“No. There’s a Montpelier, Virginia. And there’s also a Montpelier Station, where James Madison’s house is located. That’s closer to Charlottesville. People get them confused, so whoever’s sending the text added the zip code. Reply ‘understood,’ and then enter the town and zip into the GPS.”

Jesse did as she said. “We’re about forty minutes away. Looks like Highway 33 is the best bet.”

“All right. Kill the phone. We’ll stop for gas and then hopefully make good time despite the rain.”

It was nearly three o’clock when they pulled into the parking lot of a U.S. Post Office. The zip code 23192 was prominently displayed on the front of the building.

“Here’s as good a place as any. Turn the phone back on and text ‘Arrived.’”

A few minutes later—

Go to Gum Spring. Same procedure.

“That’s about twenty-five minutes away,” Jesse said after checking GPS. “State roads all the way. Gum Spring looks to be a crossroad community.”

Ethel nodded. “They’re winnowing down the traffic. We’ll probably wind up in an isolated spot. Let me send a quick text and then power off.” She took back her phone, scrolled to another thread and typed,

What’s happening?

The immediate reply—

looping back toward you

Ethel’s response—

Okay. Time to move forward as planned. Give him Montpelier 23192 and keep him one location behind. I think you’re safe for voice if it’s easier. We’re headed to Gum Spring.

Ethel looked out at the rain and dark skies. “Jesse, I think I’m at the point where I have to trust that integrity, fairness, and justice are more than words for some people. Trust my instincts as to who those people are.”

“What do you mean?”

“One question for two men. Whether their answers are the same or differ will tell me a lot.”

“What’s the question?”

Ethel gave him an enigmatic smile. “The question is, ‘What’s the relationship?’” Without saying anything further, she composed her texts.

When she handed the phone back to Jesse, he was tempted to look at her sent messages. Instead, he powered it off and gave her directions to Gum Spring from memory.

At three thirty, they pulled into the lot of another small post office.

“We should have brought some letters to mail,” Jesse said.

“The post office is what these unincorporated communities have in common. Also, if we had an entourage, we’d be easily spotted. Someone’s being very careful.”

“Want me to send them the text?”

“The rain’s eased up a bit. You drive, and I’ll handle the phone.”

They opened their doors, and as they passed each other in front of the car, Ethel quipped, “Well, Cousin, you could be in a nice, dry classroom.”

“Yeah. A nice, dry, boring classroom.”

When they were in their seats, Jesse added, “And I wouldn’t be helping a mother and child.”