Corinne knew that none of this would be sorted out as easily as her mother made it sound, but she decided to let herself believe for a few precious seconds that it could be. That brief respite gave her the strength she needed to follow them into the chapel.
The interior of the Old North Church was painted all white, but it bloomed pink in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. There was a display of white roses every two feet along the aisle, and someone had draped garlands along the upper balconies. Corinne sat beside her mother in the first pew on the groom’s side. The whole ordeal seemed to drag on for hours. By the time Angela actually made it to Phillip’s side at the altar, Corinne was certain that half the congregation was asleep. The minister’s smile shone benevolently upon them, and then he started into a speech that had all the indicators of being everlasting.
Corinne sank down a little in her seat and stole a look over her shoulder to furtively scan the crowd. She finally found Saint in the last row, being blessedly unobtrusive. The church wasn’t full—which the marital couple would no doubt take as a personal offense—and there was only one other person on Saint’s row. He seemed familiar somehow, with a round face, overlarge nose, and long ears. Corinne racked her mind. He was familiar in the way politicians were familiar, not because she’d ever met them but because she had seen their faces plastered across the newspaper headlines.
Saint’s drawing. The one of the man who had shot Gabriel.
She craned her head to look back again, no longer caring how subtle she was being. One of the doors of the cathedral had opened slightly, and a latecomer slipped in. She had never seen Johnny in a suit before. She didn’t know how it was possible, but he caught her eye immediately, as if he knew right where to find her. He smiled and slid in on the other side of Saint. When Saint saw him, he blanched a ghostly white. He started to stand up, but the man on his other side clamped a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly the man was different. His face had melted into one that Corinne knew very well. It was Guy Jackson.
Johnny leaned over, his eyes still on Corinne, and whispered something in Saint’s ear. Saint closed his eyes and locked his jaw. He nodded.
The three of them stood up and left quietly, with Saint between the two men. Corinne strained to see, earning a swat from her mother and a glare from Aunt Maude, who was behind her.
Corinne crawled over her mother and father and the various great-aunts and cousins in her row and made a beeline for the side door. She didn’t dare look back for fear her mother’s glare would actually turn her to stone. Touching family moment aside, disturbing the Wells-Haversham wedding was treachery that could not be borne.
The street in front of the cathedral was empty by the time Corinne reached it.
“Dammit,” Corinne screamed, heedless of the twittering of two old ladies walking past.
Panic reared inside her, and she ran to one side of the church and then the other. She screamed another profanity, not caring who heard her.
“Cor?”
Corinne spun around to see Ada and Charlie coming down the street.
“He took Saint,” she cried. “Johnny was right here in the church, and he took Saint, and now they’re gone.”
They stared at her in shocked silence for a few moments, until Charlie finally blinked.
“Where could they have gone?” he asked. “The Cast Iron?”
“I don’t know,” Corinne said. She started to pace. “I don’t know. Jackson was with him. We assumed the gunman at the docks was a thespian pretending to be Jackson, but Jackson was just disguising himself.”
She remembered James pointing out how much the sketch looked like Babe Ruth and for a split second felt the awful surge of a laugh. Jackson must be a baseball fan. She should have known. She should have figured it out in time to stop any of this from happening.
“The warehouse,” Ada said suddenly. “Think about it.”
“I’m a little too stressed right now to think about things, Ada,” Corinne said. “So if you could just explain yourself, that would be grand.”
“If Jackson shot Tom Glenn and Gabriel, it must have been because Johnny told him to.”
“But why?” Corinne asked. “Glenn just helped at the docks. He hardly ever came around the Cast Iron.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Glenn and Gabriel both knew where the warehouse was and what he was storing there.”
“That explains why he came for Saint,” Charlie said. “Saint said he’d been there before.”
“This is all about that damn liquor,” Corinne said. “We have to find that warehouse.”
“We don’t even know if that’s where they’re going,” Charlie said.
“It’s our best option,” Ada said. “We have to try.”
“There are miles of wharves and hundreds of warehouses,” Corinne said. “Saint doesn’t have that kind of time.”
“He might be able to help with that,” Charlie said, pointing.
Corinne whirled to follow his finger across the street. Gabriel was standing there, his hands in his pockets, unmoving.