"Promise?"
"I promise."
Rune debated then walked to her suitcase, rummaged through it. "I can't find it." She looked up, frowning. "I thought I packed it." She opened her leopard-skin bag, looked through that too. "I don't know. I ... oh, there it is. On the bookcase. The second shelf."
Stephanie eased over to the bookcase. Touched a notebook. "This one?"
"No, the one next to it. On its side."
Stephanie pulled the book off the shelf and flipped it open. "Where do you mention--"
An explosion. The first bullet broke a huge chunk out of the blue-sky wall and sent fragments of cinder block raining through the room.
The second shattered a panel of glass in the ceiling.
The third tore apart a dozen books, which pitched through the air like shot birds.
The fourth caught Stephanie squarely in the chest as she was turning, shocked, mouth open, toward Rune.
There may even have been a fifth shot. And a sixth. Rune wasn't sure. She had no idea how many times she pulled the trigger of the gun--the one that Rune had pulled from the accordion folder she'd thrown away earlier--tossed into the trash can beside her bed.
All Rune saw was the smoke and dust and paper flecks and clouds and blue sky of concrete and broken glass flying through the loft around Stephanie--beautiful, pale Stephanie, who spiraled to the floor.
And all Rune heard was a huge ringing roar from the gun. Which, after a few seconds, as Richard scrambled from the floor and started toward her, was replaced by an animal's mad screaming she didn't even know was coming from her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Head bowed at the altar, Rune was motionless.
Kneeling. She'd thought she could remember all the words. But they wouldn't come to her and all she could do was repeat over and over again, in a mumbling whisper, "We yield thee praise and thanksgiving for our deliverance from those great and apparent dangers wherewith we were compassed."
After a moment she stood and walked slowly up the aisle toward the back of the sanctuary.
Still whispering, she said to the man wearing black minister's robes, "This is a totally radical church, Reverend."
"Thank you, Miss Kelly."
At the door, she turned and curtsied awkwardly toward the altar. The minister of St. Xavier's glanced at her curiously. Maybe curtsying--which Rune had just seen a character do in some old Mafia movie--was only for Catholics. But so what? she decided. Stephanie was right about one thing: short of devil worship and animal sacrifices, ministers and priests probably aren't all that sensitive about technicalities.
They left the sanctuary.
"Your grandfather didn't mention any children when he stayed with us in our residence. He said his only relative was his sister but she'd died a few years ago."
"Really?" she asked.
"But then," the minister continued, "he didn't talk much about himself. He was a bit mysterious in some ways."
Mysterious...
"Yep," she said after a moment. "That was Grandfather. We used to say that about him. 'Wasn't Grandfather quiet.' All of us would say it."
"All of you? I thought you said there were just two of you. You and your sister."
"Oh, well, I mean all the kids in the neighborhood. He was like a grandfather to them too."
Watch it, Rune told herself. It's a minister you're lying to. And a minister with a good memory.
She followed the man through the rectory building. Filled with dark wood, wrought iron. The small yellow lights added a lot of churchy atmosphere to the place, though maybe they used small-wattage bulbs just to save money. It was very ... well, religious here. Rune tried to remember a good movie she'd seen about religion and couldn't think of one. They tended not to have happy endings.