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  He frowned. “Pastor, I will tear this place apart, brick by brick, pew by pew, curtain by curtain. No one disappears in front of me. We had this entire church surrounded. The only way he could have escaped is through a passageway we haven’t found yet. You know this church better than anybody. I believe you helped him escape.”

  Dennis pushed the black book across the desk. “Read it. I didn’t believe it at first until I heard another member of our church tell me about his experience.”

  “Who is this person?”

  “George Farmer.”

  Hewitt opened the book and read the first page. “How do I get in contact with Mr. Farmer?”

  Dennis sighed and rubbed his chin. “You can’t.”

  Hewitt frowned. “Why?”

  “He passed away recently.”

  “Does he have any living relatives?”

  “Yes. His wife.”

  “Terrific. I’ll get his address and number through my office.”

  “Please leave his widow alone. She’s been through so much. She’s old and frail.”

  “I’m here to solve this case. If she can somehow help me find that poor girl, I’m going to sure as hell knock on her door and get some answers.”

  Dennis stood, placing his foot in the small garbage can. He pressed down on a newspaper article, mashing it into little pieces. He grabbed an empty Styrofoam cup, dropped it onto the crushed article and wiped his face with a tissue. He tossed it in and turned around.

  “I have to bring a special unit in here to lift fingerprints and gather more evidence,” Hewitt said.

  Dennis glanced past Hewitt. When he didn’t respond, Hewitt reached over the desk and grabbed his arm. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.”

  Hewitt’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello. Yes.” He turned his back on him. Dennis leaned back and grabbed the garbage can. “I need to take this out before the men come for the pickup.”

  The special agent grabbed the black book and put it in his pocket.

  Dennis looked back and saw Hewitt was following him out of the church. He stared at him as he placed the garbage into the big, green metal bin at the rear of the parking lot.

  “You do everything around here, don’t you?” Hewitt asked.

  Dennis shot him a nervous grin. “We’re not exactly a profitable church, Mr. Paul.”

  “You can call me, Hewitt,” he said again.

  “I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’d rather keep my distance from you. Number one, you don’t trust me. Number two, you don’t believe me. Number three, you don’t have much faith.”

  Hewitt shrugged and grabbed his arm. “I don’t care about faith. I deal in reality. I have a job to do. And I’m going to do it until I find Mr. Stewart and his daughter. I’m going to feel like a mosquito on the back of your neck during a hot August night, buzzing around your head even when you’re sleeping. I’m going to find that girl, dead or alive, if it kills me. No one is above the law. Not even you. A collar doesn’t give you immunity.”

  “I want to find them, too,” said Dennis, shaking his arm loose. “But you won’t find them pushing those around who can help you.”

  “Prove to me you can help,” Hewitt shouted, kicking at the bin. “Show me that you are willing to help me, or I will make your life miserable here.”

  Dennis smiled like he had done so often when consoling angry churchgoers. “And what good would that do, Hewitt?”

  Hewitt took a few steps away. “I won’t sleep until I find Elizabeth Stewart. I don’t care about the religious babble you spout with your microphone every Sunday. You’re just like any Joe out there. With or without you, I will solve this case.”

  Dennis sighed. “I know, but you’re going about it the wrong way. Do you realize where Michael has gone is someplace many have read about in history books but can never visit?”

  “Don’t con me, Pastor,” Hewitt warned as he went back inside the church.

  Chapter 7

  First-century Jerusalem

  It was a busy evening at the Antonia Fortress. There was an order given to capture a rebel who had been spreading the news that the rabbi killed on the cross had risen from the dead. The reward was sizeable. There was a measure of disbelief among the soldiers preparing to spread out across the countryside to quell the blasphemous rumors. Despite this important edict handed down by his superiors, Titus ignored his orders.

  Instead, he hid in the lower bowels of the prison and closed his eyes. He couldn’t avoid being noticed.

  “Titus, you are to join the first army,” said Plavius, his superior officer. He kicked at his head. “Awake, you lazy fool. A Roman soldier should be prepared.”

  “I am not well,” Titus said.

  “Do not disobey my order or I will have you hung from the top walls of this prison.” Titus didn’t answer and instead gathered up his spear and put his helmet on as he joined the group. He walked behind them as they left the barracks and waited for an opportunity to escape. It came when he hid behind some brush.

  Titus delayed several moments before peering out and then seized his opportunity. He raced the remaining steps back to the fortress and bribed the guards at the gate. He returned inside to find the soldiers were still sleeping.

  He crept up the stairs until he came to the top floor where they agreed to meet and plan their attack. “Wake up, it is time for our hunt,” he said.

  The four soldiers looked up and held out their hands.

  “You will receive your silver when we kill the widow and drag her body back here for a showing,” said Titus.

  He sharpened his spear for good measure against a wall, taking a moment to relish the sparks that flickered from the friction. “Wear your most defensive armor,” he demanded.

  “Sir,” one of the soldiers said, “you talk about killing. I thought this was not a military mission.”

  “Is the silver not enough for you?”

  “I have no silver in my hands, sir,” the soldier said.

  “You will get it when our mission is done,” Titus promised.

  The tallest Roman stood up. “With respect, sir, I say this. This is not common among our orders. If this is not a military mission, I do not understand why we are bringing so many weapons to arrest the Jewish woman. We are taking her prisoner. Are we not?”

  Titus glared, slamming his spear against the side of the prison wall. “I will decide whether it is my right to kill or keep her alive. A great Roman soldier is always prepared for the worst.”

  The soldier gave him a puzzled look. “She is just a widow. Why is she so dangerous? Does she have weapons like us?”

  Titus grabbed the soldier’s arm, twisting it backward. “What makes you think she is not dangerous?”

  “She is just a Jew, a woman, a widow, a peasant.”

  Titus released his grip and shouted, “Come with me. I will show you what they did to my brother, a Roman soldier.”

  The soldier cowered in the corner.

  “Let him be,” said Titus. “We do not need sheep in our flock.” He laughed and led the other three past several tall marble stanchions. “Over here,” he yelled. He gestured to the corner of the grounds. “My brother, your brother, a Roman who risked his life for us in many battles,” Titus said, kneeling. His brother lay in a decorated, well-cut casket. Marcus was clothed in the best attire and wore a helmet.

  “Come closer,” said Titus, standing.

  As the three surrounded the casket, Titus lifted up the center of Marcus’ vest and the soldiers gasped. “Tell me, my fellow Romans, do you now doubt my claim that my brother was murdered?”

  “Vengeance will be ours,” he said as he covered Marcus back up. He turned and led the soldiers away. “Do not be deceived,” he added. “This could be a dangerous mission. The widow might have friends and neighbors to defend her. When we approach her home, look
for any weapons and take them. Do not kill her. It will be my honor to do so.”

  He guided them down the stairs into the basement. “Prepare,” Titus said. “Sharpen your weapons, drink plenty of water and get some sleep. We stay quiet about our mission. The only task another Roman needs to know about is our quest to aid a Jewish widow in the name of Marcus. There is no other reason to offer.”

  Chapter 8

  Modern-Day Long Island

  Jax’s Bar was trimmed and decked out with holiday décor. Red and green ribbons hung on the high wooden beams protruding from the ceiling. Christmas lights dazzled and blinking patterns of fluorescent colors danced in rhythmic motions. A large tree, its lower branches bent from the weight of heavy ornaments, stood majestically in a nearby corner, inviting even the shyest patron to utilize the beauty for a photo op or selfie.

  Susan sipped red wine while Connie preferred white. They drank as the speakers belted out “Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  They watched a young couple slow dance to the next tune, Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” Connie watched the woman’s happy face for a brief moment and then looked away.

  Susan smiled and recalled the evening she and Michael danced to Frank Sinatra’s version of “Silent Night” several Christmases ago. She took another sip of her wine and relished how it slid slowly down her throat, hugging her chest, warming her arms. She let her mind drift.

  She remembered how Michael’s hand felt on hers, how they moved in unison, step by step, cheek to cheek, chest to chest. It was perfect. They were one. She took a deep breath to collect herself as she drank some more. It didn’t matter she and Connie weren’t talking. In fact, she was happy for the silence. I’ll always have that night. No one can take it away from us. No one. Not my mom. Not Connie.

  She finished the rest of her glass while Connie played with her cell phone, frantically pulling and pushing at the touch screen with her thumbs. She dropped it to the table and looked up at Susan.

  “Now what?” Connie asked.

  Susan shrugged, still smitten over the memory. “I guess we wait to hear from Pastor Dennis.”

  “Come on, do you really believe what that kook said? It sounds like he’s off his rocker. Do you think the pastor and my brother planned this disappearance? I’m fine with that, but don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. I’d like to be in on it if this is what’s going on.”

  “Pastor Dennis isn’t that way,” Susan said. “He’s an honest man. I’ve known him for a long time.”

  Connie looked away. “Believe me, he’s not honest.”

  “Believe whatever you want,” Susan said. “I’ve seen some strange things happen. What do you want? Evidence?”

  “Yeah,” said Connie, with a sarcastic edge.

  Susan leaned forward and pointed to her neck. “Look here.”

  “So what?”

  “Do you see any marks?”

  “No.”

  Susan leaned back in her chair. “Right. No marks. The car accident.”

  “Oh, jeez. Here we go again with the dramatics.” Connie smiled. “Wow. You really have it bad for my brother. He’s got issues like the rest of us. Like you. Like – ”

  “You?”

  “Like the pastor, your honest man. If you only knew what he’s been hiding.”

  Susan ordered another glass of wine, trying not to show she was intrigued by Connie’s remark. Don’t sink to her level. She’s trying to pull you into her dirty pool of gossip. The waitress returned with another glass of red wine. Susan took a long swig. “What’s he hiding?” Ugh. I can’t believe I took the bait.

  Connie drained the remainder of her wine and signaled for the waitress to return. “This stays between me and you,” she said. “Got it?”

  Susan pushed her glass around in a small circle. “Sure.”

  “The pastor was married several years ago.”

  “I know.”

  Connie looked around. “Let me finish.”

  “So finish.”

  “He had a drinking problem, so his wife took the two kids and left him. Demanded a divorce. He was such a mess he had no choice. They decided to settle this out of court to save money. The pastor and his ex agreed that she got the house and he kept his insurance policy. A big one too.”

  “So? Isn’t that normal when people split up? They split the assets.”

  “That wasn’t the strange part.”

  Susan pushed her glass to the side. “Go on.”

  “So instead of naming his kids on the insurance policy he named my niece as his beneficiary.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Connie gave her empty glass to the waitress. “Can I get another?” Then she put a couple of fingers over her lips. “My friend was the lawyer for his ex and gave me the info after he heard Elizabeth went missing.”

  Susan shook her head, lifted the glass to her mouth and put it back down. She stared at Connie. “What does this mean?”

  “It could mean a lot of things. It could mean maybe one of the pastor’s kids or the ex had something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.”

  “Why don’t you go to the cops?”

  “I can’t. Not yet. I have to think this over.”

  “Why?” Susan asked.

  “If word leaked out, my friend would lose his job and perhaps his partnership. I haven’t seen the document, either. I only know because he had a few in him one night and he told me.”

  “This sounds crazy.”

  “Oh, and my brother time traveling and talking to Jesus isn’t crazy?”

  Susan winced. “I don’t know what’s crazy and what’s not.”

  “Well, I know I’m not crazy. I might be the only one in this hick town who’s thinking rationally.”

  “You have to go to the police with this.”

  “Not until I’m sure. I need to find out a few things. I don’t want to come across as some crazy person. You saw what happened to that woman Allison.”

  She looked from side to side to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “The pastor could be the only one who knows where my brother is. I don’t want to upset or anger him. If I find out he’s lying, I’ll go to the cops. I love my brother despite what you think.”

  “I love him too,” Susan said.

  The waitress returned with another glass of wine, and Connie took a big gulp. “Yeah, I know all about your love. What do you know about real love? If you loved him so much, why did you leave Northport? Women like you are a dime a dozen in this town. Maybe he wasn’t making enough money for your snooty lifestyle? Was that it?”

  Susan smiled. “You are one pent up, frustrated woman, aren’t you? You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what’s in my heart, what Michael and I share, how much I care about him. You have your own issues, and the biggest one is you. You’re so bitter and lonely after your husband left you that you can’t be happy for anyone unless they’re miserable with you. I’m sorry you’re unhappy with your pathetic, lonely life.”

  Susan took three quick sips of the wine, her eyes never leaving Connie’s. She released the top part of the glass before she could break it.

  Connie drained her glass and stood. “I’m leaving.”

  “Go ahead, go back to your big, fancy home with the high ceilings and chandeliers and the twenty big bedrooms. It must be so cold and lonely in that mansion of yours. How does it feel walking around all those empty rooms?”

  Connie stopped and turned around. “I don’t live there anymore.”

  “What happened? Did you relocate to the Taj Mahal?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but our house was a short sale. The only stinking rich person at this table is you. I’ve lost everything.”

  Before Susan could think of a response, Connie continued. “Are you thrilled now that my wonderful life is as miserable as you say?”
>
  Susan felt a surge of guilt. She drank the rest of her wine in three gulps. She stood. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave. We’re both worried about Michael. We both love him. Can we agree on that?”

  Connie hesitated and took a few steps toward the front door. She stopped and walked back to the table and sat down.

  “Another glass? It’s on me,” Susan said. “Let’s work on that list.”

  “We’ll have to walk home if we do.”

  “So we’ll walk off the calories.”

  The waitress came by with two glasses. “Compliments of the gentleman over there.” The waitress pointed to a table beside the Christmas tree. The man in the familiar dark suit sat alone and raised a glass to them.

  “Oh my,” Connie said.

  “Oh no,” added Susan. “Now what?”

  Hewitt Paul walked over, carrying his glass. “Hello, ladies. Mind if I join you?”

  Connie and Susan didn’t answer.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  Chapter 9

  Hewitt Paul sat straight up, his broad shoulders towering above Connie and Susan. His arms were folded. He smiled as Connie and Susan played with their cell phones and drank their wine. “Sally, another one for my friends,” he said, gesturing to the waitress passing by. “She’s such a fine waitress, isn’t she?” he asked.

  Connie and Susan shrugged.

  “Sally. You know her, don’t you?”

  “Sorry, don’t know her,” Susan said. “Do you, Connie?”

  “Nope.”

  Sally placed a glass of wine in front of each woman.

  “Put that on my tab,” Hewitt said with a wink.

  “Will do, cowboy,” said Sally.

  Hewitt tapped the table, startling the women. “So ladies, what brings you out here tonight?”

  “We’re secret lovers and decided to come out in public to show our affection for each other,” said Connie before she took a sip.

  Susan laughed. “You wish, sister.”