Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [106]
“I can’t imagine there being anything but rats in this old heap,” Father Keller said, standing outside the door.
“Rats?” He hated rats.
Nick snatched his hand back, hitting the raw knuckles on an exposed spring. He closed his eyes against the pain and bit down on his lower lip to contain the obscenities. He punched the glove compartment open and blasted the dark hole with the flashlight.
Carefully, he poked through the sparse contents: a yellowed owner’s manual, a rusted can of WD-40, several McDonald’s napkins, a matchbook from some place called the Pink Lady, a folded schedule with addresses and codes he didn’t recognize and a small screwdriver. He palmed the matchbook, feeling Father Keller’s eyes on him. Before he closed the compartment he ran his fingers back behind the contents in the deep groove. He felt something small, smooth and round, pinched it out of the groove and palmed it with the matchbook. He slipped both items into his coat pocket after checking to make sure he was out of Father Keller’s line of vision. As he started to close the compartment, he noticed handwritten notes scrawled on the folded schedule. Unable to read the writing, he grabbed the paper and tucked it up his sleeve. Then he slammed the compartment shut.
“Nothing here,” he said, scooting himself up and slipping the paper down into his pocket. He slid across the vinyl seat, taking one last look around. It occurred to him that, although the cab smelled musty and shut-up, everything—dash, seat, carpet—looked remarkably clean.
“Sorry you wasted your time,” Father Keller said as he turned toward the rectory and started up the path.
“Actually, I still have the bed to search.”
The priest stopped, hesitated, then turned back. The wind swirled the long cassock, snapping it violently, sounding like the crack of a whip. This time Nick noticed a hint of frustration in Father Keller’s blue eyes—frustration, impatience. If he wasn’t a priest, Nick would have said Father Keller simply looked pissed. Whatever it was, there was definitely something more. Something that made Nick anxious and apprehensive about what he might find in the pickup’s bed.
CHAPTER 62
Maggie checked the window again. Nick and Father Keller were still at the pickup. She continued her search down the long hall, stopping in front of each closed door, listening and carefully peeking into every unlocked room. Several were offices, one a supply room. Finally, she came across a bedroom.
The room was plain and small with wooden floors and white walls. A simple crucifix hung above the twin bed. In the corner sat a small table with two chairs. Another stand sat in the opposite corner with an old toaster and teapot. An ornate lamp sat on the nightstand, looking out of place. Other than the lamp, there was nothing to draw attention. No clutter, no drawers or boxes.
She turned to leave, and immediately, three framed prints on the wall next to the door caught her eye. They hung side by side and were prints of Renaissance paintings. Though Maggie didn’t recognize any of them, she recognized the style—the perfectly rendered bodies, the motion and color. Each one depicted the bloody torture of a man. Upon closer inspection she read the small print beneath each.
The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, 1475, Antonio Del Pollaivolo, showed a bound Saint Sebastian tied to a pedestal with arrows being shot into his body. The Martyrdom of Saint Erasmus, 1629, Nicolas Poussin, included winged cherubs hovering above a crowd of men who had one man stretched out and chained down while they pulled out his entrails.
Maggie wondered why anyone would want such artwork on their bedroom walls. She glanced at the last print. The Martyrdom of Saint Hermione, 1512, Matthias