"Thanks, Claude. What are you going to do?"
"Ahh . . . " Claude glanced around the room and smiled. "We shall see, mon ami. Leave it behind Mower's when you're done, why don't you. Put the keys under the seat. I'll get it in the morning."
"O.K." Patrick left and started up the truck. Three minutes later he was passing the golf course, heading for Kingston on Route 375. Kingston hospital was easy to find, but Gert wasn't there. He drove into the general area where he thought he'd find the Benedictine, trying to remember Claude's directions. He was about to stop and ask when he saw it on a hill. Gert had been admitted.
Patrick explained the situation and was allowed to see her, but only for a minute or two. She was pale and looked fragile. An oxygen tube crossed her face below her nose. Patrick went up close.
"Hi, Gert." She raised her eyebrows in greeting and whispered something he couldn't hear. He bent closer.
"Call Ginger."
Patrick nodded and said, "I will." Ginger was her niece. She lived in
St. Louis.
"Patrick."
"Yes?"
"That chest—treasure chest—don't let her see it . . . Mine . . . "