could get her greedy claws on it.
That was why, a few days after encountering Grant at Charlie Chops’s garage, he was gruffly welcoming him at the door of the basement studio, blinking at the daylight in a way that made Grant think he hadn’t been aboveground for several days.
“Where’s Chase?” Farraday asked.
“At the Gross.”
Farraday shook his head. “I don’t know how he does that.”
The Gross was officially known as Groc-O-Rama, a small supermarket chain that earned its nickname honestly, but everyone—except Chase—just called it the Gross. Chase had worked as an assistant manager at The Gross in Elmhurst for the better part of two decades, which Grant figured meant he started about five years after the last time anyone bothered to clean the place, but when times were lean it was nice to have a regular paycheck coming in. And the Gross did have some sentimental significance. It was, after all, where Grant and Chase first met, on the night they both separately tried to break into the safe.
“Your cousin here?” asked Grant as he followed Farraday down the narrow, musty stairway.
“Yup.”
That cousin, Leonard Platt, was sitting on a threadbare couch in Farraday’s tiny apartment, distractedly bouncing one leg and playing with the knot in his tie. Grant wondered why he’d bothered wearing a tie at all, let alone on a hot day in an apartment without air-conditioning, but let it slide. It wasn’t the quirkiest thing he’d ever seen on this side of the law. Or on the other side, for that matter.
Farraday introduced Grant to Leonard and asked if anyone wanted a drink.
“It’s not even noon,” said Grant.
The ex-cabbie looked up from where he was pouring amber liquid into a rocks glass that—true to Farraday’s norm—contained no rocks. “What’s your point?”
“Okay, then give me a beer.”
Leonard Platt was, Grant noted, a nervous man, although that could have been due to his discomfort sitting in a room where every other person was a professional criminal. He sized him up: late thirties, thinning hair, pale, and looking like he wanted to change his mind and flee. The springs Grant could see poking just beneath the surface of the couch fabric probably didn’t do anything to improve his comfort level.
While Farraday poured, Grant got down to business. “So what’s this job you’re suggesting?”
Leonard seemed to jump a bit at Grant’s no-nonsense tone, but quickly settled back on the couch and cleared his throat. “Up until last week, I was the bookkeeper for the Virginia Cathedral of Love. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Don’t be.”
Leonard laughed nervously, which annoyed Grant. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.”
“It’s a huge church, about an hour west of Washington, and—”
“Which Washington?”
Leonard started at him. “Huh?”
“The state? Or DC?”
“DC, of course,” said Leonard. “If it was an hour west of Washington state, it’d…well, it’d be in the Pacific Ocean.”
“Could be on an island.”
“Well, I suppose, but…” Leonard paused, thought, and then said, “I mentioned this is the Virginia Cathedral of Love, right? Virginia? As in the state next to Washington, DC?”
“Just checking,” said Grant. “In this line of work, you can’t take things for granted.” He took a swig from the beer bottle. “Why don’t you continue with your story. Let’s not get bogged down with the details just yet.”
“Yes, but…” Confusion clouded Leonard’s face, but he managed to shake it away. “The Virginia Cathedral of Love is huge. There are almost twenty thousand members and the church holds twelve services each week. The Sunday service alone brings in an average of eight thousand worshippers. People have to park in a lot a mile away and get shuttled in.” He swallowed. “And I was the chief bookkeeper for seven years until, well…until they fired me.”
“Farraday told us they fired you because you’re
That was why, a few days after encountering Grant at Charlie Chops’s garage, he was gruffly welcoming him at the door of the basement studio, blinking at the daylight in a way that made Grant think he hadn’t been aboveground for several days.
“Where’s Chase?” Farraday asked.
“At the Gross.”
Farraday shook his head. “I don’t know how he does that.”
The Gross was officially known as Groc-O-Rama, a small supermarket chain that earned its nickname honestly, but everyone—except Chase—just called it the Gross. Chase had worked as an assistant manager at The Gross in Elmhurst for the better part of two decades, which Grant figured meant he started about five years after the last time anyone bothered to clean the place, but when times were lean it was nice to have a regular paycheck coming in. And the Gross did have some sentimental significance. It was, after all, where Grant and Chase first met, on the night they both separately tried to break into the safe.
“Your cousin here?” asked Grant as he followed Farraday down the narrow, musty stairway.
“Yup.”
That cousin, Leonard Platt, was sitting on a threadbare couch in Farraday’s tiny apartment, distractedly bouncing one leg and playing with the knot in his tie. Grant wondered why he’d bothered wearing a tie at all, let alone on a hot day in an apartment without air-conditioning, but let it slide. It wasn’t the quirkiest thing he’d ever seen on this side of the law. Or on the other side, for that matter.
Farraday introduced Grant to Leonard and asked if anyone wanted a drink.
“It’s not even noon,” said Grant.
The ex-cabbie looked up from where he was pouring amber liquid into a rocks glass that—true to Farraday’s norm—contained no rocks. “What’s your point?”
“Okay, then give me a beer.”
Leonard Platt was, Grant noted, a nervous man, although that could have been due to his discomfort sitting in a room where every other person was a professional criminal. He sized him up: late thirties, thinning hair, pale, and looking like he wanted to change his mind and flee. The springs Grant could see poking just beneath the surface of the couch fabric probably didn’t do anything to improve his comfort level.
While Farraday poured, Grant got down to business. “So what’s this job you’re suggesting?”
Leonard seemed to jump a bit at Grant’s no-nonsense tone, but quickly settled back on the couch and cleared his throat. “Up until last week, I was the bookkeeper for the Virginia Cathedral of Love. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Don’t be.”
Leonard laughed nervously, which annoyed Grant. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.”
“It’s a huge church, about an hour west of Washington, and—”
“Which Washington?”
Leonard started at him. “Huh?”
“The state? Or DC?”
“DC, of course,” said Leonard. “If it was an hour west of Washington state, it’d…well, it’d be in the Pacific Ocean.”
“Could be on an island.”
“Well, I suppose, but…” Leonard paused, thought, and then said, “I mentioned this is the Virginia Cathedral of Love, right? Virginia? As in the state next to Washington, DC?”
“Just checking,” said Grant. “In this line of work, you can’t take things for granted.” He took a swig from the beer bottle. “Why don’t you continue with your story. Let’s not get bogged down with the details just yet.”
“Yes, but…” Confusion clouded Leonard’s face, but he managed to shake it away. “The Virginia Cathedral of Love is huge. There are almost twenty thousand members and the church holds twelve services each week. The Sunday service alone brings in an average of eight thousand worshippers. People have to park in a lot a mile away and get shuttled in.” He swallowed. “And I was the chief bookkeeper for seven years until, well…until they fired me.”
“Farraday told us they fired you because you’re
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