Page 104 of Jameson’s Salvation

Jameson was already walking away from the group with his phone to his ear.

“Still no luck, Jameson,” McKenna answered her phone.

“A woman took her. Older, salt and pepper hair, drives a black Buick,” Jameson cut straight to it.

“Reggie Coleman has a black Buick registered in his name. Hold on.” He could hear McKenna furiously pounding on the keyboard. “Lois Coleman has blonde hair and she’s short and stout. But she could’ve been wearing a wig.”

“Yo!” Jameson bellowed across the parking lot. “How tall was the woman?”

RJ frowned for a moment then answered. “She was pretty tall for a woman.” Again he turned to his father. “Like mom’s height.”

“Five-eight,” Ray once again explained.

“Thin? Heavy set?” Jameson questioned.

“Average?” The teenager shrugged his shoulders. “She wasn’t big, but she wasn’t thin, either.”

“Did you hear that?” Jameson went back to his conversation with McKenna.

“Yeah. Not Lois Coleman.”

Jameson caught sight of Weston pulling into the lot. The smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils as Weston came to a stop, not bothering to pull into a parking spot.

“What about Deloris Marshall or Gary Earle’s wife?”

“Anything?” Weston asked, coming to Jameson’s side.

“Weston’s here. I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Negative on Gary’s wife, she’s wheelchair bound. I’m checking on Deloris now. Holy shit. Wait a second.”

“What?” Jameson growled. The shock of McKenna’s voice almost sounded giddy.

“Kennedy’s phone is back on. Shut up for a second.”

Jameson’s heart thumped in his chest and his breath caught.

Come on, McKenna, work your magic.

“Why are we in Pennsylvania?” Unprepared to hear Kennedy’s voice, Jameson rocked back in shock.

“You ruined everything!” a woman shouted.

“That’s Deloris Marshall,” McKenna announced.

“But why are we in Pennsylvania? You passed Idaville ten miles ago. There’s nothing but barns out here.”

“Shut up. You talk too much,” Deloris complained.

Good girl!

“She’s telling us where she is,” Jameson declared.

“Smart,” Weston agreed.

“Idaville, Pennsylvania, is one hundred and forty-six miles north. There are two main routes,” McKenna cut in. “PA-34 north and PA-94 both are rural roads.”

“You kidnapped me.” Kennedy sounded insolent. “I think I deserve to know where you’re taking me. You just passed a sign that said welcome to Goodyear.”