Read Online Solomon's Grave by Daniel G. Keohane - Free Book Online Page A

friend was the one talking, but I got used to it after a while.”
    “Come again next week.”
    “I just might.” Nathan hoped that was true. Josh gave him a rap on the shoulder and moved on with a “Talk to you later.” Any longer a reunion would have to wait. The man who greeted Nathan next introduced himself as Manny Paulson.
    “I’m a friend of your dad’s. He said a lot of nice things about you.” At his father’s mention, Nathan looked across the room. Art Dinneck was staring back at them, with what Nate could not mistake as anything but apprehension. When his father caught Nathan’s gaze, the look was replaced with a smile and a perfunctory wave. Paulson nodded in return and turned back to the minister.
    “A good sermon, Pastor,” he said. “I’ll admit I’m not much of a church-goer myself, but when I heard Art’s first born was the new pastor, I just had to meet you.”
    Nathan thought first born was an odd way of putting it, but he thanked the man and perfunctorily said he hoped to see him more often.
    “Careful what you wish for.” The man laughed at his own joke and moved in Art’s direction.
    When Nathan turned to greet the next person in line, the church hall disappeared. Two stone angels towered over him, their faces dripping with a lightly falling rain. He watched them, expecting their heads to lower and stare at him, perhaps take flight like gargoyles. He stared, unable to collect his thoughts, feeling the rain across his face.
    “Pastor? Are you all right?”
    The scene spun around like dirty water. He closed his eyes, fought down a sudden nausea. When he opened them again, a woman was holding his hand. He was in the church hall again, still standing and greeting a young mother with two bashful children hiding behind her dress. He felt himself sinking. His knees buckled but he caught himself. “Reverend!” the woman shouted.
    Nathan waved away her concern with his free hand. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice only a whisper. But he wasn’t fine. He was exhausted. Perhaps he had just been in the cemetery, looking at the angels, then run back into line. No, that made no sense. It had been raining. He looked out the window, which was now very far above him. The world outside was clear and sunny.
    Someone yelled. He was on the floor, the children hiding further behind their mother’s skirt. “I’m OK, really,” he murmured, before the world went dark.

Chapter Twelve
    Nothing about the man standing on his porch—neither his neat appearance nor his quiet, affable manner—was threatening. Yet as Vincent shook his hand, the disquiet plaguing him these past few weeks re-ignited. Bad Guy , the feeling said. Perhaps it was the man’s eyes. Blue and clear, but with a dark, mocking gleam in them. A knowing, half-smile on his lips. Vincent shook the feeling off and silently cursed his paranoia. No wonder people thought he was nuts.
    Johnson continued barking his displeasure at the trespasser through the door as Vincent muttered, “Mr. Quinn. Can I help you with something?”
    Quinn nodded toward the front door. “Maybe we could discuss this inside?”
    Vincent gestured to a pair of wicker chairs crowded onto the small porch. There was a reason Vincent insisted on meetings with clergy and the town’s funeral director on the cemetery grounds. Allowing anyone inside the house, stepping into his refuge so close to the secret box with its records and history, felt too much like opening himself up for scrutiny. He did not like scrutiny. The man before him had nothing but good intentions, he was sure, but that didn’t change matters. Vincent was too old to change much of anything of his life.
    “Obviously, my dog seems a bit uptight at the moment. Best we talk out here.”
    Quinn nodded and without objection sat in one chair. Vincent pulled the other a slight distance away, sat and waited.
    “As you may or may not know, I am Grand See—a rather silly title I suppose, when it comes down to