Back in the truck, Taylor pulled the piece of paper with Thalia Abbott’s name and number on it from her wallet. She dialed the number, was pleased when a soft voice answered on the first ring.
Taylor introduced herself as a friend of Jasmine’s. She didn’t identify herself as a cop. It would serve two purposes: first, not chasing Thalia off; second, that bitch Delores Norris wouldn’t be able to say she’d been false with a source. Thalia didn’t ask what Taylor wanted, said she’d be happy to meet with her, and Taylor asked if now would be inconvenient. The girl agreed, asked Taylor to meet her at St. Ann’s Catholic Church off Charlotte Pike in forty minutes. Taylor clicked off the phone. Plenty of time.
She put the 4Runner in gear. Taking advantage of a brief lull in traffic, she pulled a U-turn and headed back toward Vanderbilt. As she passed the stone entrance to the campus, her cell phone rang. Damn, this better not be the kid changing her mind. She glanced at the screen. Baldwin. Composing her voice, she turned down the radio, better to fake the quiet of home.
Prepared, she answered with a chipper, “Hey, babe.”
“Taylor, why aren’t you at home?”
Man, that was quick. How did he find out? She debated. Lie, say she was at home, or cop to it? Knowing Baldwin, he had cause to believe she wasn’t at home-either the guard had blabbed or she had silent, quiet followers. She opted for the latter, she’d laid it on pretty thick with the guard. Might as well stick to the truth.
“I couldn’t stand to sit there and not do anything. You of all people should respect that.”
“And you of all people should understand how dangerous this situation is.” But she heard the resignation in his voice. He was only annoyed, not fully angry with her. He did know her, and the realization made her smile.
“I do. I assume you’ve got someone on my tail?”
“You weren’t checking?”
“Like I said, I assumed.”
“Sloppy, Taylor. It could be Aiden, not a service detail.”
“If it were, you wouldn’t be calling me, you’d be here brandishing your sword. I don’t need protecting, babe.”
“You need it more than you realize. But that’s neither here nor there. What exactly are you up to?”
“Ummm…following a lead.”
“I wish you’d let me handle the tapes. Sherry has gotten more information, we’re ready to go after them.”
“That’s great news. No, I’m following up on an interview related to the Corinne Wolff case.”
“Taylor, do I need to remind you-”
“No, you don’t. I know. I have no badge. I have no authority. I will endanger the investigation if I get involved.” The bitterness in her tone surprised her. The anger at being suspended was closer to the surface than she’d like to admit. Damn the Oompa!
“Okay, okay. Listen, when we finish, do me a favor. I’m going to text message your detail and let them know you’re aware of them and they don’t have to hang back as much. Your job is to let them stay with you. From what I hear, you drive like a bat out of hell.”
Taylor drove up Murphy Road, turned north on 46th in front of McCabe golf course. She wended her way through Sylvan Park. Crossing over Colorado Avenue, she began mentally plotting the geographical location of all the states as she went by their street names. It was a game she and Sam had played as little girls riding from Belle Meade through Sylvan Park to get to Bobby’s Dairy Dip on Charlotte Avenue. They tallied points-one for each state capital named, one for each neighboring state identified. Sam’s parents were forced to take different routes each time so the girls could have new challenges. The winner got to choose their ice cream treat first.
Taylor remembered the intensity with which they played, the fervor, the laughter when they were wrong. The triumph of sometimes beating Sam, who at seven already possessed a weird, encyclopedic knowledge of useless trivia. It would be nice to go back to a time when the most important thing in her life was getting her ice cream first.
What the hell. She turned left onto Charlotte, past her goal of St. Ann’s to the next block. She pulled into the Dairy Dip, open for business with a line at nine in the morning. There was never a bad time for a good juicy burger and some ice cream.
Taylor returned to the 4Runner with a chocolate-dipped twist cone, sugar, not cake. She climbed in the truck, locked the doors, then licked and ruminated. Maybe she should have signaled that she was taking a break, offered to buy her detail ice cream. Then again…
When she was finished, she crumpled the paper napkin, thin even by fast-food standards, wiped her mouth and started the truck. She backtracked a couple of blocks to St. Ann’s, swinging around behind the building. She parked with the nose of the truck pointing out to Charlotte, counted off a full minute to allow her shadows to get into place, then exited the vehicle.
Following the mounted signs, she walked toward the school. An eclectic Catholic church, St. Ann’s ministered to the local community, holding mass in English, Spanish and Korean throughout the day. The school had a popular K-8 program for both parishioners and non-Catholic parents looking for a solid private parochial education for their children.
Taylor stopped, wondering for a moment. Thalia Abbott was seventeen at a minimum. She wasn’t going to school here.
Taylor entered the sanctuary, the cool, incense-perfumed air greeting her. Unconsciously, she dipped her fingers into the small stone bowl of holy water by the door and crossed herself. She gazed at the altar, a peaceful warmth stealing through her. She always loved churches, though she rarely attended services anymore. It was funny, inside a sanctuary, she promised herself she would find a way to attend a service. Once outside, in the hard glare of reality, she never did.
“Are you Catholic?”
The voice surprised her and she jumped. A thin girl, late teens, with long, straight brown hair and deeply soulful brown eyes stood at her left elbow. She smiled, showing even white teeth. Her skin was creamy, unlined. Taylor had the feeling she’d seen the girl before, then just as quickly placed her. The girl looked like Noelle Pazia, a victim of the Southern Strangler she and Baldwin had caught the previous summer. Something about Noelle had always haunted her, and Taylor felt the goose bumps rise as she looked at the dead girl’s younger mirror image.
“Lieutenant Jackson, I presume?”
“I, uh, how, um, yes.” Impressive elocution there, Taylor. She cleared her throat. “How did you know?”
“I saw the news,” Thalia said simply, nonjudgmental.
“Lovely.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. No one in their right mind will believe that you killed someone without reason. It’s in your eyes. You’re a guardian, not an avenger.”
Oddly pleased, Taylor smiled at the girl. “Some would disagree with you. You’re Thalia Abbott, I presume?”
“And you aren’t Catholic, I’d presume.”
“You’re right. I was raised Episcopal. My dad was Catholic, though. How did you know?”
“You don’t have that guilty look on your face. Though you crossed and blessed yourself, you walked right past the confessional without a second glance. Most nonpracticing Catholics couldn’t do that.” She smiled, and Taylor felt herself smiling back. This was not what she’d expected from her morning. Grace from a seventeen-year-old ex-porn star.
“Let’s walk,” Thalia said. She guided Taylor out of the sanctuary, into the sacristy. She held a cloth in her hands, Taylor realized she was dusting as they went.
“You’re too old for school here.”
“Yes. I’m working as a sacristan. I keep things nice for the priests and nuns while I decide what to do with my life. I’m thinking of taking orders, becoming a novice in the fall. I’ve felt a…calling.”
There’s a turnaround. Wow. Normally Taylor would encourage a young girl in Thalia’s position to look for other ways to deal with life; becoming a nun, sectioning herself off from the world seemed quite dramatic. But something about Thalia Abbott made Taylor bite her tongue. This was a young girl who knew her own mind; to talk to her about her own choices would be tacky. Taylor decided to ease in.
