then. Handcuffs are mostly standardized in America and Canada. He wanted one or both of you to get stuck.”

“You know your stuff, don’t you?” he asked, impressed despite himself.

“I strive for authenticity in my work.”

“So that’s why you keep a handcuff key with you?”

She smiled slyly.

“Gotta be prepared. We guttersnipes are always ending up in trouble with the coppers.”

“You know, I should apologize for being so rude about you. The work is going rather well.”

The tiredness temporarily disappeared from her eyes.

“Thanks, Zach. I appreciate that.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We aren’t even close to the finish line.”

“I know. That’s why I came here. This is a good place for praying and meditating.”

“Praying? Really?”

“I grew up in the Catholic Church, believe it or not. Cradle Catholic, they call us. I was probably born in a pew. Knowing my father I was probably conceived in one, as well. I don’t attend Mass much these days, but I do get homesick now and then.”

“They must stand in line to hear your confessions.”

Nora released a hollow, joyless laugh.

“No,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t go to confession anymore.”

“So what brings you here then if you’re no longer practicing? Faith or just nostalgia?”