Before he stepped between them Nathan whispered, “Shhh.” He stood still. Elizabeth gripped one of his back belt loops as if worried he’d suddenly take off running.
Nathan listened. Slowly, he turned his head around and gazed into the impenetrable shadows of the woods to their right. Had he heard something, seen movement in the corner of his eye? He held the flashlight before him, wanting to turn it on and bathe everything into a comforting white glow. Part of him—his guttural, childlike fear of the dark perhaps—was certain that a monster stood there, waiting for the light so it could show its teeth and devour him.
The logical side of him also stayed the thumb resting on the switch. If the cemetery was being watched, what better way to give the two of them away than to light up the woods just before they entered?
The feeling passed. Best get into the open and over to the gravesite. There they could duck out of the way and wait for Tarretti. Maybe stay hidden even after he arrived, see how he behaved. Check out what—or who—he brought with him.
Nathan stepped through the opening in the wall. A slight tug on his belt loop told him Elizabeth was falling into step. He tripped over a stone and stumbled forward. The flashlight rolled out of his hands and across the cold grass a second before Elizabeth landed on top of him. His breath left in a dim cloud of mist.
Elizabeth scrambled off and laughed, suppressing the sound with her hand over her mouth. Nathan was too concerned with breathing to be embarrassed. She bent down and kissed him on the top of his head. “You OK, Sherlock?”
He took a tentative breath and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I dropped the flashlight.”
She crawled forward a few paces and picked it up. “Let’s not hang around here too long. For all we know we’re lying in a patch of poison ivy.”
Nathan got up slowly. He took her hand. She kept the flashlight, but left it off. Nathan led the way toward Solomon’s grave.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Peter Quinn held his breath the entire time Nathan Dinneck stared into the woods where he and Josh Everson were crouched. If his voice would not have given him away, he would have commanded Everson to hold his own breath. The boy would have obliged, then eventually passed out from oxygen deprivation. Instead, he stood motionless, and Peter hoped the kid didn’t breathe too loudly.
He’d heard the two of them coming in plenty of time to move off the path. They probably didn’t realize how much noise they were making as they trudged along. Their ignorance was a blessing, for his eyes had been on the small parking lot waiting for Dinneck’s or Tarretti’s car to pull in. The fact that they might trek in through the woods this late at night hadn’t occurred to him.
Of course, it also meant Paulson may have failed him. If these two were going through such an effort to come here, Tarretti mustn’t be far behind. But Paulson had called only once to say that they’d left and the caretaker had gone to bed. As Dinneck stared almost directly at him, Peter assumed Paulson would choose that moment to call. His phone was set to vibrate-mode, but even that would be like a klaxon this close.
When Dinneck and his woman fell over each other just past the wall, Peter took the opportunity to let his breath out, slowly, and take another in. Josh made no motion whatsoever. At least he was breathing. Now that the couple was far enough down the hill toward the grave, Quinn whispered into the young man’s ear, “Mister Everson, follow me, and make no sound. Move carefully.”
Whispering in the Voice was tricky, but easier than using it over the phone. Josh followed like an obedient dog.
Peter stayed behind the large tree, keeping to its side enough for a view down the cemetery. At one point, someone had turned on a flashlight. He could hear voices, carried far in the cool night air. He did not understand what they were saying, but soon the light was out again. The dark figures ran to hide themselves behind a large monument not far from the cherubim. He guessed they would remain there until... what? Until Vincent Tarretti arrived, of course.
Realizing how far the others’ voice had carried, he put his lips to Josh’s ears and whispered for him to sit in the path. The tree would cut off any chance of being seen by Dinneck or the woman. Paulson still had not called. The implication was that Tarretti was laying low for a while. It also implied the man knew he was being watched. Not a good situation. If they knew Peter was this close, he’d have to move fast when the chance arrived.
He looked down to the path under his feet. He couldn’t see it, but its existence sparked an idea in him. What if the caretaker really had left, snuck out and taken some back way like these two had done?
He’d know soon enough. He didn’t want to call Paulson, afraid the dim glow of the phone would give away his position behind the tree. He made himself comfortable on the ground, making sure the couple’s position was at least partially in view, and waited for something to happen.
Chapter Fifty
Vincent Tarretti needed to get off this street as soon as possible. Even if he could run without skewering himself with the crowbar, he didn’t dare draw any attention. The pistol bumped against his belly with every step. Vincent hadn’t realized he’d forgotten to bring a flashlight until he’d already walked half way across town. He usually kept it in the front pocket. He’d become too much a creature of routine, never thinking outside of whatever box he’d built around himself. He would have to be sharper than that to get through whatever was ahead. Hopefully Dinneck thought to bring one. Going back to his house now, or to the church, was a detour he didn’t think they could afford.
The sense of urgency plaguing him these past few days filled every muscle in his body, growing stronger the further he walked across town. Tonight’s discussion—or confrontation, depending on how one looked at it—was its fuel. Dinneck and the girl might not be there when he arrived. They might have stayed at the church and called the cops. What he’d said tonight certainly convinced Elizabeth he was a little under-stocked in the sanity department.
Vincent felt, with all his heart, that he’d connected with the young minister. Nathan Dinneck believed him, or at least hadn’t completely ruled him out.
There was nothing to do but continue forward and trust that God would keep Nathan on the right path. Vincent kept mostly to the darker, residential roads, moving at a forced leisurely pace in the more populated corners of Hillcrest. It was the second time in less than a week he had traveled this route. Cutting through the woods at the end of the main cemetery was always difficult, and he wondered how the teenagers managed it so often during the summer without breaking their necks. His jeans were caked with mud up to the knees, the result of stepping in a soft section of the wetlands. Now as he walked along Hepworth Avenue, his sneakers squished with trapped water. He reached back and adjusted the steel bar under his jacket.
Hepworth intersected with the far end of Greenwood Street. Almost there. Headlights behind him. He looked in panic for a place to step off the road. Nowhere, not without looking suspicious. He continued on, hands in his pants pockets, keeping a steady pace. The pistol suddenly weighed a hundred pounds. He hoped the approaching car wasn’t a police cruiser. Nothing like coming across a guy with a pony tail wandering through Smalltown, USA, carrying both a gun and a crowbar.