When this doubt crept in, he remembered his own attitude decades before, and Ruth Lieberman’s frailty. He remembered how in the end the Lord stepped in to make her words too strong to refute. The vision in the bar.
And now, Reverend Dinneck’s dreams.
There couldn’t be any doubt. The fact that Dinneck was also a minister emphasized the urgency of their situation. Vincent was healthy, at least he thought so, and there would be no use in choosing a minister-successor unless the prize needed to be moved to a new location.
He told them about his flight back to Massachusetts with the old woman, settling in, and answering the ad that had been placed for the new caretaker. Ruth had explained her health issues with the town selectmen before leaving for California, and asked them to place the ad as soon as possible. His timing was good, and came with a reference directly from her. She claimed Vincent as a distant, and reliable, cousin. The selectmen had been willing to put the issue to bed quickly, and there had been no one in the wings waiting for the position. They appointed him with no objections offered at the next selectmen’s meeting.
In the following weeks, the two shared this house. Vincent took possession of the couch much like Nathan had done in the church. Ruth handed over the strongbox and its contents. Three days before her declining health forced her into the hospital, she brought him into Greenwood Street Cemetery. It had been after midnight when they opened the crypt and she revealed what lay inside.
Nathan Dinneck seemed affected by this part of the story especially, though the caretaker could not help noticing the mocking smile his girlfriend had been trying to keep from her face.
Vincent stood up and stretched. “I need to show you—both of you, I guess—something important. I’ll be right back.” He walked from the room, around the corner and into his bedroom. He left the light off, becoming more 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?