Chapter 130

word count  1086

Joe Tobin shut off the TV and threw the remote across the room. It landed with a thud on the carpeted area between his brown leather sofa and matching chair. Grabbing up the newspaper, he scanned page after page, flipping the sheets with a dissatisfied crackle.

“DAMN!” Nothing. He'd listened to every bit of news on the radio and TV and scanned the Internet. And now he'd covered every inch of the morning paper, and not one word of a body found on or near those stinkin' railroad tracks. He stuck a fat cigar in his mouth and drew a puff, then exhaled it with gusto.

He got an idea, flipping through the paper again until he found the obituaries. What the hell was her last name anyway? Oh well, her first name was Trudy.  Scanning the list of names to find either a Trudy or a Gertrude brought up nothing.

Laying down the cigar in a thick, glass ashtray, he picked up the phone and hit speed dial.

“Lenny, did you check out those railroad tracks for me?...Nothing? Did ya ask around?...Hmmph! Well, keep workin'! That broad couldn't disappear into thin air!”

He hung up and sat brooding in silence, running a hand front to back along his slick black hair in one thoughtful sweep. He should have stayed to make sure she was dead. Then his face lit up. If there was one place she probably would go, it would be straight to Buzz Miller. And that was the very cop he was trying to hurt in the first place.

And then it hit him. Wheels turned in his head. Why bother with the girl? Go for a direct hit. Just because the other deal to “buy” him from Mrs. Johnson and her son fell through, it didn't mean he couldn't still get Miller. If he took a good many men to back him up, he could get that stupid cop after all. Who needed the dame, dammit? ​The cop wasn't up to par, being wounded, and he was holed up at home away from his fellow pigs. It might just be easy pickings! It would feel good to make that bastard pay for taking away ten long years of his life, for slamming him behind bars to rot.

“Yup, there's more than one way to do things. Here I come, Miller!” he murmured. He got his gun from its special perch on a closet shelf, threw on his coat and hurried out.

***

Buzz scanned the obituaries. The listings were a last resort. Gil said he tried her old job and her ex-husband but came up empty. His heart was beating faster as he ran his index finger down the list. Honestly, if he found her name there, he didn't know what he would do.

“Detective Miller, the coffee is ready. Would you like some?” Mrs. Dunn already had surmised his answer as she laid the steaming mug on a table by him, the rich brown liquid swam in a mug with “Buzz” plastered on it in red jagged letters, a gag gift from his department. She stood back and studied him.

“You look terribly concerned, Detective.”

He shot her a quick glance. He already knew she didn't think much of Trudy. So he dared not say what was really on his mind.

“I was just thinking about an old friend...ah...who has been ill.”

'Oh, how dreadful! Is your friend on a special diet? I could bake a little something to take to him.”

“No, Mrs. Dunn! That won't be necessary.” He rubbed his chin back and forth in a pensive motion. “Actually, I haven't talked to this friend in a while. He wouldn't be expecting to see me.”

“Well, all the more reason to go bearing gifts.” She paused, wondering what friend he could be talking about. She knew most of his business, more than he realized as she lurked in every corner, listening when he was on the phone. She read his mail. Everything. The only person he'd mentioned missing ...a light went off in her eyes. “Oh my! You're talking about that woman, aren't you?”

His face turned several shades of scarlet, like a kaleidoscope gone wild.  Stuttering, he tried to explain. “She hasn't been seen since she got released from jail.”

“And good riddance to her!”

That was the problem, he couldn't seem to say 'good riddance' to Trudy. She always came back in his life like a bad penny...except not this time. This time she'd completely disappeared.

***

Trudy woke up and her head was swimming. At first she panicked, not remembering where she was, what had happened. The pain in her arm brought it all home. She'd been shot. And those kindly women had brought her home to this huge Gothic structure. The rest was fuzzy...something about medicine and stitches. She bolted up to look at her arm. It was neatly bandaged. Running her finger along the mass of gauze and tape, she felt  bumps underneath, probably the stitches.

Well, at least she appeared to be well cared for. She leaned back and relaxed. Her eyes shot straight ahead, resting on an ornate-looking crucifix hanging on the far wall. It appeared to be centuries old with finely chiseled features, no sleek, modern lines whatsoever. She shuddered. It took her by surprise. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a crucifix.

Yes, she could. It was on graduation day back at Catholic school when she was a kid. Father Devlin passed each girl her diploma as she knelt at the communion railing, like it was some kind religious experience to finish high school. She remembered staring straight ahead at the altar, eyes riveted on the crucifix, rather than tuning into the ridiculous graduation ceremony. Who gets their high school diploma at church?

Her mother thought the religious school experience would settle her down and transferred her there in her sophomore year. It was oppressive, spending countless hours in the cold, dark church at mass every morning and weekly lectures on morality with Father Devlin. Like that guy knew about sex! And the school was taught by nuns. History and Science were mixed with the sanctimonious air of religion. She rebelled. That's when it all started, the worst of it, her refusal to play nice be good. She drove the sisters crazy.

Trudy bolted up in bed. The sisters! Oh my God! That's who those women who found her along the road were...they were nuns!