Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 38, No. 13, Mid-December 1993

Around them stood black night, pierced by the raucous sounds of the neighborhood come to life — shouts, scuffles, curses; blasters and stereos hurling rock and rap; men shouting obscene come-ons to girls looking for tricks, who answered with obscene suggestions of their own.

Mary Dominic found Vincent’s disappearance disturbing, especially in light of her conversation with the cardinal, who had roused all Mary Dominic’s unspoken but seldom acknowledged fears about the safety of her charges.

It was imprudent to continue searching the far reaches of the grounds by themselves in the dark. Although Mary Dominic had great faith in the providence of God, she knew He also expected people to use the common sense He’d given them.

“It’s time to ask for help,” Mary Dominic decided.

“I’ll pray to Saint Anthony,” Clare replied. “He never fails to find lost eyeglasses and keys. Surely he’ll find Vincent for us.”

No need to remind Clare Francis, so practical and circumspect, to keep Vincent’s disappearance quiet until Mary Dominic gave the word. While Clare went off to invoke St. Anthony, Mary Dominic dialed Mike McGuire again.

Zebulon’s story of the priest’s kidnapping had disturbed her more than she had been willing to admit. She had given all the information about the cocaine-filled cross and Garcia’s kidnapping to the policeman who had taken her message for Mike McGuire earlier; now she feared Sister Vincent’s disappearance and the kidnapping were related.

This time she reached Mike personally.

“I have some information on your Father Garcia,” Mike said. “He’s not a priest. Never was. Just a runner for the crime bosses who thought he could cut himself in on a little drug dealing of his own. He intended to hide the cross at the convent until it seemed safe to go back for it. Tough luck for him he was caught at it. We found him shot full of holes and left for dead.”

That news intensified Mary Dominic’s anxiety. “Our Sister Vincent is missing, Mike. She was last seen in the garden just as dusk was falling, and I’m afraid she’s come to harm. The owners of a certain cross may realize it’s now in my possession.”

“I’m on my way,” Mike promised.

Vincent awoke with a headache to find herself gagged and bound hand and foot on the floor of the crypt. Two scowling men in black, who seemed born of the noxious tide she had seen enveloping the world, were bending over her. The old Vincent would have panicked. The new one, much to her own astonishment, felt absolutely no fear and remained eerily serene.

“She’s coming to,” the tall one said.

The short one nodded. “Go tell the boss dame to hand us over our property and we’ll hand over hers. Any grief and one tall, skinny nun will be going to heaven real soon.”

The tall one left. The short one aimed the biggest gun Vincent had ever seen at her temple. She didn’t know why she hadn’t fainted at the sight of it. She was no more than a commodity to her captors, and she knew that as soon as she lost her value for them, they would kill her. Yet she remained calm. The spirits of the sisters whose bodies slept peacefully in the crypt seemed to be supporting her, speaking to her of heavenly rewards and the power of God.

As placidly as if she were in the safety of her own cell, Vincent fell into peaceful interior communion with her Savior.

Zebulon had never been more relieved than when Mike McGuire’s car turned into the convent’s parking lot. He bounced out of the tree before Mike shut off the engine, tapping his lips frantically for Mike to be quiet. Sliding into the front seat, Zeb whispered, “Two dudes from that black car out front dragged the tall, skinny sister into the crypt. One of them’s still in there with her. The other one’s in the convent.”

“Is it the same car that picked up the priest, Zeb?”

Zebulon nodded nervously. Some things were better not spoken aloud. Mike, who had an appreciation of Zeb’s powers of observation, called in a make on the license plate. When he heard it belonged to Salvatore DiPietro, he whistled and asked for backup. The DiPietro brothers were bad business.

“Time you were out of here, Zeb. I’ll cover you.”

Zebulon gratefully sprinted for home while Mike set a trap for Vincent’s abductors. Then Mike presented himself at the convent’s front door as if he had nothing on his mind but a friendly chat with Mary Dominic.

The nun who led him to Dominic’s office greeted him so cheerfully that Mike realized the community had no knowledge of what was happening. Mary Dominic, however, was a different story. She looked up from her desk brightly, but there were tension lines around her eyes and her smile was strained.

Mike recognized her visitor: Salvatore DiPietro, wanted for everything from breaking and entering to murder. DiPietro looked Mike over but didn’t recognize him as a threat.