Read Online Solomon's Grave by Daniel G. Keohane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel G. Keohane
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it—of a relatively new organization in town called the Hillcrest Men’s Club.”
“I’ve heard of them.” Entry 798 , he thought absently. Already he was yearning to get free of this man, open his notebook and make entry 818: strange man from Hillcrest Men’s Club visits me.
Quinn leaned forward, elbows on knees, and occasionally cast an annoyed glance at the door, behind which Johnson was busy trying to dig a hole through the wood. “Yes, well, we feel it’s time, having been officially in Hillcrest for half a year, to give a little something back to the community. We thought perhaps to place flower arrangements on the graves of local veterans.” He opened his hands, palms up. “It’s the least we could do.”
If he noticed Vincent’s startled look, he did not show it. He merely sat back, eyebrows raised, and waited for an answer.
They know , Vincent thought. Who knows? A bunch of drunks? It’s a nice gesture. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, honestly.
God, give me clarity of thought again.
He composed himself, forced his breathing to a measured rhythm, then mirrored Quinn’s act of leaning back in his chair. Whether or not his paranoia was finally boiling over, Vincent couldn’t afford to let down his guard. Specifically, he had to act normal !
“That’s a kind gesture, to be sure,” he said, feeling his face flushing and hoping the man didn’t notice. “But, I mean, the Boy Scouts generally do that. It’s a merit badge requirement.”
Quinn looked thoughtful, nodded his head once. “Yes, I’d thought that might be the case. However, they usually do so on Veterans Day. That won’t be for another two months. By then, any tokens we might leave would need replacing anyway.” Another smile. There was something odd about the man’s voice. Vincent’s ears itched. He was just being stupid. Daft .
The man’s argument had merit, though. Saying “no” would make no sense under any other circumstance. Asking too many additional questions would risk too much, especially if his long-feared enemies were close. He doubted it. How could they know?
The grave is marked John Solomon , not Enrique Jorgenson, don’t forget. There are twin cherubim hovering over its crypt. Of course they could figure it out, if they happened to stumble upon it . He wondered, not for the first time, at the thinking, or lack of thought, behind such an obvious clue to leave in public.
Forgive me, Father. I do not want to question you.
The man before him was patient. He sat, hands on his lap and open like the sacrificial statue of Molech....
Stop it ! Vincent scolded himself.
“819” coming right up.
“That’s very kind of you,” he said quickly. “Any chance we have to honor our veterans is welcome. Was there a particular day you were thinking of?” He wanted this man to leave, leave, leave and let him go inside.
Calm. You’re doing fine. I am always with you.
He couldn’t place the verse, if it was a verse, especially not the You’re doing fine part. Its effect was soothing nevertheless.
Quinn finally moved those placating hands off his lap and said, “Thank you. There is a bit of planning, ordering the flowers, et cetera. Why don’t we just leave the date open-ended? Sometime this month, make it a surprise.”
Was that a threat? No, everything is fine. I’m doing fine . Vincent offered another neutral nod and got to his feet.
“Fair enough. Thanks for coming by.”
“It was my pleasure.” Quinn stood and offered a perfunctory hand shake. After walking down the two steps of the porch, he turned around as if having remembered something.
“Oh,” he said, “I also understand the minister of the Baptist church is leaving town a week from tomorrow. Retiring, is he?”
Vincent furrowed his brows, feeling the weight of the statement, leaving town . Was Hayden leaving that soon? He nodded, but said nothing.
“A pity to lose such a holy man, as I understand from Mr. Dinneck. Art Dinneck, I mean.
“I’ve heard of them.” Entry 798 , he thought absently. Already he was yearning to get free of this man, open his notebook and make entry 818: strange man from Hillcrest Men’s Club visits me.
Quinn leaned forward, elbows on knees, and occasionally cast an annoyed glance at the door, behind which Johnson was busy trying to dig a hole through the wood. “Yes, well, we feel it’s time, having been officially in Hillcrest for half a year, to give a little something back to the community. We thought perhaps to place flower arrangements on the graves of local veterans.” He opened his hands, palms up. “It’s the least we could do.”
If he noticed Vincent’s startled look, he did not show it. He merely sat back, eyebrows raised, and waited for an answer.
They know , Vincent thought. Who knows? A bunch of drunks? It’s a nice gesture. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, honestly.
God, give me clarity of thought again.
He composed himself, forced his breathing to a measured rhythm, then mirrored Quinn’s act of leaning back in his chair. Whether or not his paranoia was finally boiling over, Vincent couldn’t afford to let down his guard. Specifically, he had to act normal !
“That’s a kind gesture, to be sure,” he said, feeling his face flushing and hoping the man didn’t notice. “But, I mean, the Boy Scouts generally do that. It’s a merit badge requirement.”
Quinn looked thoughtful, nodded his head once. “Yes, I’d thought that might be the case. However, they usually do so on Veterans Day. That won’t be for another two months. By then, any tokens we might leave would need replacing anyway.” Another smile. There was something odd about the man’s voice. Vincent’s ears itched. He was just being stupid. Daft .
The man’s argument had merit, though. Saying “no” would make no sense under any other circumstance. Asking too many additional questions would risk too much, especially if his long-feared enemies were close. He doubted it. How could they know?
The grave is marked John Solomon , not Enrique Jorgenson, don’t forget. There are twin cherubim hovering over its crypt. Of course they could figure it out, if they happened to stumble upon it . He wondered, not for the first time, at the thinking, or lack of thought, behind such an obvious clue to leave in public.
Forgive me, Father. I do not want to question you.
The man before him was patient. He sat, hands on his lap and open like the sacrificial statue of Molech....
Stop it ! Vincent scolded himself.
“819” coming right up.
“That’s very kind of you,” he said quickly. “Any chance we have to honor our veterans is welcome. Was there a particular day you were thinking of?” He wanted this man to leave, leave, leave and let him go inside.
Calm. You’re doing fine. I am always with you.
He couldn’t place the verse, if it was a verse, especially not the You’re doing fine part. Its effect was soothing nevertheless.
Quinn finally moved those placating hands off his lap and said, “Thank you. There is a bit of planning, ordering the flowers, et cetera. Why don’t we just leave the date open-ended? Sometime this month, make it a surprise.”
Was that a threat? No, everything is fine. I’m doing fine . Vincent offered another neutral nod and got to his feet.
“Fair enough. Thanks for coming by.”
“It was my pleasure.” Quinn stood and offered a perfunctory hand shake. After walking down the two steps of the porch, he turned around as if having remembered something.
“Oh,” he said, “I also understand the minister of the Baptist church is leaving town a week from tomorrow. Retiring, is he?”
Vincent furrowed his brows, feeling the weight of the statement, leaving town . Was Hayden leaving that soon? He nodded, but said nothing.
“A pity to lose such a holy man, as I understand from Mr. Dinneck. Art Dinneck, I mean.
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