“I assume that was about your old boss?”
Josh’s voice startled him and he let go of the phone. “What? Oh, yeah. He’s gone.”
Josh got up slowly, put his empty can on the counter. “Gone?”
“Yeah, as in disappeared. Listen, I hate to cut this visit short, but I think I’d better call some people.” He looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “It’s late, but the sooner I find out—”
Josh raised his hand. “Say no more, Nate. Give me a call if you hear anything. Not sure who the guy knows; otherwise I’d offer to make some calls myself.”
Nathan walked him through the church to the front door, since his friend had parked his car beside Nathan’s. He put a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Thanks. I guess this is going to be par for the course, though maybe not this kind of incident—hopefully not. But, calls will come in at all hours.”
Josh smiled, then hesitated. “No hard feelings about the Elizabeth thing?”
“None,” Nathan lied, and opened the door. So many mysteries had been passing under his nose lately, it bothered him to have to deal with the fact that his oldest friend had been keeping something from him. Jealousy, he knew. It would fade, in time.
He stood by the door watching Josh’s car pull onto Dreyfus Road. He tried to recall names of those closest to Hayden. Mrs. Zawalich and Mrs. Lewis, of course, but he shouldn’t call them so late. If they had nothing to report, his call would only keep them up. Best make a note to call them first thing in the morning.
Vincent Tarretti. The name came to him and immediately made sense. The two men at least seemed close. Even if Tarretti hadn’t heard, he might be able to supply more names for Nathan to call.
Decision made, he went into Hayden’s den—his den now—and pulled the address book from the top left hand drawer. It was an old, well-worn leather volume, phone numbers of parishioners and church offices written in neat, boxy handwriting, sometimes crossed out and replaced with new ones where they would fit. Nathan made a mental note to computerize the list first chance he got. He couldn’t find Tarretti’s phone number at first, not until he had inspiration to look under “C.” An entry for “Cemetery,” and Tarretti’s name written below.
Nathan punched in the numbers on the desk’s squat black phone. It was answered after three rings.
“Hillcrest Memorial Cemetery, Vincent Tarretti speaking.”
“Mister Tarretti, hi. Nathan Dinneck here. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Reverend Dinneck, how are you? Call me Vince, please. No, you didn’t, though I was making motions. Hang on a second.” A thunk-thunk sound of the phone being placed down onto a table, then shuffling papers. His voice returned. “OK, go ahead. Deceased’s name?”
“Um,” Nathan whispered. “What?”
“Decea— oh, sorry. Pastor Hayden and I never minced words when he called to plan a funeral. I assume someone has passed away?”
“God, I hope not,” was all Nathan could say, but now that he had the thread of conversation back, he decided he’d better try and recover from his Um, What? remark. “Sorry, Vince. That’s not why I’m calling.”
He heard the unmistakable sound of papers landing on the table. “Oh. OK, then what’s up?” His voice had changed from professionalism to irritation. Nathan had to remind himself that he might have, indeed, woken the man.
“It’s about Pastor Hayden. Has he contacted you since leaving?”
The subsequent pause was long enough to give Nathan some hope. Then, “No.” Like Nathan’s answer to Armand’s question, the word was drawn out, almost a question in and of itself. “Why?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nathan explained the call from Armand and the pastor’s disappearance.
Another long silence followed. Nathan didn’t wait for Tarretti to speak. “Listen, Vince, I’m sorry for such a late call, but I thought even if he hadn’t called you, you might know other people he might have contacted.”
“No one at the monastery saw him, you’re saying? No word, no note?”
“No.”
Then Vincent cursed, loudly, and Nathan felt that omnipresent mystery close around him again. It was an irritating sensation. So much so, that he responded with a louder, less careful tone to his voice.
“What’s going on, Mister Tarretti?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.” Nathan was gripping the phone, his exasperation and confusion suddenly too much to hold in. “It’s like you aren’t surprised Hayden is gone.”
“If there’s nothing else, Reverend, I’d like to—”
Nathan shouted, “You will stay on this phone and tell me what is going on! I’ve had enough of mysteries to last me the rest of my life. Ever since I’ve come here, it’s been one strange thing after another, and now I can’t help thinking you might know more than you’re letting on. Where is Reverend Hayden?”
“Strange things like what?” Tarretti asked. Nathan felt his irritation growing with every nonsensical turn of the conversation. This man was ignoring everything he said. He took a breath, decided to ignore the caretaker’s questions just as the man was doing to him. “Where is Pastor Hayden?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you sound surprised that he went missing?”
“I was surprised. Sorry for not acting the way you expect me to. I’ve a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m afraid it is my business. Ever since we first met, I sensed something strange about how you’ve acted toward me. Why is that?”
“Maybe you’re paranoid.”
Nathan took a breath, realizing he was starting to sound that way. Lord give me strength. I feel I’m near something, but what is it? Why am I carrying on like this?
“Reverend?”
“I apologize for snapping. Between getting ready to take over the church, concerns for my father, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m afraid with this new situation I might simply be taking out my frustration on you.” He didn’t mean these words, wanted to scream into the mouthpiece, but he forced himself down a notch.
“Apology accepted. Sorry you’re not sleeping well. Bad dreams?”
Nathan took in a reflexive breath. The question had been asked innocently enough, but in his current state of hyper-alertness, it struck him like a rock. Don’t wig out now. He was only trying to make nice.
“Reverend?”
“Nothing to worry about. If I was having nightmares they’ve stopped. Anyhow, can you think of any place Pastor Hayden might have gone?”
An extended silence again, but Tarretti’s voice returned sooner than the last time. “I really don’t know. I wish I did. What were your nightmares about, when you had them?”
“Why do you keep turning the conversation around?” He didn’t understand why, but Nathan suddenly wanted to confide in this man, tell him everything. It made no sense. Nathan was calling about Hayden’s disappearance, not for a therapy session. “Never mind about my dreams. If you hear of anything, or think of something, please let me know.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.”
“Please call me if you hear anything.”
Nathan said he would and hung up. He sat back in the desk chair and covered his face with his hands. The conversation had gotten away from him. Tarretti was only being polite, maybe trying to calm a panicked minister. Granted the man couldn’t maintain a single thread in a conversation, but Nathan reminded himself that it was late, and he’d probably woken him up. His heart beat quickly, as if he’d just sparred with the caretaker in a boxing ring.