Solomon's Grave

certain as the night progressed that someone was watching the house. The feeling had begun around the time Hayden had left town. At first he’d written it off—and written it down in his ledger, entry 819—as paranoia. The night Dinneck called to say Hayden had disappeared, he no longer thought it was just his imagination.

He knelt beside the bed after moving Johnson’s rug aside and worked a finger into the slight indentation in the boards where once there had been a knot. He hesitated. Next to the treasure in John Solomon’s grave, the strongbox had been his most secret possession. Bringing it out, letting eyes other than his own see its contents, seemed such a final act of transition.

He removed the board, but folded his hands against his chest.

God, please guide my hands and my mind. Everything is happening, everything seems right. After so many, many years, how can I be certain? What if I go back there and they’re gone? What if they’re the enemy?

No answer. Of course not. He’d made his conclusions already and there could be no mistake. Maybe he was dragging his feet because he didn’t know his own role in the coming events—if he had one. If he could convince these people of the truth, they might take the treasure and leave. Vincent could move on. Maybe go back to school after all these years, earn a degree, become ordained and serve in some new capacity which did not require so much seclusion.

It was a joyous proposition, one that made the act of lifting the strongbox from its hole easier to bear. Still, he shouldn’t be so eager to end his ministry. Such eagerness would only open them up to mistakes. Right now he needed to tread carefully. Quickly, but carefully.

He left the compartment open and walked back into the kitchen. Could he convince Dinneck? The young man seemed to be listening. And there was the matter of his dreams. But the girl. He’d been trying not to look at the mocking way her eyes squinted at certain details. She laughed at him with those eyes.

She held the same expression when he returned to the table. They’d been whispering to each other. He’d heard the sounds but not the words.

The box thunked on the table. He undid the latch and opened the lid, turning it toward Nathan.

“You do not need to read the contents now,” he said. “But here are all the notes I’ve taken over the years. There are also ledgers from Ruth, and many others who came before her. It’s not complete, and I don’t admit to knowing everything they say since many are in different languages, some pretty archaic. But the story is there if you’re willing to take the time.”

Elizabeth snorted derisively. “Oh, come on, Tarretti.” She nudged Nathan’s shoulder. “I think we’ve heard enough for tonight.”

Nathan looked at her. “I told you, we’re staying until he’s told us everything.” He turned back to Vincent.

She leaned forward, whispering though she had to know Vincent could hear. “You don’t believe this. He just told us that the Ten Commandments are buried in our town cemetery. The same ones that Charlton Heston carried down the mountain!”

With a calm that belied his growing anger, Vincent said, “Moses carried them, Ma’am. You’d do well to show some respect for—”

“For who? You? A nut who lives like a hermit with his delusions and then takes notes about them? Delusions that God’s buried the Ark of the Covenant in a graveyard in a backwoods town like ours?” She stood. “Nate’s going through some tough times right now. He has enough to worry about with Pastor Hayden dead and his father involved in some weird group in town. Now you bring us here and tell us that he’s got to start guarding some dead guy’s tombstone!” She leaned forward and jabbed a finger at him. Johnson growled. “Oh, shut up, you mutt.”

Johnson lowered his head and whimpered.

Nathan said nothing. Like Vincent earlier, his eyes were unfocused, his face set in concentration. Vincent decided to ignore Elizabeth and looked at him.

“Reverend,” he whispered, and the use of the title made Nathan look up. “This group she’s talking about—is it the same one you asked about the other day?”

Nathan nodded.

Vincent said, “Tell me everything you might have learned about them since. And do it quickly.”

Chapter Forty-Four

As Art Dinneck spoke with the computer operator on the phone, he tried to picture Raymond George. He thought he knew him, but for the moment the man’s face eluded him.

“You will need to leave tonight, and go to the storefront. There might be a few men there if the card game isn’t over. If not, there is a key hidden under a stone in the back alley. I have just told you that a computer program you wrote is not working. Do you know which program that is?”

Art looked across the kitchen where Beverly was putting detergent into the half-full dishwasher and eyeing him suspiciously. The operator mentioned a program he’d written that had just gone down. He concentrated, trying to remember the name.

“Do you mean FBB714?”

“Yes,” the controlled voice of Peter Quinn / Raymond George said. “That is the program. You need to come in and correct the problem.”

Art looked at the wall clock and sighed. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He wondered why Raymond was making such a big deal out of a report program.

“No, and you do not think so either.”

“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Beverly slammed the dishwasher door and turned the knob to start the cycle. From her expression, however, Art knew she would accept it. It was work pulling him away from her this time, nothing else. She wouldn’t like it, but at least he wasn’t going out to... where was he going again?

“Mr. Dinneck?”

“Yes, I’m still here. I—” he hesitated. He didn’t know any computer operator named Raymond George.

“You have to go now. Go to the men’s club, and when you get there you will want to be there. Mingle. You have something very important to talk about with Peter Quinn. Wait there until he arrives. You will believe you are going to work until you are about to reach the highway. Is that understood?”

The man’s voice sounded strained. Art decided he must be a new hire. Hopefully the visit wouldn’t take too long. “Fine. See you in a little bit.” He hung up. “You heard?” he asked Beverly.

She was wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I heard. Will it take long?”

Art grabbed his sneakers beside the back door and sat in a kitchen chair to put them on. “Not at all. The guy’s just new, doesn’t know what he’s doing, or which jobs have what priority, I guess. I should be back in less than an hour.”

“Promise you’ll come right home?”

He pictured the HMC storefront. He needed to tell Quinn something. But at the moment he couldn’t remember what it was. It could wait until tomorrow, worst case. He got up and grabbed a jacket from the closet.

“Promise.”

Before he could leave, Beverly was beside him and touching his arm. He turned around and found himself in her strong embrace. He returned it, wishing for a moment that he’d told the guy to ignore the problem and wait until morning.

He could still do that.

No. This was important. He’d be back soon. He gave his wife another prolonged squeeze, then kissed her slowly on the lips. “I’ll be right back.” He patted his coat pocket, felt a bulge. “I’ve got my cell if you need to reach me.”

Beverly looked like she was going to cry. He thought he understood. He’d been spending so much time at the men’s club, and for what? The rift between them was only getting larger. That would change. He walked outside and got into his car. Backing from the driveway, he wondered why he was spending so much time there. A bunch of guys, some no older than Nate, playing cards and drinking. What was the point?