Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

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.