Solomon's Grave (13 page)

For some reason, the fact that Mr. Dinneck frequented the place never seemed odd until now. He never came into the store when Josh was working, not even for a last minute loaf of bread. The guy in charge of the club came by often enough. Perfectly coiffed white hair and clipped moustache like some displaced English gentleman. The few times he and Whitey (a private nickname Josh tagged for him since he never got the guy’s real name) exchanged pleasantries, Josh invariably got uncomfortable. Something very weird about the man. For some reason, he never felt the need to mention anything to Nate about any of this during the past few months. Now he wondered why. Not until Nate swung by this evening to grab a few necessities like soda and microwave popcorn, did Mr. Dinneck’s nightly sojourns to his little club take on significance.

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.

She wondered again why she cared. Five and a half years and he hadn’t sent one letter, one email or Christmas card. Of course, neither had she. She’d learned Nathan was back in town both from Mrs. Conan, and in a call from Josh Everson. All morning Tuesday she’d walked on pins and needles, expecting the inevitable confrontation. When she walked by Mrs. Conan’s room and saw Nate sitting at the bedside, her first reaction was to turn around and hide in the break room.

Then she heard his voice, the voice that sounded so much like
home
. She stopped and listened to him work. He was reading from the Bible, of course. He was
always
reading from that book.

She envied him his unwavering faith, but felt frustrated at how pointless it was. She’d reconsidered her convictions only once, six years ago when she’d prayed for the first time in her life. There was never the need to ask Nate’s God for anything before. Even that one night, leaning exhausted against her mother’s hospital bed, she felt like she was whispering her prayer to the walls and nothing else. Still, was it so much to ask? Her father was gone. All she had left was that woman. Nate was only around for short intervals before jaunting back to school. If her mother died he
would
come home, but not to stay. His plans to become a minister had always been stronger than what he and Elizabeth had. That much she couldn’t deny.

The summer after the funeral, after her pleas were ignored and her mother was stolen away, she sat in his room as he packed for his senior year and thought,
it’s time to move on
. Nate knew she was alone, knew she needed him, but still was packing up to serve a God who didn’t give any thought to her. Then Nate had the
gall
to ask her to come to his church again.

After returning to her empty house that night, she’d cried, knowing it was over. For a long time, the loneliness felt
too
strong. She’d lost her father, her mother, and Nathan Dinneck forever. It occurred to her that there was nothing else to live for. She could end it, walk away from life and maybe, if the New Agers were right, come back as someone else. Get a second chance. Elizabeth was usually smart enough to ignore thoughts like that, but one night the urge was so strong she filled the bathtub. Standing there, fully-dressed beside the tub, she began to plan the best way to die.

Since her mother passed on there had been two conflicting voices in her head, both of them her own. Both had their own opinions. One was quiet, whispering, telling her that things would be OK, time heals, all that
yadda yadda
. The second had darker thoughts which she’d eagerly been nurturing. Nothing was going to get better, the second voice said. Thinking otherwise was pointless. She deserved better and if she couldn’t get it, then why continue?

With uncharacteristic assertiveness, the first voice chimed in with,
If you take your life in this way, what will be waiting for you on the other side will make today’s problems glorious in comparison
. That night, standing by the tub in a moment of indecision, she chose to listen to this other voice. It wasn’t Nathan’s, though it did sound like something he might say. It got her thinking. This might indeed be her only chance to live in this world. What
was
waiting after death? She never held much stock in the concept of Hell. What if there was nothing at all? The idea sent a wave of fear through her. She put her hand on the lever to open the drain, ready to forget the whole thing. Still, she hesitated. The voice, once so subtle but in that moment more insistent than ever, said,
Use the life you have, if not for yourself then for others. Be patient, believe in yourself. There are other people, with their own trials. Help them....

It was an idea filled with inspiration. She thought of Nathan. He was giving up so much for his own calling. He was a smart kid, would have succeeded at anything he tried, but he chose a path of service.

Elizabeth understood then, her hand lingering on the lever, that this was an option for
her
, too. Obviously not the same as for him, but if she was so ready to throw her life away, why not...
recycle
it? Since it wasn’t doing much in the way of helping her own situation, change it to one that helped another’s.

She’d thought often about going to school for nursing. She’d inherited the house from her parents, and its mortgage had been paid off with the money from her father’s life insurance policy. She had enough money from her mother’s insurance and bank accounts to carry her. And there might be financial aid out there. She supposed she could give school a shot.

And if the voice was right, it might be the only chance she had left.

It was odd, thinking these thoughts as if they’d come from someone else. She was alone in the world, in the same small bathroom where her mother used to sing while baby Elizabeth took a bath, where her mother would wash her hair, pat her dry.

She knew the tub would still be there if this new idea didn’t pan out. A disturbing thought, and one which had prompted her on that lonely night to push the lever down and send the water swirling into the drain.

Now as she waited for Nathan, five years later, Elizabeth thought about that night again. She was a different person from the one crouched by the tub. At least she hoped so. Over time she had dated other men, including Nathan’s best friend Josh—though she often worried about revealing that bit of news to him. Josh never had. He’d said as much when he called to tell her Nate was coming home. The relationship had lasted almost a year, then fizzled out. He and Nate were too close, his presence always lingering between them. They’d started as friends, and ended their romance the same way, though with more distance between them afterwards.