"Yes." Claude reached in his pocket and handed Patrick a set of keys. "It's that '56 Ford pickup out there--the black one with the wood rack." "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 . . . " "O.K., Gert, O.K. I'll take care of it. But, you'll be home soon." She smiled faintly and shook her head no. "My love . . . " she whispered. For a moment she looked young. "I'll take care of it, Gert." She nodded and closed her eyes. Patrick left, stepping carefully around monitors. He thanked the nurse and went out to the parking lot. It was still light. An ambulance pulled up to an admissions door. It didn't seem right that things outside should be so normal. He sat unmoving for five minutes and then realized that he was hungry. The Park Diner was on the way out of Kingston, heading towards Woodstock. When Patrick was upset, he ate to settle himself down. He had a steak sandwich, apple pie, and coffee. He was still in shock. How could someone be running around one day and then be totaled the next? Probably she was older than she looked. Damn. There was nothing to do but go home and call her niece. Climbing the hill to the village green, Patrick had an urge to drive to Willow's, but he decided against it. He had to call Gert's niece, and it wasn't his truck. He parked behind Mower's Market and walked directly home. He found the number in a small book that Gert kept by the phone. "Ginger?" "Yes." "This is Patrick O'Shaunessy calling from Woodstock. I hate to tell you this, but Gert is in the hospital." Ginger said that she would come as soon as possible. She thanked him and hung up. What else could he do?