Solomon's Grave

public conversations, even if the people around him were more concerned with staring sleepily out the red eye’s windows as it descended, or rummaging in their pockets for gum.

Two others traveled with him, in different rows. He ignored them, and they did likewise. Not for any covert reasons. Roger simply hated casual conversations, with anyone. Better things to do with his life than talk about the weather.

Louis Hautala’s story was confusing at best. When he mentioned the hordes of police and fire apparatus at the town’s small Baptist church, Roger was certain of one thing: Peter had been there. It was Chicago all over again. He hoped Lou didn’t get arrested. There was too much red tape involved in assassinating someone in police custody. He would have enough to handle, dealing with whatever chaos Peter had stirred up.

Hautala had called from the cemetery. Solomon’s grave had been left opened. The news gave him shivers of apprehension. Nothing left inside, but more than enough signs of violence, including “a boat-load of blood,” as Hautala put it. At least he had the sense to don gloves and close the crypt before leaving. That was when he saw the flames through the trees.

No matter what his nephew might have uncovered tonight, he had made too much noise to risk leaving alive any longer.

Roger’s ears popped as the flight continued its descent into Logan. Already he could make out details in the patchwork of lights below him. They sailed over the suburbs, then Greater Boston itself. He zipped closed his overnight bag after putting the phone away. Fortunately, the attendant hadn’t noticed him breaking their rule of no calls during descent. He stared ahead, seeing nothing, only thinking. Worrying. He was certain, more an instinctive feeling than anything yet backed up by evidence, that the fool had gone ahead without waiting.

Something had obviously gone wrong. Peter never failed to answer his phone, especially when he knew it was his dear Uncle Roger calling. Twice now, Roger’s calls were cut over to voice mail.

“Come on,” he whispered to the plane. The remaining five minutes before touching down would be very long. The drive to Hillcrest, even longer. Maybe he would wait until morning. Keep a distance until things cooled down a bit.

He slammed the plastic window shade closed a bit too hard. Nothing out there interested him.

Chapter Seventy-Six

There were very few cars driving along Interstate 395 so late on a Thursday night. Actually, it had become Friday morning a few minutes ago. Most people were in bed, resting up for work the next day.

Nathan drove, not daring to speak or to break the tense veil of silence filling the car. The only sound for much of the past forty miles was the occasional hah-hah-hah of the dog’s panting from the back seat. Johnson had been surprisingly acquiescent when Nathan pulled into Tarretti’s driveway. Even as he walked into the house, crossing directly to Tarretti’s bedroom, the large black Labrador simply sat, silent, on the living room rug and watched with unnerving detachment. He wondered if dogs had some special insight, as he’d lifted the floorboards and removed the strongbox. Some self-preservation mechanism, knowing when Master was gone and it was time to find a new human to care for him. When Nathan emerged from the bedroom with the box and went to the door, he’d paused and looked back at Johnson. The dog looked back with quiet expectation.

“Stay,” he’d said, and went out to the car, putting the box into the trunk. He lifted the tablets from the back seat. The power was there again, filling him, vibrating. It took an effort to lay them back down into the trunk beside Tarretti’s box. He ran back into the house, doing a quick search for dog food. After dropping the dog food beside the other items in the trunk, he returned to the house for the dog.

He was never much of an animal person, but he knew he could not leave Johnson here alone. Even now, driving along the dark highway, Nathan didn’t know how they’d be able to care for the thing, give it any kind of home.

The next thought sent his stomach tightening in shame, no less than it would over the years and decades to come. You can’t leave the dog, but you could throw your best friend to the wolves so you could escape. He had to remind himself that it had been Josh’s choice to stay behind—an admirable, selfless act, even with only a couple of seconds to decide. If Elizabeth was meant to be here with him now, was Josh meant to play the role of tethered goat, left as the sacrifice in their place? Some day, Nathan might learn what cross they were leaving behind for him to bear.

The lane markers swished under them in unrelenting flashes of white. Nathan was not tired. Not yet. Normally when things got too quiet, it would be Elizabeth who spoke. She always took the initiative. Not tonight.

They passed an exit, the one they’d taken a lifetime ago to find the old woman’s quilt museum. The small sign Elizabeth noticed back then was gone. He thought to mention this, but decided against it. He looked over at her. She stared out the window, the tears long dried. As they passed under the occasional highway lamps, the dirt and ash smeared on her face came into sharp relief. He wondered how bad he looked himself, with the bruises stiffening on his cheeks.

He kept his window open a crack, trying to bring in some fresh air, clean out the stale burnt odor emanating from their bodies and clothes. It helped a little. Johnson’s nose worked its way from the back seat, sniffing at things only he could smell. Nathan hit the switch for the back window, and the nose moved away to easier smelling grounds.

Both of them tried to ignore the palpable presence lying in the trunk, so close behind them; the fourth passenger.

The gas gauge was slightly past the halfway mark. They were approaching an exit for the town of Putnam, Connecticut and Route 44. They had to stay off the main highways. If anyone had seen their plate as they drove from the fire, there would be an APB out to every state and local police department. Did it matter, then, which road they took?

Whom would the police be looking for? Quinn? What about Josh? Again, and again, Nathan’s thoughts returned to the friend he’d left behind. His mind had raced and over-analyzed everything else, as long as it kept him from the true source of horror gnawing at his stomach. Thoughts of Josh, who would likely be arrested for at least one murder.

Thoughts of his father. And his mother, who likely still didn’t know that her family was gone forever.

“What,” he began, then had to swallow. His mouth was dry. They should stop at a McDonald’s somewhere, get a drink. He tried again, “What do you think Josh told them?”

Elizabeth turned her head, slowly, and Nathan braced himself for the verbal assault she’d been building up.

“I don’t know,” she said, softly. Looking back out the window, she continued, “Where are we going, Nate?”

He offered her a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t know.” The relief of her calmness made him giddy. He tried to control it, keep from laughing hysterically at their humorless predicament. The last time he’d done that, he’d been beaten almost to death. Where were they going? Good question.

Elizabeth turned to him again, this time twisting and bringing one knee onto the seat. “Nate, what was that, at the front of the church? What was it?”

“You mean the fire?”

She raised her voice. “The...thing... in the fire, Nate! Didn’t you see it?”

He shook his head, slowly, not in denial but confusion. “I’m not sure; there was too much going on. You mean the Covenant? What thing?”

She looked at him a long time, not in anger but something else, something he had not seen in her face even when her mother had been sick, not to this degree. She looked... horror-struck. Her lips were tightly closed. He wanted to urge her on, feeling a twist in his gut from the possibility that tonight had more dimensions than even he had seen.

“What is it? Elizabeth, what did you see?”

She shook her head, quickly, a child’s emphatic no!, then turned in her seat until she was staring out her side window.

“Nothing,” she said at last. “Nothing.”

Johnson had forsaken his window during the conversation, his large head moving in the rear view mirror, back and forth between them. Sensing nothing more of interest, he turned his wet nose back to the two inches of fresh