21
Mark kept running, weaving on his feet, which was probably making it harder for the shooter to get a bead on him. He made it to the parking lot where Jeremiah could see him run to the other side of a firetruck that was parking.
Jeremiah pushed off the ground and made it back to his feet with a grunt. Another bullet just missed his shoulder. He heard a shout and saw Liam appear around the corner of the building, aiming at something on the rooftop next door. A moment later he fired.
Jeremiah looked up in time to see a man with a small rifle fall. He raced over to the firetruck and found Mark.
“I think Liam got the guy,” Jeremiah said.
“Good. Help me get all these off,” Mark said with a grunt.
“In a minute,” Jeremiah gasped, still having trouble catching his breath.
He looked down and saw the hole in the Bible right over his heart.
“You’ve been shot!” Mark exclaimed as he saw it.
Mark quickly unwound the duct tape from Jeremiah’s chest and gingerly pulled away the Bible.
“It stopped the bullet,” Mark said in wonder.
“Told you the right book could stop the right bullet,” Jeremiah said.
“Yeah, a good book,” Mark said, his voice hushed.
Mark opened the book and found the bullet inside.
Jeremiah looked down. The bullet had stopped in I Samuel. In disbelief he saw that the tip was literally resting against verse 22 of the 15th chapter.
“Oh my,” he whispered.
“What is it?” Mark asked.
Jeremiah took a deep breath. “Someone wanted to make sure I got a message.”
Mark looked. “Where?”
“Verse 22, where the bullet is touching.”
Mark looked and read out loud. “Shemu'el said, Has the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to listen than the fat of rams.” Mark looked up. “What does it mean?”
“It means G-d really wants me to take a closer look at the Prophets.”
“We can do that together if you like,” a voice said over his shoulder.
Jeremiah twisted around to see Ezra standing there.
“I’m so sorry about your synagogue,” he said.
Ezra shook his head. “It’s only the classrooms and the office that we’re going to lose it looks like. It could have been a lot worse.”
Cindy and Frida appeared. “Liam’s gone up to the roof to see if the arsonist is dead,” Cindy said.
“I need to go,” Mark said.
~
Five minutes later Mark dragged himself out of the stairwell and onto the roof where the arsonist had been shooting from.
“Liam? You okay?” Mark asked anxiously.
“Yes. Over here,” Liam called.
Liam was standing over the man, his gun trained on him. Mark walked carefully over until he could stare down at the man who had brought so much horror into his life. Liam had shot him in the chest, but he was still alive. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his breathing was pained. He was dying.
“Dietrich Schmidt?” Mark asked.
The man nodded.
“You burned down all those synagogues just to get back at your family?”
“They deserved it! They left me with a monster,” he wheezed.
Mark knew he didn’t have much time. “Something I don’t understand. I get why you went after Cindy and Jeremiah. After all, they foiled your attempt to burn this place on Wednesday. But why did you come after me and my family?” Mark asked. “We’re not Jewish and I wasn’t the only detective working on the case.”
Dietrich started laughing and the sound was chilling. “What makes you think I was the one who wanted you dead?” he asked.
“Because you firebombed our cars and house,” Mark said. “Didn’t you?”
Dietrich nodded.
“Why?”
Dietrich’s eyes started to glaze over. Mark was losing him. “Tell me why!” he shouted.
Dietrich’s eyes rolled back.
“He’s gone,” Liam said quietly.
~
Cindy, Jeremiah, Mark, and Liam finally made it back to Joseph and Geanie’s way after dark. They’d had to stay and get everything sorted out with the police and Jeremiah had missed the first night at his synagogue. He’d called Marie and instead of asking Rabbi Kravitz for help she decided to light the Hanukkah menorah herself and say the prayers with the congregation. It was Jeremiah’s idea and she’d gone along with it. After all, Hanukkah was supposed to be family and in so many ways she was more the head of their synagogue family than he was.
Still, he felt a great sorrow that he had missed out. Hanukkah was special and they all needed a little joy right about now.
“We have a surprise for you,” Joseph said once everyone had settled in.
“What?” Jeremiah asked.
Joseph led the way to a window of the house that overlooked the city below them. There in the window was a Hanukkah menorah.
“I read that you’re supposed to put it in a window to share the light and the hope with the world,” Geanie said. “I know you’re supposed to light it at twilight, but it’s not too late, right?”
Jeremiah felt tears stinging his eyes. “No, it’s not too late to share the miracles of this time with family. And this is perfect. On Saturday night it has to be lit after nightfall.”
He picked up a candle and put it in the farthest right holder. “We place the candles starting at the right each night and then light them starting from the left.”
There was a box of matches which he used to light the shamash candle.
“We use the shamash candle to light the others after we recite prayers,” he said. “Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah light. Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time. Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.”
“Amen,” the others chorused.
He touched the shamash candle to the other and the flame burst forth.
Everyone smiled and cheered.
“Now what?” Traci asked.
“Now, we eat,” Jeremiah said with a smile.
“Oh thank goodness,” Cindy burst out. “I was worried it was going to take a while.”
He laughed and kissed her on the forehead. Life was good.
~
It was Wednesday and Mark had taken the last few days to think about everything that had happened and about what Dietrich had said before he died. He had implied that he was not the one who wanted to harm Mark. They had found Dietrich’s car, and the synagogue membership roster that he had stolen from Mark was in the trunk.
The more Mark thought about it, the more everything just didn’t sit right with him. So on Wednesday he drove back to the retirement home where Darren’s adopted mother worked. He took a picture of Dietrich with him and made some inquiries of a few of the nurses. When his suspicions had been confirmed he took a walk in the garden.
Mark walked up to the old woman who had taught Darren to play chess and sat down at the table.
“I assume this seat isn’t taken,” he said.
“You can only sit there if you’re willing to play,” the old woman said.
“We’ve already played enough games, you and I,” Mark said.
“You think so?”
“I know so. Tell me, just what exactly is your interest in Darren?”
“You first,” she challenged.
“He’s the son of a friend.”
She nodded. “I have the same interest in him that I did in his father.”
Mark took a risk and asked, “Paul?”
The
old woman shook her head. “Andrew,” she said.
That was Paul’s real name and hearing her say it sent a chill down Mark’s spine.
“You knew Andrew?” he asked.
“Since he was a little boy. Of course, I knew the other one, too. You know what always amazes me about the wealthy?”
“What?” Mark asked.
“Just how much money they’ll pay a stranger so that they don’t have to spend time raising their kids.”
Mark sucked in his breath. “You’re her, the nanny that kidnapped the real Paul Dryer.”
“You know you really are more clever than you look. I’ve been saying so for quite a while.”
“You sent Dietrich after me.”
“Such a good boy,” she said. “Pity.”
“You’re still following Matthews,” he said.
She smirked. “Who do you think pays for me to stay here? He wants to keep an eye on his grandson.”
Mark stood abruptly. “You’re coming with me. You’re under arrest for kidnapping, murder, attempted murder-”
“I don’t think so,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
Suddenly she lunged up from the table, overturning it as she slashed at him with a knife she’d had concealed in her sleeve.
It sliced through Mark’s shirt as he jumped back. She advanced on him and he grabbed her arm, trying to wrest the knife away from her. He was shocked to discover that she was not nearly as frail and feeble as she had let herself appear.
His foot landed on one of the chess pieces scattered over the ground and he started to fall. She threw herself on top of him and on the ground they wrestled for control of the knife. He yanked her wrist to the side as hard as he could and she jerked.
He pushed her off him and scrambled to a crouch. The dagger had gone into her chest. She grinned up at him even as she began to cough up blood.
“You have no idea what’s been set in motion. He’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.” She smiled, insanity filling her eyes. Laughter bubbled up from her lips mixing with blood and spittle. It slowly faded away and then she was dead.
Mark staggered to his feet. He pulled out his phone to call it in. Even as he tried to speak, though, her words were echoing over and over in his mind.
He’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.
Debbie Viguié is the New York Times Bestselling author of more than fifty novels including the Wicked series, the Crusade series and the Wolf Springs Chronicles series co-authored with Nancy Holder. Debbie also writes thrillers including The Psalm 23 Mysteries, the Kiss trilogy, and the Witch Hunt trilogy. When Debbie isn’t busy writing she enjoys spending time with her husband, Scott, visiting theme parks. They live in Florida with their cat, Schrödinger.
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