She nodded. “I’ll see you there, then.”
“That’s nice,” he said, smiled. “Am I good to make a quick check of the addition, then?”
She nodded. “Come around. I’ll give you five minutes. I have to be over at the church soon.”
“No problem, ma’am,” he said, turned, and walked off the porch and around the side of the house, remembering how he’d sprinted along this same route the night Ali Cross had spotted him. But when he got around the side, the plastic sheeting was gone. The addition walls were all up, the windows were in, and a steel door blocked access.
He heard the key in the dead bolt, put on his happy face. Nana Mama opened the door and waved him in, saying, “It’s not too bad. They just swept it.”
“This will take no time at all,” he said, and went in.
Sunday spent about ten minutes looking around the addition, jotting notes as he exclaimed how nice the great room and the new kitchen were going to be. Rain had begun to patter on the roof when he beamed at Nana Mama and said, “That will do it until someone marks where you want the outlets, the switches, and whatnot.”
“My grandson’s planning to do all that tomorrow,” the old woman said.
“Perfect,” Sunday replied, made as if to leave, and then stopped. “Can I give you a ride, Mrs. Cross? Do my good deed for the day in honor of the good Samaritan who helped our lord in his time of trouble?”
Nana Mama glanced at the roof, listened to the rain, and then nodded. “Very nice of you to offer. And I’m Regina Hope. Cross was my maiden name.”
He stuck out his hand and shook hers, saying, “Wonderful to meet you, ma’am.” He almost added, “I’m Thierry Mulch.” But he caught himself, glanced at the badge, and said, “Phil Nichols.”
“I’ll get my umbrella, Mr. Nich
ols,” she said.
“Do you want me to go around?” Sunday asked.
“No, no, walk through with me,” she said. “You’re parked right out front?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hope,” he replied. “Thank you.”
He continued on in this deferential way, holding the umbrella for Nana Mama and supporting her elbow as they made their way down the walkway and as she climbed into the van. Nana Mama looked around, saw that the van was neat as a pin, and nodded. “I do appreciate this, Mr. Nichols.”
“Glad to do it, Mrs. Hope,” he said, and shut the door.
Sunday walked around, got in. He fished in his right-hand pants pocket, found the pen, and palmed it. Then he dug in his left pocket and came up with the keys. He started the van and pulled out of the spot.
“You’ll have to go around the block,” Cross’s grandmother said. “St. Anthony’s is back the other way.”
“I thought so,” he said, putting on the blinker and seeing her turn her head to look out the rain-streaked passenger-side window.
Sunday thumbed the pen’s button, seeing the small hypodermic needle drip for an instant before he stabbed it into her thigh and drove a small dose of Rohypnol into her. Nana Mama screamed and tried to reach for the syringe.
But Sunday let go of it and used his forearm to pin the old woman against the seat until she lost consciousness.
Chapter
93
Three hours later, Ali Cross skipped across the playground at Sojourner Truth School. Nine whole days of vacation! They weren’t going to Florida or anything like that. But Damon was coming home, and he’d have his big brother to hang out and play basketball with—
The little cell his father had given him rang. He stopped and answered.
“Dad?”
“How’d you guess?”
“You’re the only one who ever calls this phone,” Ali said.