Solomon's Grave (25 page)

“Agreed.” At that Tarretti became more animated, bending down to pick up his notebook from the floor. He straightened a bend in the cover then placed it reverently into the box.

If what Tarretti said was true, Nathan would never see Elizabeth again.

No. She could always go with you.

He shook his head reflexively. What was he thinking? Elizabeth was probably right. The man was crazy and Nathan’s own problems were clouding his judgment.

“Nate, you can’t go with him. Think about what you’re going to do. Go into a graveyard in the middle of the night with someone who thinks he’s Indiana Jones.” Her hands were on his shoulder. Tarretti stood in the kitchen doorway with the box in his hand, waiting. “Nate,” she continued, “listen to what I’m saying. A graveyard… in the middle of the
night
.” She lowered her voice even further. “He’s nuts. You have to know that. He killed Hayden and now he’s going to kill you.”

“Maybe,” he whispered back. “But you have to remember you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You didn’t have those dreams or experience what happened this morning.”

She turned away and said, loudly, “Oh, just forget it. You two are going to run off and play Hardy Boys no matter what I say. And you!” She walked up to Tarretti and jabbed a finger into his chest. He did not flinch. “I’m coming, too, and if you try anything—anything!—I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She jabbed him again. “I’m serious!”

He reached up and bent her hand back so quickly the pain didn’t reach her brain until he said, “And if you jab that finger at my chest one more time, I’ll break your wrist. Do
you
understand
me
?”

He didn’t wait for her reply. He released her and said to Nathan, “Sorry, Pastor. Please follow me so I can show you where I hide this. Just in case.”

He turned and walked toward the bedroom. Nathan, despite the terror and confusion of the night, walked past Elizabeth and whispered, “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

She swore in reply, but stayed in the kitchen absently scratching Johnson behind the ears.

Chapter Forty-Six

“Roger Quinn speaking. This had better be good.”

“Uncle Roger, this is Peter. Did I wake you?”

“Why are you calling me so late?”

Over all these years, Peter could never remember his uncle answering a call with a simple hello. He always made it seem your call was the most inconvenient thing that ever happened to him. Peter switched the cell phone from his left to right ear, as if to block the conversation from Josh Everson. The boy was sitting in the passenger seat staring blankly out through the windshield. It was a relief speaking to his uncle without worrying about controlling his voice. Of course, he expected the conversation to be unpleasant. It always was.

“Things are happening, Uncle. If I’m not mistaken, they’re going to happen quickly.”

Roger Quinn sighed over the phone. “You’re often mistaken, Peter. What sort of
things
are we talking about now?”

Peter felt the familiar twinge of fear and guilt in his stomach. He felt this way every time his uncle spoke to him – always in a disappointed, mean-spirited way. He’d been the man’s best disciple, learned quickly, eagerly, yet
never
had he received an actual compliment. Before the mess in Chicago, he hadn’t thought Uncle Roger’s derision toward him could be any worse. He’d been wrong.

Whether this man liked it or not, things were going to change. At the moment, Peter was grateful he’d kept the murder of Hayden to himself. He’d been wrong about the old preacher, and his tenuous standing in the organization would have been utterly destroyed if they found out what happened.

“The Ark, sir. I’m almost certain they’re going to try and move it tonight.”

“You don’t even know it’s there.”

“It is.” He used his shoulder to hold the phone against his ear as he took a sharp left onto Lexington Street. “And yes, I know that the gravesite might be a ruse. There might be nothing in there but a note laughing at our stupidity. But whether it’s there or not, the new minister and Tarretti are having a clandestine meeting at the caretaker’s house right now. I told you this afternoon how Dinneck reacted to the painting. Something’s up. I’m driving to the old cemetery to keep an eye on the grave.”

“It’s the caretaker you should be watching.”

“We are, Uncle. He won’t make a move without me knowing about it.”

A long silence over the phone. Peter drove past Greenwood Cemetery and glanced into the dark parking lot. In the passing glow of his headlights, he saw no car. That was good. He slowed and looked for an inconspicuous place to park.

“All right,” Roger said at last. Gone was the weary tone of a moment before. It would be the only sign of encouragement Peter would get. “We have a person in New Hampshire. I’ll give him a call, tell him to head down. You’ll put him up in your place for as long as you need him. I’m not doing anything else until you call me back with more. I’m not wasting more travel money until you’ve got something concrete to show me.”

Ahead, there were three houses in a row, all with their lights off. Peter killed the headlights and coasted to a stop at the edge of the first house’s property, close enough to the driveway to give the appearance it belonged there.

“Thank you, Uncle. With any luck, I’ll be calling you again tonight.”

“I won’t hold my breath. And, Peter?”

He turned off the engine, watching the curtains in the house’s windows for any sign he was being checked out. “Yes, Uncle?”

“Don’t kill anyone this time, please.”

Too late for that
. “Of course not.” He disconnected and turned to Josh. “Mister Everson.”

Josh looked at him sleepily. “Yes?”

“We’re going to take a walk. Please follow me, and leave your door open when you get out.” He reached toward the dash and deactivated the dome light. From the glove compartment, he produced a black knit cap. A bit early in the season, but better than letting his white mane be a beacon. It should provide enough camouflage. He got out of the car, closed his door, then Josh’s as quietly as possible. He waited. Nothing changed with any of the darkened homes.

“Follow me, quietly.” Together they walked back along Greenwood Street. Josh had to trot to keep up with Quinn’s hurried pace.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Vincent saw Nathan looking around the bedroom for a light switch and quickly said, “Keep the light off, please. There’s a chance the house is being watched.”

Nathan dropped his arm but remained in the doorway. Vincent had obliged him by at least turning on the small hallway light on the way in. Light spilled into the bedroom, casting the minister’s shadow over the unmade twin-sized bed and dresser. There was enough light to reveal the opening in the floor. Vincent began to replace the box, then hesitated. Something else was in there, something he’d taken out only twice in thirty years. He reached down and lifted the item, wrapped in a light blue shammy cloth. When he laid it down on the floor beside the hole it made a metallic clunk.

“I keep the box here,” he said, hoping to bring Dinneck’s attention away from the other package. “The board is loose. You have to take the box with you when you leave town.”

Nathan whispered, “I never agreed to leave, Mister Tarretti. You know that.”

Vincent nodded in the darkness. “Yeah, I know, you said that. Still, don’t leave it behind.” He put the box into the hole. There was no basement in the house, only a foot-deep sub-flooring. Years earlier, either Ruth Lieberman, or someone living here before, had partitioned the sub floor, creating this makeshift “safe.” Three sections of hardwood flooring were sealed together to make the door. He replaced it now and slid the dog’s fur-covered bed over it.

When he rose, he left the second package where it lay, partially covered by the dog bed. Elizabeth already thought him a mad man; it wouldn’t help him to let her know he was also armed with a nine-millimeter automatic. On the two occasions he’d removed it from the floor, he’d brought it to a pistol range in Worcester, making sure it still worked. Both times he cleaned it before returning it to its hiding place. Once a year he bought a fresh box of nine millimeter rounds and replaced the box in his bottom drawer. He’d prayed he would never have to use it, but he felt better knowing he’d have it tonight.

He waved the minister into the hall. Nathan did not move. Instead he said, “Vincent, listen. Let’s say you’re right about all this. When you said only priests can move the Ark, I assume you don’t mean just Catholic priests.”

The question was innocent enough, but Vincent was nonetheless surprised Dinneck was naïve enough to ask it. “Of course not, Reverend. In the days of Solomon, there was no such entity as the Catholic church, or Christians in any form. In this context, priest simply means one ordained by God. In the days of the king, these were usually Levites. Today, well, priests come in all forms. Come on now, we should be moving.”

Before they left the hall, Vincent took his windbreaker from the closet. In the kitchen, Elizabeth hadn’t moved, except to continue giving Johnson scratches. The dog sat beside her, tongue hanging out joyfully. When he saw Vincent with his jacket he wagged his tail and ran to him.

“No, Boy,” Vincent whispered. “We’re not going anywhere yet, and when we do, you have to stay put. Going to be hard enough sneaking out without you jumping all over the place.”

“So we’re going to sneak out now, are we?” Elizabeth took Nathan’s hand with the one she’d been using to scratch the dog.

“No, Ma’am. Just me.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything in reply, Vincent raised his hand. “I don’t want to hear any more arguments. Have your boyfriend drop you off at home if you have a problem with this. I can’t be seen leaving here with you, or they’ll know something’s up. They already killed Pastor Hayden. If they realize Nathan is the one they’re after, then he’s in terrible danger.”

For the moment that stopped her, but her stare became even icier than before. He had hoped that the two of them leaving without him would be enough to appease her. Give her a chance to convince Dinneck to change his mind. It didn’t matter. Nathan had been chosen by God and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. He would be there, if for no other reason than to finally have answers.

Nathan said, “So, what’s the plan?”

“Drive back to your church, Reverend. You know there’s a hiking trail that runs alongside the properties? Go into the church, turn on one light then go out through another door. Use the trail to reach the cemetery.”

Nathan nodded. Every child growing up in that part of town knew where the path led, not to mention Nathan’s own jaunt along it just last week. There was a spot where the cemetery’s bordering rock wall opened up.

“Wait at the gravesite if I’m not there. It’ll take me a little longer since I’m going to walk. If I drive they’ll see me. Best they think I’ve gone to bed.”

Elizabeth muttered, “Can we go now?”

“Yes. Stay safe, and may God protect you.”

“Sure, whatever.” She headed for the door, stretching Nathan’s arm between them. He held back.

“Don’t take long,” he said. “As much as I want to resolve this, we’re not going to wait all night.”

“Agreed. Go now.”

When they were gone, Vincent reached down and patted the dog’s rump. “Come on, Boy, bedtime.” He turned off the kitchen light and walked in the dark to the bedroom, tossing the jacket onto the bed. He unwrapped the gun and loaded fresh rounds into the clip. He worked quickly in the light spilling from the hall, not wanting to be out of sight much longer. He put the gun into the front pocket of the windbreaker and went into the bathroom, turning the light on as he entered, and began brushing his teeth. Johnson had remained in the bedroom, eager for the routine to fall back into place. Vincent finished at the sink, used the toilet and turned the light off behind him as he left. He had to be careful not to break his pattern. Anyone watching him,
if
he was being watched, would notice. Bad enough Dinneck and the girl showing up so late. He turned on his beside lamp, knelt beside the bed and prayed. He stayed longer than usual, begging for strength, for the Lord to protect the two young people and not let the woman keep Nathan from doing what he was called to do.

He prayed also that he would be allowed to serve Him in some way even after the prize was turned over to new hands.

He rose at last, stripped and went to bed. He set the alarm clock, turned off the light then jumped out of bed and dressed again. In the dark living room he carefully put on the windbreaker, made sure the pistol was secure in the pocket with the Velcro-fastened flap. He opened the kitchen window, then the screen, and slowly crawled outside. The gun clunked once on the sill, but otherwise he emerged onto the grass without a sound.

Johnson tried to follow him out the window.

“I’ll be right back,” Vincent whispered, and pushed the dog back inside with one last scratch behind its ears. He slid the window as far closed as he could manage with one arm still holding back his oldest and best friend. “Stay. Good boy.” He gave him another scratch, then withdrew his hand. “Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

The dog whimpered in protest.

Vincent turned around and waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he ran the short distance to the tool shed.

He knew the location of every tool, every unobstructed space, without needing the light. The crowbar was where it always was, on the lip of the second highest shelf near the door. His hand passed through a thick layer of spider webs to reach it. He’d had no use for this tool—he used much larger versions for working with gravestones—since Ruth last opened the crypt for him. He wiped off the cobwebs and a layer of rust all around it. He hoped it was strong enough to do its job. He reached behind him and slipped it under the jacket, wedging a third of it into the back of his jeans. Once its position had been adjusted enough to offer the least discomfort, he left the shed. The crowbar pressed painfully against his right buttock with every step. There would be no running, not without some severe and painful consequences.