Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
“He’s my husband. Did you know he left the priesthood and married?”
“Victor has spoken to me about this man at some length, about his life. You must be Jane. Victor thought the world of you.”
A spark of annoyance, but nothing dies forever. “That was his first wife. She died about seven years ago, and I’ve been married for two years. Carlo said he called Victor some time ago.”
“Yes, I know, that’s when Victor told me about him. And that’s not all. When we went through Victor’s few effects after his death there was a sealed package with a note that it was to be sent to Carlo. It was practically the only thing he had, and I don’t know what’s in the package. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten around to sending it yet. Shall I do that now?”
“No, I don’t think we have time. And while I don’t think anyone knows which hotel I’m in, I don’t want to get out on the road and head in your direction in case someone is following me. Is there any chance we might meet in Tampa?”
“I can be there first thing in the morning.” He sounded a little excited as his voice slipped into a Deep Throat impression. “Can you get to Temple Beth-El in Tampa without being spotted? The security is better there.”
The next morning I called a taxi to pick me up and drop me off outside of a Macy’s, and then called another taxi for the rest of the trip. There were no cars following. Now I was walking up the center aisle of the temple, toward an immense wooden ark that was the focal point. No statues, no pictures, stained glass with geometric designs. A man in a black suit sat facing away from me in the first pew on the right.
“Abbot Franklin?” I asked.
He stood and shook my hand when I introduced myself. Then brushed a hand over the arm of his jacket. “I came in disguise, you see,” he said, apparently pleased with himself. “And I’m old friends with Rabbi Norwitz so he let me in. I thought this was all safest.”
“Well done,” I said. “Really well done.”
“Now, before I give you—would you happen to have some identification?”
That was going a bit far, and he had no idea who Brigid Quinn really was, but I showed him my driver’s license and he seemed contented. He handed me a nine-by-twelve manila envelope with a clasp and tape over the closing flap. From the look of the tape it didn’t appear he or anyone had opened the envelope.
“Now what do we do?” he asked.