Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

During their brief conversation at the counter this afternoon, Nate kept looking out the window. When Josh asked what was up, Nate explained about his dad. Not much, but enough to let him know that all was not well in Dinneck Land.

The discussion took a U-turn when Josh bagged the groceries and asked, “Any big plans for the weekend, Nate?” He assumed his buddy was planning some wild night of reading the Book of Moses or something equally enthralling. When Nate beamed and shyly mentioned his date with Elizabeth, Josh couldn’t suppress the sudden fear slamming into his belly.

Not that he’d done anything wrong. Not really. Well, maybe a little. He’d never told Nate about what happened, after all. Not once in the years between the then of his dirty little secret and now. He tried to mask his worry as surprise. Josh’s instincts screamed to tell his friend the truth, now , before Elizabeth did. But, well, Nate seemed to have somewhere to go.

If E told him tomorrow, so be it. No big deal. It was over now, anyway. Still, Nate was his best friend. Friends don’t keep secrets.

Josh hunkered down behind the counter and locked the canvas money bag. He dropped the bundle into the safe and spun the day’s cash into the floor. He preferred not to do any bank drop-offs at night; too many stories of ambushes to make it worth the risk. Muggers didn’t usually work the morning shift. He shut off all lights except for the few needed for security, and left the store.

He hesitated in front of the Toyota. To his left, an occasional shadow passed across the men’s club windows. No details, though. The glass was covered with some kind of white paint, or soap. Why they didn’t get drapes or curtains instead of smearing goop all over the window was beyond him. Then again, that would be something a woman might think of, not a bunch of chain-smoking Bud drinkers playing poker.

Maybe he could take a peek, if there was a gap in all that paint. Let Nate know what his dad was up to. He felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t he done this once before? It sure felt that way. He’d have remembered it, of course. More and more the fact that he hadn’t been keeping tabs on Mr. Dinneck until now, nor even mentioning anything to Nate about the place bothered him. There was a reason, a good one, but right now he couldn’t remember what it was.

Maybe he should mind his own business and head home, or go back into the store and grab a movie from the rental shelf.

Just one peek...

As he thought this, he was already moving down the front walkway. His reflection in Hair U Doing? ’s front window followed. He stepped lightly, stomach tight as if he was spying into a neighbor’s bedroom, then paused. He was just taking a peek.

The paint/soap was fairly consistent across the windows. The place reminded him of one of those campaign headquarter politicians set up during election season, taking up residence in an abandoned storefront only to abandon it after the votes were cast.

He tried not to venture too close to the door—another soaped over glass job. Someone might decide to leave. Wouldn’t be very cool to catch the Grocer ’s manager spying on their secret games. There . A scrape, no more than a few inches long at roughly waist height. He could see old floor tiles from his current vantage.

Go home , he scolded himself. He suddenly needed to go to the bathroom. Just look, then you can go, you chicken .

Josh hunkered down until his left eye was level with the clear spot. The only light around him came from inside so he shouldn’t cast any shadow on the window. He leaned forward, stopping when his forehead rested soundlessly against the glass.

Someone at the bar. The guy who came in now and then for a six back of Sam Adams. He liked to glare at Josh when he paid. Typical crowbar to the wallet dude. The guy also liked to park in the back alley next to the owner’s car. Someone’s knee just to his right. Josh rolled his head, careful not to bump the window, and Mr. Dinneck came into view.

The guy looked wasted. He sat in a folding chair and stared across the room at a point to Josh’s left. At least the guy wasn’t looking at him . He didn’t seem to be looking at anything , in fact. Mr. Dinneck just sat there, hands flat on his legs and stared. Behind him, some kind of card game was going on. No one inside seemed concerned about the way the guy was acting.

Very creepy. He wasn’t drunk. Drunks wouldn’t be able to sit that still. Drugs, then? Yeah, maybe. Mr. Dinneck’s eyes were open, so he wasn’t asleep. What was he looking at?

Josh did the roll-thing with his head, trying to see what—

Everything went dark. Something blocked his view in that direction. He looked back toward Nate’s dad.

Still dark.

Uh-oh .

He stood up. Where his face had been was now a hulking shadow on the other side of the window. The shadow rose.

A man... who was now walking toward the front door.

OK, folks, time to leave . Josh looked back at his car. He’d only make it halfway before the guy came out. That would look worse than what he was doing now.

The front door opened. Be cool. I was just heading home and thought I’d take a peek. That’s it. Nothing else. It was the truth.

He turned back to face Whitey himself, holding the door open. He said with that bizarre voice of his, “Mister Everson, I presume?”

Josh’s ears suddenly itched. He ignored the feeling and put on his best Oh, hey, how you doing? look, hands in pockets. His right hand felt car keys. They represented escape. Just in case. “Heya,” he said. “Just locking up for the night.”

Whitey let the door close behind him and walked forward. “See anything interesting?”

Josh took a breath, let it out. “Just Mr. Dinneck staring off into La La Land, not much else.” Why did you say that, you moron?!?

“You didn’t see anything inside,” the man said. “Surprisingly, for a Friday, there was no one here. In fact—”

…Josh began to pull out of the parking lot when he hesitated, pressing the brake harder than he needed to. He blinked. How’d he get here? He looked over his shoulder. The Greedy Grocer was closed up, security lights on inside—always the last step in closing. Yeah, he remembered doing that. Then he took a peek into the Weirdo Club. No one home tonight, though. First time that had happened on a Friday. He looked over his shoulder at the club’s soaped-over windows. Dark and lonely.

Josh rubbed his eyes. Driving home was getting too routine. He was doing it in his sleep. Not good. He pulled onto Main Street, only then remembering that he wanted to grab a movie from the rack. No, better get home and catch up on his sleep.

Peter Quinn watched the car drive away. He stood silhouetted against the club’s lighted window. His experimental prodding into the store manager’s head on the occasions they’d spoken paid off well tonight. According to Manny Paulson, he and the new minister were close. Now the boy was snooping around. Checking up on Art, no doubt. It wasn’t the first time, either. Controlling him was becoming easier each time. Peter thought he might prove useful to him some day. Maybe. It was good to have options.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Elizabeth O’Brien looked one more time into the mirror over the fireplace mantle, pushing a stray hair back into place and inadvertently releasing three others from captivity. It was no use. Keeping the mop on her head pulled back was the only way to manage some semblance of neatness. Before the night was over, though, she’d be ripping the scrunchy out in exasperation. Her unruly mane would be free to fall back into her face and her food. Some impression that would make.