“Reverend Dinneck, I believe God wants you to take the Ark of the Covenant and its contents and leave this town. Forever. You must disappear, trust in the Spirit to guide you to a new location. Of the three of us, only you can even touch the relic. This has been the case throughout history. Many men have died testing it.”
Nathan looked at the strongbox. “You’re saying Quinn went after Pastor Hayden because he thought an eighty-year-old man was running away with a gold-laden chest the size of a hatchback car?”
Vincent began to speak, caught himself, then only said, “It’s not that big.”
The kitchen was quiet. All three of them stood facing each other. Johnson hunkered warily between them. Nathan took in a deep breath and said, “Take me to the gravesite and show me what’s inside. I’m not agreeing to do anything you say, but if what you’re saying is true, then this would be the next natural step.”
“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.”