Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross Read Online Free PDF

worries of the world were all hers.
    She rode that way down to West Fourth where she switched to the F. Along the way she didn't look around much, too lost in her thoughts to notice anyone following.
    She stepped off at Delancey and Jack followed her up to the streets of the Lower East Side. The buildings here were former tenements that maxed out at five stories. Canopied oriental and kosher food stores sat cheek by jowl along the stained gray sidewalk.
    He gave her a block lead but grew a little uneasy as he started to recognize his surroundings. He'd come down here just last August to confront a priest who had hired him but managed to pull one over on him. What was his name? Father Ed. Right. Father Edward Halloran. His church had been around here somewhere, St. Somebody-or—
    He stopped dead as he followed Maggie around a corner. There, across the street, looming over the surrounding tenements, sat the hulking, Gothic, granite-block mass of the Church of St. Joseph. The old building wasn't in any better shape than the last time he'd seen it. The large rose window centered over the double doors was caked with grime, as were its twin crocketed spires, but the latter boasted the added decoration of white stripes a la city squab.
    The doors stood open and people, mostly older with an immigrant look, were wandering inside.
    Jack had been in the rectory to St. Joe's immediate left, but not the building to the right where Maggie was hurrying up the front steps, passing a sign that read Convent of the Blessed Virgin .
    A nun? Maggie was a nun?
    Well, it sort of fit with her uptight personality. But he guessed she wasn't too uptight, otherwise Cordova would have nothing to hold over her. And since she was connected with St. Joe's, Jack had a pretty good idea who had referred her: Father Ed.
    Okay. One mystery solved. But another remained. Why blackmail a nun? Seemed like a waste of effort. Nuns didn't have any money—unless Maggie came from a wealthy family.
    Jack glanced at his watch. Five to four. He'd promised to take Gia and Vicky out to dinner, but that wasn't till seven. Maybe he'd invest an hour or so here and see if he could learn any more. Maybe Maggie wasn't a nun. Maybe she merely worked at the convent… but he doubted that.
    He spotted an all-purpose convenience store/take out/coffee shop eater-corner from the church. Maybe he could watch from there.
    He crossed over and bought a cup of stale coffee in the traditional blue-and-white container from the Korean proprietor. No sooner had he stepped to the window and taken his first bitter sip when Maggie reappeared. She'd changed into a gray skirt and jacket over a white blouse. Her hair was tucked under a black wimple with a white band. She hurried down the convent steps, up the church steps, and disappeared inside.
    Well, that settled the is-she-or-isn't-she question. But Jack wanted a little more info. He stepped outside and crossed back to the church, dribbling his coffee onto the pavement as he went. On the far side he tossed the empty cup into a trash basket, then climbed St. Joe's front steps.
    To the right, white vinyl letters snapped into a black message board that listed the Mass schedule. Sunday had one every ninety minutes till noon, then one last chance at four.
    To the left, a worn black-on-white sign heralded the Church of St. Joseph's Renovation Fund and sported a thermometer to track the progress of contributions. One-hundred-thousand-dollar increments were listed to the left of the graduated column up to the goal of $600,000; the red area that marked the level of contributions hadn't even filled the bulb. Not surprising, considering the chill economic climate and the low-income level of the parish.
    Jack edged through the entrance and stood in the vestibule. The nave stretched ahead through a second set of doors. A sparse crowd for the four o'clock Mass, so he had no trouble spotting Maggie. She sat behind a well-dressed man. Occasionally she'd lean