Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

Another site explained in gruesome detail the various modes of sacrifices to the demon-god. Here, its name was spelled Molech . This particular page gave him the willies. Descriptions of young children placed atop the hands of a large iron idol, cast in the shape of a sitting man with the head of a bull. Through the use of pulleys and winches, the arms were raised up. The demon’s mouth was always open, “always hungry” as the description read, ready to receive the offering. In its belly raged a sacrificial fire. The flames grew so hot that the idol’s iron skin glowed red, giving the impression of demonic life within.

He bookmarked that one, too. Much of the other information he’d uncovered was similar, or mentioned Molech only in passing with scores of other demons not a whole lot nicer.

He sat back and took a sip of his warm Coke. He refined his search. Alongside “Molech,” “Ammonites” he added “United States” and “Massachusetts,”

From the living room came a hard knock against the apartment door. Josh reflexively checked the time—nine-sixteen—then clicked “Search” before getting up. He reminded himself to give Davy a call at the Grocer in a half hour. He’d convinced the kid to work a double shift tonight so he’d have time to get Nate his info. Davy had closed the place before, but he was a teenager and tended to forget little things like shutting off the outside light.

When he opened the door, Josh expected to see Nate’s eager face. Instead, a familiar white-haired man stood in the hall. For a moment, he thought the guy might be one of the many neighbors he hadn’t gotten around to introducing himself to over the past two years. Then he placed the face.

Looking much less menacing in the bright hallway lights than he had this morning, Whitey from the men’s club said, “Josh Everson?” He didn’t sound angry. That was good. Josh steeled himself for a barrage of insults for walking in on him and Nate. He recalled the details of Nate’s suspicions and what he’d just read online.

Oh, man , he thought. I’m toast .

“Hi,” he finally said, “that’s me. Can I help you with something?” He wanted to slam the door and call the cops, but what would he tell them? That a demon-worshipping alien from Galaxy X was standing at his door?

The man smiled. His white moustache hardly moved, so little did the smile affect his mouth. “Yes, you will help me.” His voice had a calmness and power that put Josh at ease. Why had he been so worried about the guy?

Quinn continued, “Let me in, Josh, and I will explain what I need.”

Josh nodded, never looking away from the other man’s eyes. Very clear. A smart man. He hoped he could help him, and backed up a step. Quinn entered the apartment and Josh followed his progress.

“Close the door.”

He closed the door.

“Come and sit,” the man looked around then pointed to the couch, “over there.”

Josh walked over to the couch. He looked away from Quinn’s face as he sat and suddenly wondered why he was being so agreeable with this loony.

“Look at me and listen carefully.”

Oh, that’s right , he remembered. I was going to help him with something.

Quinn sat beside him on the very edge of the cushion and said, slowly, “You talked to your friend Nathan Dinneck today, after the two of you left my store. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” That was a relief. If this was about Nate, he knew everything.

“Tell me everything you discussed, from the beginning.” He leaned forward. “Remember everything and tell me.”

Josh walked out from The Greedy Grocer and saw Nate’s car. He looked back through the store’s window. They must have missed each other. Nope, not in there. He wondered if Nate might have actually had the gumption to check out his dad’s new hangout for himself. He walked casually along the sidewalk, neither feeling the concrete under his feet nor thinking it odd that a moment ago he was sitting in his living room with the guy who ran this place.

As he told the story, his eyes remained unfocused. His visitor listened. When Josh finished, he simply stared across the room, like a robot who’d been switched off.

“Josh Everson?”

Josh’s eyes refocused on Quinn’s face.

“Hmmm?”

“Tell me everything you have learned on your computer.”

“I can show you,” he said, emotion now trickling into his voice.

“That would be wonderful.” He followed Josh into the spare bedroom where the illuminated computer screen waited.

Chapter Forty-One

Vincent Tarretti’s house was mostly dark when they pulled into the driveway. From the front window issued the understated glow of a light shining in a room at the back of the house. Nathan and Elizabeth got out of the car without speaking, and walked to the front door, her hand in his.

The cemetery was quiet and deserted. No sound but the calls of crickets and frogs in the woods beyond the gravestones. Even these sounds would be gone soon as cooler weather loomed. A mosquito buzzed in his ear. He swatted it away with his free hand. Their footsteps on the small porch echoed in the near silence, as did his knuckles rapping against the edge of the aluminum storm door. It was answered by the heavy timbre of a dog’s barking. Then a voice, hushed, telling “Johnson” to be quiet. The dog stopped, but Nathan could hear a low growl. Johnson apparently didn’t like night visitors.

Elizabeth released his hand when they heard Tarretti’s footsteps. Neither the porch light nor any lamp in the front room turned on. When the caretaker opened the door his face was masked by the interior gloom.

“Reverend Dinneck,” he said quietly, then hesitated when he saw Elizabeth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were coming alone.”

“Vincent Tarretti,” Nathan said, “this is Elizabeth O’Brien.” He nodded toward her with his head. Tarretti’s outline turned to her with a glancing motion, then focused back on Nathan.

“Can she—” he began, then stopped. He pushed open the storm door and waved them into the house. They walked into a small living room, illuminated by the light spilling from the kitchen at the back. Nathan noticed a couch and table, one chair. To his right was a short hall, which probably led to the bedrooms. The dog—a massive black Labrador with gray patches around its face—stood in the entrance to the kitchen, its tail wagging in short waves as if uncertain whether to be pleased with the visit.

“Come into the kitchen, please,” Tarretti said, “and don’t mind Johnson. He’s well trained.” A hint of threat lined the statement, though Nathan was unsure why. Nothing about how the man reacted to the news was making sense. Nathan had seen grief externalize in many ways and would not have been surprised if, when they stepped into the yellowed kitchen light, there were signs Tarretti had been crying. However, his face revealed only a stony expression of... what? Suspicion? The man continued to eye Elizabeth with cautious glances. Nathan felt a strange obligation to explain her presence.

“Elizabeth and I were at the Cabel when you called.”

She added, “I hope it’s all right that I came.” Only Nathan heard the tone in her voice which implied she really didn’t care if it was or not.

“So you two are, I mean, dating or something?” Tarretti stopped beside a small table. There were only two chairs. No one made a motion to claim them.

Elizabeth smiled. “Or something. Does it matter?”

Tarretti’s stare hardened, any pretence of hospitality gone. “It matters a great deal,” he said. He turned back to Nathan. “I need to know if she can be trusted. What I’m going to tell you— if I tell you, that is—cannot leave this room. I’ve spent too long....”