Solomon's Grave (16 page)

“That’s just it. They suggested I call you, to see if he’s contacted you.”

Contacted?
“No,” Nathan said, drawing out the word. “Last time we spoke was yesterday morning. I could check my machine, though.”

“Could you?”

Something was wrong. Nathan wanted to question the monk further, but if Hayden did leave a message it would explain everything. Even as he walked into the office, he didn’t expect to see the answering machine’s light blinking. Nathan had listened to all the messages when he came home this afternoon.

There were three messages on the machine. The light wasn’t blinking, which implied none of them were new. Still, he pressed PLAY and listened to the first. When he was sure he’d already heard it he pressed NEXT, then again to the third. He returned to the phone with the last message—Josh asking if he wasn’t busy with his church stuff—still playing behind him. As he reached for the phone, he heard Josh mutter, “I really sound like that?”

“I’m sorry, Brother Armand. Reverend Hayden hasn’t called. Isn’t he there?”

“I’m afraid not. This morning he missed breakfast. When I went to his cell, he was gone. No one has seen him all day.”

“He moved out already?”

“That’s the odd thing. His belongings are still in the room, including his coat and shoes, even the bouquet of flowers your parish sent him.” Nathan didn’t remember ordering any flowers, but likely one of the elders had taken it upon themselves. Armand continued, “We assumed he might have gone for a walk, if he brought a second pair of shoes. But we’ve covered the grounds as best we could. They suggested I check with you.”

“They?”

“The police.”

“The police?” At these words, Josh looked up. Nathan gave his friend’s raised eyebrow a shrug in response.

“Yes. They say it’s too early to file a missing person’s report, and to be honest, I don’t think there’s any real need to worry, but....”

Nathan swallowed, suddenly feeling in his heart what the unspoken words of the monk were. “But... what?”

The voice on the other end sighed heavily. “Well, Ralph has been pastor of your church for so long, perhaps this might have been too much of a change for him. I’ve seen men who have worked hard at their job for decades come apart once they retire. Sitting at home, not having direction. I don’t want to speculate. I’m not a psychologist, but the thought is troubling.”

Nathan suddenly had an urge to end the conversation. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll call around to some other people he was close to, see if he’s called them.”

The monk’s voice took on new hopefulness. “Yes, exactly. If you know anyone he might have called, that would be the thing to do right now.” He gave Nathan his phone number and asked him to call if he learned anything. Nathan agreed and gave Armand his cell number, asking him to call anytime day or night if Hayden should return.

When he hung up, his grip lingered on the handset. He tried to brush away a pervading sense of dread. Again, he wondered how selfish he’d been, worried about himself and his own acclimation to this place. He should have given more thought to Hayden. He might have had a harder time moving away than anyone had suspected.
Here’s your watch, Reverend. Your life is over
.

“I assume that was about your old boss?”

Josh’s voice startled him and he let go of the phone. “What? Oh, yeah. He’s gone.”

Josh got up slowly, put his empty can on the counter. “Gone?”

“Yeah, as in disappeared. Listen, I hate to cut this visit short, but I think I’d better call some people.” He looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “It’s late, but the sooner I find out—”

Josh raised his hand. “Say no more, Nate. Give me a call if you hear anything. Not sure who the guy knows; otherwise I’d offer to make some calls myself.”

Nathan walked him through the church to the front door, since his friend had parked his car beside Nathan’s. He put a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Thanks. I guess this is going to be par for the course, though maybe not this kind of incident—
hopefully
not. But, calls will come in at all hours.”

Josh smiled, then hesitated. “No hard feelings about the Elizabeth thing?”

“None,” Nathan lied, and opened the door. So many mysteries had been passing under his nose lately, it bothered him to have to deal with the fact that his oldest friend had been keeping something from him. Jealousy, he knew. It would fade, in time.

He stood by the door watching Josh’s car pull onto Dreyfus Road. He tried to recall names of those closest to Hayden. Mrs. Zawalich and Mrs. Lewis, of course, but he shouldn’t call them so late. If they had nothing to report, his call would only keep them up. Best make a note to call them first thing in the morning.

Vincent Tarretti
. The name came to him and immediately made sense. The two men at least
seemed
close. Even if Tarretti hadn’t heard, he might be able to supply more names for Nathan to call.

Decision made, he went into Hayden’s den—
his
den now—and pulled the address book from the top left hand drawer. It was an old, well-worn leather volume, phone numbers of parishioners and church offices written in neat, boxy handwriting, sometimes crossed out and replaced with new ones where they would fit. Nathan made a mental note to computerize the list first chance he got. He couldn’t find Tarretti’s phone number at first, not until he had inspiration to look under “C.” An entry for “Cemetery,” and Tarretti’s name written below.

Nathan punched in the numbers on the desk’s squat black phone. It was answered after three rings.

“Hillcrest Memorial Cemetery, Vincent Tarretti speaking.”

“Mister Tarretti, hi. Nathan Dinneck here. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Reverend Dinneck, how are you? Call me Vince, please. No, you didn’t, though I
was
making motions. Hang on a second.” A thunk-thunk sound of the phone being placed down onto a table, then shuffling papers. His voice returned. “OK, go ahead. Deceased’s name?”

 “Um,” Nathan whispered. “What?”

“Decea— oh, sorry. Pastor Hayden and I never minced words when he called to plan a funeral. I assume someone has passed away?”

“God, I hope not,” was all Nathan could say, but now that he had the thread of conversation back, he decided he’d better try and recover from his
Um, What?
remark. “Sorry, Vince. That’s not why I’m calling.”

He heard the unmistakable sound of papers landing on the table. “Oh. OK, then what’s up?” His voice had changed from professionalism to irritation. Nathan had to remind himself that he might have, indeed, woken the man.

“It’s about Pastor Hayden. Has he contacted you since leaving?”

The subsequent pause was long enough to give Nathan some hope. Then, “No.” Like Nathan’s answer to Armand’s question, the word was drawn out, almost a question in and of itself. “Why?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nathan explained the call from Armand and the pastor’s disappearance.

Another long silence followed. Nathan didn’t wait for Tarretti to speak. “Listen, Vince, I’m sorry for such a late call, but I thought even if he hadn’t called you, you might know other people he might have contacted.”

“No one at the monastery saw him, you’re saying? No word, no note?”

“No.”

Then Vincent cursed, loudly, and Nathan felt that omnipresent mystery close around him again. It was an irritating sensation. So much so, that he responded with a louder, less careful tone to his voice.

“What’s going on, Mister Tarretti?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.” Nathan was gripping the phone, his exasperation and confusion suddenly too much to hold in. “It’s like you aren’t surprised Hayden is gone.”

“If there’s nothing else, Reverend, I’d like to—”

Nathan shouted, “You will stay on this phone and tell me what is going on! I’ve had enough of mysteries to last me the rest of my life. Ever since I’ve come here, it’s been one strange thing after another, and now I can’t help thinking you might know more than you’re letting on. Where is Reverend Hayden?”

“Strange things like what?” Tarretti asked. Nathan felt his irritation growing with every nonsensical turn of the conversation. This man was ignoring everything he said. He took a breath, decided to ignore the caretaker’s questions just as the man was doing to him. “Where is Pastor Hayden?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you sound surprised that he went missing?”

“I
was
surprised. Sorry for not acting the way you expect me to. I’ve a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m afraid it is my business. Ever since we first met, I sensed something strange about how you’ve acted toward me. Why is that?”

“Maybe you’re paranoid.”

Nathan took a breath, realizing he
was
starting to sound that way.
Lord give me strength. I feel I’m near something, but what is it? Why am I carrying on like this?

“Reverend?”

“I apologize for snapping. Between getting ready to take over the church, concerns for my father, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m afraid with this new situation I might simply be taking out my frustration on you.” He didn’t mean these words, wanted to scream into the mouthpiece, but he forced himself down a notch.

“Apology accepted. Sorry you’re not sleeping well. Bad dreams?”

Nathan took in a reflexive breath. The question had been asked innocently enough, but in his current state of hyper-alertness, it struck him like a rock.
Don’t wig out now. He was only trying to make nice.

“Reverend?”

“Nothing to worry about. If I
was
having nightmares they’ve stopped. Anyhow, can you think of any place Pastor Hayden might have gone?”

An extended silence again, but Tarretti’s voice returned sooner than the last time. “I really don’t know. I wish I did. What were your nightmares about, when you had them?”

“Why do you keep turning the conversation around?” He didn’t understand why, but Nathan suddenly wanted to confide in this man, tell him everything. It made no sense. Nathan was calling about Hayden’s disappearance, not for a therapy session. “Never mind about my dreams. If you hear of anything, or think of something, please let me know.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Please call me if
you
hear anything.”

Nathan said he would and hung up. He sat back in the desk chair and covered his face with his hands. The conversation had gotten away from him. Tarretti was only being polite, maybe trying to calm a panicked minister. Granted the man couldn’t maintain a single thread in a conversation, but Nathan reminded himself that it was late, and he’d probably woken him up. His heart beat quickly, as if he’d just sparred with the caretaker in a boxing ring.

He lowered his hands and took in another breath, felt himself calm, slowly. Confrontation was never an easy thing for him. What, exactly, this particular confrontation had been
about,
he didn’t know.

Not really.

His nerves, his nightmares, had nothing to do with the disappearance of Reverend Hayden. Somehow the discussion seemed to lead that way. Not for the first time, Nathan wondered if he was ready to head a church of his own.

He held off calling anyone else. The news had obviously disturbed him more than he’d realized. Hayden would be OK; likely wandered away in confusion inspired by his new surroundings. He’d turn up. He had to. Nathan would make as many calls as necessary in the morning, until he found out the truth.

He sat a while longer, letting his jangled nerves settle, then got up and turned off the light on the desk and the one in the kitchen before heading upstairs. He thought of Vince questioning his dreams. The day in the cemetery, wondering if any particular monument caught his eye. He knew more than he was saying. Nathan’s strange visions of the stone angels. Hayden’s disappearance.

There was no logical connection. These events were not related.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Vincent Tarretti remained seated at the kitchen table long after he and Dinneck ended their conversation. He was shaking. Something was happening. Whatever it might be, it was happening.

Hayden had disappeared.

Ruth Lieberman conveyed many scattered facts to him decades ago, before her death to cancer eight weeks after Vincent’s arrival in town. There were certain rules God had ordained for the handling and transportation of the Ark; rules that even today must not be broken. One in particular was that it could not be moved by anyone except priests, those ordained by God. There were examples in the Bible of men who ignored this. They died instantly. Vincent didn’t know if, in this modern age, any of these rules had changed. Not according to the sometimes-ancient writings kept in the box under the floorboards. Many, especially the older ones, were not written in English. They were scribbled notes in French, Russian (at least it looked like Russian, he couldn’t be sure), Hebrew and Latin. Once in a while, Vincent would buy a translation dictionary, convert random sentences to something he could understand. Most were day-to-day notations, like his own. Others chronicled, as best he could tell with his rough interpretation, the sudden uprooting of the Ark’s long-secluded resting place. He kept his translations in the books, thinking to convert all the texts, but time and routine kept him too busy. Maybe the next person, whomever God chose to replace Vincent some day, might give it a try.

One recurring theme, however, was that it would be best not to tempt fate. Doing so might question God Himself. Vincent was no priest. That left only a few in town who qualified. Father Carelli from Saint Malachy’s, Nathan Dinneck, and Ralph Hayden.

Now Hayden was gone. Vincent had an overwhelming urge to race across town to Greenwood Street, verify—again—that the grave had not been opened. If Hayden was chosen by the Lord to move the treasure, it wasn’t up to Vincent to stop him. He was so old, though, and the grave hadn’t been opened, at least not Monday morning. Vincent thought of Peter Quinn’s interest in the pastor’s departure. It was this interest that prompted Vincent to check on the grave in the first place.