Chase Baker and the Lincoln Curse: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book No. 4) (11 page)

The maintenance team is just about ready to seal Dad’s brand
new, dark brown, aluminum alloy casket when I finally make it back up the hill.

“You mind giving me a minute, fellas?” I say as the two
workers back-step away from the flatbed.

“Take all the time you need, Mr. Baker,” one of them says.

I go to the flatbed, disengage the casket lock by twisting
it counter-clockwise, and open the lid. I look down upon the body for what will
certainly be the final time. I take in the dark blue suit, the faded white
shirt, the neatly tied tie, the dark hands, one placed atop the other, the
skeletal-like face, the sewn shut eyes that no longer have any shape now that
the eyeballs have dried up, the pinned carnation that still exists after all
this time even if the flower petals have dried and withered to a brown/black
death no different than the man they adorn. A body of the earth about to become
a part of the earth once more and forever. A body with its soul long departed,
but a body that still belongs to my dad.

“Well, Dad,” I say, “I guess this is it. I hope you like
your new home. It overlooks the valley, and you’ll get the morning sun rising
from out of the East. You always liked waking up at dawn before heading off to
dig something up. Gave you some peace, I think.”

Dad’s been gone going on six years now, but I feel my throat
closing in on itself and my eyes welling up. I guess I miss the old guy more
than I thought. I will keep on missing him too. That’s what happens to the ones
left behind. That’s history’s bittersweet gift. No amount of earth or concrete
covering or worms can ever take that away.

Reaching out, I straighten the old, dried up carnation as
best I can without breaking it. Then, lowering my fingers, I touch Dad’s hands
once more. They’re cold and feel like plastic. Not like when I was a kid and
he’d hold my far smaller hand in his while we stood together at the ice cream
shop window. Somehow, the touch of his lifeless skin transports me back to a
time that was so long ago, but that seems like it transpired in the blink of an
eye.

Closing the casket lid, I twist the lock clockwise and seal
my father inside for all eternity. Tossing a “thank you” nod to the workers, I
wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and head down the cemetery hill, the
bright morning sunshine warm on my face.

THE END

If you enjoyed this Chase Baker Thriller, please explore
The
Shroud Key (Chase Baker No.1)
,
Chase
Baker and the Golden Condor (Chase Baker No. 2)
, and
Chase
Baker and the God Boy (Chase Baker No. 3)

NOTE: The author has exercised more than a few liberties when
it comes to the facts behind the saga of Clara Harris Rathbone and her husband,
Henry. For the real story behind their tragic lives and deaths, click
here
.

Winner of the International Thriller Writer’s Paperback
Original for 2015, Vincent Zandri is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of more than sixteen novels, including
Everything Burns
,
The Innocent
,
The Remains
,
Orchard Grove,
and
The
Shroud Key
. He is also the author of the Shamus Award nominated Dick
Moonlight PI series. A freelance photojournalist and solo traveler, he is the
founder of the blog
The Vincent Zandri Vox
. He lives in Albany, New
York. For more, go to
http://www.vincentzandri.com/
.

Chase Baker and the Lincoln Curse (A Chase Baker Thriller No.
4)

Vincent Zandri © copyright 2015

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act
of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval
system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is
brief quotations in printed reviews.

Bear Media LLC 2015

4 Orchard Grove, Albany, NY 12204

http://www.vincentzandri.com

Cover design by Elder Lemon Art

Author Photo by Jessica Painter

The characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead is coincidental and
not intended by the author.

Published in the United States of America