Solomon's Grave (17 page)

Hayden is a red herring
.

The thought felt so true that a renewed sense of urgency took hold. Vincent had spent so long marking every occurrence in town that struck him as out of place. Sometimes his notes covered nothing more bizarre than the Stop ‘N Shop repaving their parking lot. Not once could he remember anything out of the ordinary with Ralph Hayden’s behavior. The man never looked at the gravesite more than any other, never mentioned visions or nightmares.

He looked up suddenly, like someone hearing a sudden noise. But there
was
no noise save the constant chirrup of the crickets and peepers outside, and the distant roar of a jet on its way to or from Logan Airport.

Nathan Dinneck
. Noticing the grave, his dreams—whatever they might be about. So many oddities about this new minister. But Dinneck was coming, not going. Maybe the time for change was not as close as Vincent feared. The looming sense of danger might only be a sign of the final stage. Maybe Dinneck
would
be the one, but not for another twenty years.

The new men’s club wanted to plant flowers. The white-haired accountant type, Quinn, asked after Hayden. The old man disappeared.

Vincent pounded a closed fist against the table, scattering the forgotten interment forms he’d produced from their folder when Dinneck called. He wished he could pry the nightmares out of that young preacher’s head and examine them. Faith was important, but after having spent so many years protecting what lay in the grave, any new step felt dangerous.

He got up and turned off the lights on his way back to bed. Johnson looked up from his rug and offered a concerned wag of his tail. Vincent would pray for the safety of Reverend Hayden, and wait. There was nothing else to do.

Chapter Thirty

Try as he might, Nathan could not sleep. He sat up on the edge of the bed, then slowly slid from this position onto the floor. He knelt, using the mattress as an ad-hoc prayer bench.

God
, he thought,
please help me. Am I going mad? This should be a time of great joy, a culmination of everything you’ve given me
. He leaned further forward until his forehead pressed against the rumpled comforter.
Nothing feels right; it’s become one of those bad dreams where everything goes wrong. Please.

He remained prostrate against the bed for a few minutes more. No rumble of thunder, no sudden inspiration in answer to his questions. He was tired, as tired as the day he’d collapsed in the church hall. Nathan pulled himself up and sat back down on the edge of the mattress. He reached to turn off the bedside lamp, then hesitated.

There were a few Bibles scattered throughout the house. He’d placed his New International Version on the bedside table last night—the first night he’d slept in this room. Nathan always liked having the book handy. Good reading to fall asleep to.

He didn’t know what to look for, what passage might help him see this insane situation in a new light. He pushed his pillow against the headboard and leaned back, staring unfocused and flipped the pages. The word “Solomon” caught his attention, then disappeared in the blur of passages. Nathan stuck his thumb inside, turned pages backward, then forward again, no urgency in his motion.

Solomon’s Wives
the heading read.

Tomorrow
, Nathan thought.

Read
, whispered an almost instinctual voice in his heart.
Just this chapter. Closure, then sleep
.

Nathan took the suggestion and read the chapter. It was the story of Solomon’s fall from grace, when he chose to worship the false gods of the many wives he kept in foreign lands. In Jerusalem, he built a “high place for Chemosh the detestable god of Moab, and for Molech the detestable god of the Ammonites” and other demons which had their own, unflattering adjectives.

Solomon’s actions had been the final straw. This had become the king’s fall from grace, how he’d lost his throne to God’s wrath. Solomon had put other “gods”, the popular demons of that time, before Him. And paid the price.

Nathan looked up, thought of John Solomon’s grave. He thought of Tarretti again, of his father. Hayden. Too many threads blowing across his mind, not seeming to be related but somehow all feeling as if they should be.

Long past midnight, the questions still raced like gnats, landing just long enough to bite, then vanishing again. The lamp remained on as he slid into sleep, the book open on his lap.

He did not dream, save vague recollections of flashing images as his brain tried to sort things out while his body regenerated. When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining through the windows. He lay on top on the comforter, never having gotten under the sheets. What day was it? Wednesday. Perhaps he should stay here, not face the day. It seemed a good idea. He’d overslept anyway. The clock read nine thirty-four. He must have appointments for the day,
but stay in bed
, he told himself. Maybe it would all go away on its own.

A muffled shrill broke the reverie. The cell phone, still in his pants pocket. He considered ignoring it, but knew he could not. He was pastor now. He was
responsible
. The thought gave him enough motivation to reach down and fish the phone out before the caller disconnected.

“Hello,” he said, staring at the ceiling and realizing too late that he should have answered with “Pastor Dinneck.” The salutation hadn’t become routine enough yet.

“Well, good morning,” a familiar voice said. “Sounds like you just woke up.”

“Elizabeth.” Hearing her voice, saying her name, washed everything away, cleared his mind. It was a temporary reprieve, but he relished the feeling and sat up on the bed. “Sorry, yeah. I forgot to set the alarm. I was up late reading.”

A small laugh. “Must be a good book.”

Nathan smiled. “The best.”

“Oh,
that
one.” Her voice lost none of the mirth, however. “Well, I won’t keep you. You probably haven’t even brushed your teeth yet.”

“Nope.”

“I’d forgotten I was off yesterday, so I didn’t see you at the nursing home. We never made a date.”

Thank you
, he thought,
for Elizabeth at least. Whatever else is happening, she is my oasis
.

“Right,” he said, and walked from the bedroom. “Hang on a second, I’ve got to go downstairs to check the calendar.” Down the steps like a child on Christmas morning, he turned into the den and opened his desk calendar. “OK, let’s see. Tonight’s no good, as we’ve got Bible study. Care to join us?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so,” he said. “I’d say maybe after that, but I have a feeling I’ll be a bit pooped. Should get to bed early to make up for last night.”

“Everything OK?”

“Actually, no.” He told her about Hayden.

“That’s pretty bizarre.”

“You’re not kidding. Let’s pick a night, and I might even tell you some more bizarre things.”

“Deal,” she said. “Tomorrow night, then? I’m off Friday, so I wouldn’t have to turn in too early.”

“Thursday sounds good.”

“Great. I’ve got to go; break’s over.”

“Say hi to Mrs. Conan for me. Listen, could you, you know, discreetly ask around today, see if anyone’s heard from Reverend Hayden?”

She said she would. They picked a time to meet and Nathan disconnected. Her call was a Godsend, perhaps literally. He checked his calendar for today. He had less than forty-five minutes before he had to drive to the city and make his rounds at the University of Massachusetts Medical Center, then downtown to Saint Vincent’s. He’d make a few calls about Hayden first, then rush through a shower. It would be a full day. There didn’t look to be a break to make it back to Hillcrest until the late afternoon.

Even with everything else going on, Elizabeth’s earlier idea of checking out the Hillcrest Men’s Club still felt like a good one.

Any answers he might garner from a visit would have to wait until tomorrow. He had inked in breakfast at his mother’s house for Thursday morning, hoping to make it a weekly routine. Maybe she could give him some ammunition before he drove across town to confront whatever waited for him behind the club’s front door.

Plans made, he opened the phone directory and looked up Mrs. Lewis’ number. He didn’t have the time to dwell on any more mysteries today. Tomorrow he could dredge it all up again.

Chapter Thirty-One

The Bible study Wednesday night was more crowded than had been usual under the tutelage of Reverend Hayden. Along with Nathan, fifty-six people sat in double circles of folding chairs in the middle of the room. Against one wall stood a long table covered in a white cloth and adorned with plates of cookies and a chocolate cake. Someone had brought two-liter bottles of Sprite and Diet Coke. Mrs. Zawalich had come in earlier to set up the church’s large coffee urn. It gurgled and belched as it slowly drained of steaming coffee. Decaf, however. It never failed to amaze Nathan how the majority of evening meetings provided no decaffeinated drinks. People likely spent hours lying awake in bed afterwards, waiting for the shock of caffeine to leave their systems.

Word had spread of the former pastor’s disappearance, thanks to the few calls made by Nathan that morning. He’d decided to make use of the parish’s prayer chain to spread word to everyone. It carried the news across town, bringing parishioners to the church’s basement. Some had come only to check on the status of the search, of which there had been no further word. Others came to pray for his safety and well-being. Nathan was grateful to see them all. It was important to maintain consistency by not canceling the study tonight. Not enough people looked to God’s word for guidance, relying too much instead on sermons. A preacher may be a good speaker, even dynamic and charismatic, but in the end, all he or she did was to present the Word from one person’s perspective. It was all within these pages, as long you looked and listened to the messages they offered.

Like last night. Whether what he’d read about Solomon or his wives had anything to do with his private mystery in town, he did not know. He’d find out when he needed to.

This was the first study that Nathan would lead. He decided to do a little research. It didn’t feel
quite
like manipulating the study for personal reasons. Using the passage provided to him last night, he hoped for insight from the congregation. He chose the same passage from Kings, and talk moved invariably to those of faith who so often stray from their worship of God, to idols and other “gods” which most in the group agreed were demons of great seductive power.

After talk had progressed a few minutes, Nathan asked if anyone had heard of Chemosh or Molech. He wished the day hadn’t been so busy, for he would have liked to have done some detailed research ahead of time. A teenaged girl he recognized as one of the more active in the youth ministry, Jaylene he thought her name was, raised her hand.

“I did a report once on Old Testament deities—the darker ones, I mean. Chemosh doesn’t ring a bell, but that other guy does... guy, or thing, whatever,” she said, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure he’s the one the Ammonites sacrificed their first born children to.” A few murmurs of disgust, mostly from the younger members. She added, “He’s one of the oldest, too. Even got a mention in the Laws of Moses. Somewhere in Deuteronomy, or maybe Leviticus. I get those two mixed up a lot.”

Seeing the interest her answer received from the group, Jaylene continued. “They actually burned them. Tossed them inside the mouth of a statue that was on fire, or something like that. Pretty gross!”

More murmurs all around. Nathan forced his dry throat to swallow. During the discussion he had begun to suspect some association with what he’d seen and felt in his earlier nightmares, but hearing it spoken still sent a chill through him. Rather than help to clarify anything, her answer only served up more questions. He wanted to press, but others had begun a thread regarding human sacrifice within the Old Testament, citing the common story of Abraham bringing his son to the mountain for a sacrifice to God. A blind following of God’s will for no other reason than that He said to follow.

“But in the end he didn’t.”

“What about that nasty story of Jepthath killing his daughter?”

“Oh,” said another. “I hate that story.”

Nathan had gotten what he’d been looking for, somewhat. Though he had expected
any
confirmation of recent events would unnerve him, he became surprisingly calm about everything.
OK, so there’s a chance that you’ve been dreaming of a five thousand year old sacrificial ceremony. Well, it’s good to have
that
out of the way
. Likely it was knowledge learned during seminary which had worked its way into his subconscious. Nothing more.

The topic was juicy enough to lead discussions a half hour past the appointed ending time. It was good to lose oneself like that. It helped a person forget confusion and despair over other matters and allowed everyone to take solace in the Word, forget for an hour the disappearance of their beloved pastor.

As people cleaned up the hall and moved to their cars in the rear parking lot, voices dropped from animated continuation of earlier subjects to hushed worries about Reverend Hayden. Nathan was the last to leave, turning out the lights and heading upstairs. He was glad he hadn’t made plans with Elizabeth tonight. He was exhausted. Upstairs in the small office, he checked his messages. The light was blinking, the number “1” above it. Nathan was awash with a mix of hopefulness and apprehension. He pressed Play.

A robotic computerized voice confirmed his first dental examination at Doctor Crennell’s office for Monday. In a voice similar to the dentist’s computer, the answering machine announced, “...end of messages.”

One more task done as part of his homecoming. A nice change, since not much of anything else was happening as he’d expected.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“So,” Nathan said before taking a mouthful of scrambled eggs, “I’m going over there today. See what’s up.”