The Greatest Gift

by Michael John Sullivan

  “It doesn’t matter if you do or not. I know the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical in finding something my boss can sink his teeth into.”

  They shared a brief hug, and he left after dropping Connie off at Michael’s house.

  He arrived back on Main Street minutes later. The last stores opened were finally closing up. He stared at a few couples holding hands, leaving the Variety Store. He found a spot for his Cadillac a block away from the church. The steps were jammed with churchgoers leaving the last service of the evening.

  Beautiful. Perfect timing. Maybe I’ll get lucky. I could use a little help. He gripped the black book and raced inside the church. The pew area was empty except for a lone woman at the front bending down. I’ll wait until she leaves.

  He sat in the last row and pulled out his cell phone. He ignored a woman removing books from a pew. He clicked his cell phone. “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a lead now in the Stewart case.”

  “Did you forget our conversation we had earlier?” asked Wrightman. “You’re off the case. Did you give your notes and laptop to Special Agent Holligan?”

  “I did. But – ”

  “There are no buts. I don’t want to hear from you again about this case. Good night.”

  Hewitt sighed and put his phone away. He watched the pastor instruct Katie to gather up the rest of the Bibles.

  “How many more books are left to package up?” said Pastor Timothy, his voice carrying to the back of the church.

  “I’d say about ten or fifteen,” she said.

  Hewitt jogged to the front. “I’m sorry to bother you, Pastor. I need to talk to you.”

  Pastor Timothy adjusted his glasses. “One moment.” He pulled a book out of the carton and paged through it. “Hold on,” he said. “This one is fine.”

  Katie shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I checked every one of them earlier today.”

  “You must have made a mistake,” Pastor Timothy said as he continued to page through the book. He handed it to her. “Take a look.”

  She stared at the page. “Am I losing my mind?” She showed him. “Look. I marked it to be sent back.”

  “Is there a problem?” Hewitt asked.

  “No, no,” Pastor Timothy said, waving at him. “We’re just sending back a bunch of defective Bibles with missing pages.”

  “Printing problem?” Hewitt asked.

  “Looks like it. Katie, let’s go through this carton again. I want to be sure. We’ll look stupid if we’re sending back good books.”

  “Pastor, I need to talk to you,” Hewitt said. “Now.”

  Pastor Timothy bent down and grabbed five books. He turned and handed them to Hewitt. “I could use some help too. Help me and I’ll help you.”

  “What am I looking for?” Hewitt asked.

  “Look for anything from the Acts of the Apostles, specifically Acts 27-28:10. Those are the sections I need. In the defective books, this writing was missing. If it’s missing, throw the book in the carton.”

  Pastor Timothy emptied the box and sat beside Hewitt. They leafed through the books, page by page. A pile of good Bibles grew between them. Katie did the same in the pew in front of them.

  “I only see books with it,” Hewitt said, putting the last one down.

  “The material about Paul being on the island of Malta, right?” asked Pastor Timothy. “Acts 27-28:10.”

  “Yes.”

  Pastor Timothy stood and leaned over the pew in front of him. “Katie dear, are you sure we have the right books?”

  “If they’re marked, we have the right ones.”

  Pastor Timothy stepped back. “They are marked, but they’re not the books we looked at before.”

  “I know,” Katie said, throwing her hands up in the air.

  “Where are the books with the missing pages? Did you throw them out by mistake? It’s okay. I won’t be mad.”

  “I didn’t throw any books out,” she protested, turning around.

  Hewitt glanced at Pastor Timothy and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Now I know I’ve lost my mind,” Katie said.

  Pastor Timothy sat back down on the bench.

  Hewitt handed him a book. “Got nothing here,” he said.

  “Strange,” Pastor Timothy said. He got up again. “Go home, Katie. We’ll figure this out tomorrow after the morning service.”

  “Yes, Pastor. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did. I was sure I had the right collection of books.”

  “Wish your family a Merry Christmas from me.”

  “I will. Merry Christmas to you.”

  They watched Katie gather up her purse and a big bag of presents.

  Pastor Timothy walked her out the door. He pushed the latch across and turned off the back lights. “Need to conserve electricity. Our church isn’t doing well now after what happened here.”

  He sat next to Hewitt. “Very odd,” he said. “She’s been reliable.”

  “Um. Okay, Pastor,” Hewitt said, moving the pile of books to the side. “She’s like most people during this time of the year – stressed.”

  “You are right, sir. Forgiveness is the ultimate gift to give at this time of the year.”

  “I could certainly use some of that,” Hewitt said.

  Pastor Timothy nodded. “A church member came by my office today all upset and in a frenzy. She showed me a picture of you she had downloaded from the Internet. You were digging up Pastor Dennis’ grave! Are you here seeking my forgiveness for this?”

  Hewitt grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I thought I had a clue that would help me find Michael and Elizabeth Stewart.”

  “Down there in Dennis’ grave?”

  Hewitt shook his head.

  “How, son? How?”

  “I’m not sure how. But I need you to tell me about this.” He held the black book up.

  “What is this?” asked Pastor Timothy.

  “A book that describes some events that have happened in this church.”

  The pastor took the book and began reading. He pushed back his graying hair and read several more pages. “Some of it is rather miraculous.”

  “Some?” Hewitt said as he took the book back. “I’d say all of it.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I need honest answers. I need to know if you knew about this book. Have you heard about it in any way? Is this some hokey way for religious nuts in this community to conjure up publicity for the church? I know the church has been struggling to meet its bills. Pastor Dennis told this to me as well. Or are these just tales, like the tales you read in the Bible?”

  “What tales are you talking about?”

  “The healing nonsense. The religious wacko stuff you read about on the Internet.”

  Pastor Timothy smiled.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  “You referenced the Internet as your source. My, we have come a long way in how we preach God’s word.”

  “I didn’t write the tales.”

  “What makes you say they are just tales?”

  “I work with physical evidence, Pastor.” Hewitt took out the short, metal rod. “Like this.” He gave it to the Pastor.

  “Interesting,” he said while examining it first with his hands and then inspecting it in the lone church light. “I hate to break this news to you because I know you’re looking for a good tale.” Pastor Timothy paused. “This,” he said, holding it up, “is nothing more than a device pastors used a couple of hundred years ago to press down pages in their journals. Many preachers carried it with them as they wrote. They used it often as a bookmark. Look at the bend. It fits perfectly to keep track of a page.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Woul
d I lie?” asked Pastor Timothy.

  Hewitt looked away.

  Pastor Timothy slapped him on the back. Hewitt took a deep breath, gathered some energy and stood. He brushed by him.

  “Can I help you with anything else?” he asked Hewitt.

  “No. I’m done.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Hewitt waved his hand in the air as he touched each pew on the way to the back door. He turned around and began his thought. “Pastor, my … where did he go?” He stood there for a few more seconds and gave up. He pushed the old latch back and pushed the door open. A cold breeze kissed his face. The street was empty and the lamp above shone the only light, illuminating a small tree with an angel sitting atop.

  I’ve got nowhere to go. How about that? The man who helped so many families find their children. The man who has a drawer full of plaques and citations. The man who has all the money in the world. The man who can travel to any city he wishes. The man who has a closet full of Italian-made suits and shiny shoes. The man who has everything.

  He opened the door wide. “I have nothing,” he said, letting the wind pummel his body. “There is nothing out there for me tonight. Nothing.”

  Hewitt stepped back inside, closed the door and locked it. He turned and walked to the front and knelt down in the first pew.

  Chapter 58

  Susan held a vinyl record in her hands. On the front, Bruce Springsteen wore a plaid shirt. She turned it over and touched the pictures on the back, one a bride dressed in her wedding dress, standing with a groom. She sighed. I wonder if this will ever be me.

  She held the album to her heart and rocked back and forth on her knees. She reached to grab scissors off the living room table and cut the wrapping paper neatly, measuring the length and width of the album. After folding the bright red and white paper with Snoopy dancing in a Christmas hat, she taped up the back. She held it up for a brief moment. Perfect. I hope he likes it. If I ever get a chance to give it to him.

  She placed it under the tree and kneeled before it for a few seconds. The colored lights blinked in no particular order while the angel that topped the highest branch leaned over. She stood and straightened it.

  “Are you going to bed soon?” her mom asked as she walked down the stairs.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “I couldn’t sleep knowing you’re upset.” She held onto the railing and took her steps down at a slow pace. Susan sat by the tree, picking up her gift to Michael.

  “You aren’t going to make me sit down there with you?”

  “No, Mom.” Susan got up and helped her mother to the couch. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

  “No, no. I’ll be up all night in the bathroom. One trip is the limit at my age.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “It’s okay to tell me the truth, Susan. I know I’m old. I don’t have many good years left. I have no friends anymore.”

  Susan frowned. “Do we have to talk about this tonight?” She lowered her head and sat beside her. “I have enough on my mind.”

  “Why are you upset on Christmas Eve? It’s not that boy again, is it?”

  “Mom,” Susan said. “He’s a man. I’m a woman. When are you going to treat me like a grown woman? I’m forty-four now. Not fifteen.”

  Her mother’s fingers trembled as she struggled with her glasses. “I’m not perfect, Susan,” she said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel I treat you like a woman, whatever that means. Is this a feminist thing I should be up on?”

  “No, Mom. It has nothing to do with that.”

  “You will always be a little girl to me, the one making sandcastles at the beach during the summer or building a snowman in the winter.”

  Susan sighed. “I remember those times. But those days are gone. I’m not that person anymore.”

  “Oh, forget about that boy. I mean man. He was never going to stay around for you. And you have changed. You didn’t have to. Why did you stop being a little girl? Age shouldn’t determine what you enjoy.”

  “Mom,” Susan said with an aggravated look. “Really? Sandcastles and snowmen?”

  Her mom sat back and leaned her head against the back of the couch. “Were you happy the days you made those sandcastles and snowmen?”

  “Of course. But life marches on. We become adults.”

  “Yes we do. Time does move forward for everyone. I know that. I can tell you all about the aches and ills that go with it too.”

  “We’re not going to talk about doctors and prescriptions, are we?” Susan asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. I know it’s no fun getting old.”

  “True. But you don’t have to be miserable. You have many more wonderful years ahead of you. You wonder why I’m hard on whoever you are interested in at the time?”

  “Let’s face it, Mom. No one is ever going to be good enough for your little girl.”

  Her mom leaned over and grabbed her hand. “And I should feel that way. Your happiness is what matters to me most.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” Susan said. “You always give Michael a hard time. Always. I love him, Mom. Just like you loved Dad.” She took a deep breath and hugged the record. “Now it doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re right. I am hard on him. I guess I never had a good feeling about him when he came over.”

  Susan gave her an astonished look. “When did you ever have a good feeling about any guy I was interested in?”

  Her mother didn’t answer.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Susan said, getting up and placing the present back underneath the tree. “He’s not here, and he may never come back. People in this town have judged him. I doubt he would return to live here. Everyone thinks he has something to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance.”

  “Does he?”

  Susan returned to the couch and glared.

  “I’m sorry. I needed to ask. I may have been hard on him, but I do understand that anyone who cares about my daughter must have a good heart.”

  “He has a beautiful heart, one of the most beautiful hearts I’ve ever known. He has his faults. We all do.” Susan lifted her eyebrows.

  “I get the message.”

  “I saw the hurt in his eyes when he spoke about his daughter,” said Susan. “I felt his sorrow when we held each other. I felt the sadness in his kiss.”

  “Kiss? Oh no.”

  “Yes, Mom,” said Susan, waving her arms in the air. “Your daughter has kissed a man. And to make your worst nightmare come true, I enjoyed it.”

  Her mom twitched and looked away. “Did you also … ?”

  Susan hesitated. “No.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “But I wanted to.”

  There were a few seconds of silence between them. “You know what, Mom, you and Michael have something in common.”

  “Michael and me? Oh, please.”

  “Yes, you do. The look you had the night you told me Daddy had died was the same type of look Michael had when he told me his daughter was missing.”

  She wrapped her arms around Susan, startling her. “I know it hurts. I know the feeling of seeing the hurt in someone’s eyes you love. I’ve seen it in your eyes too.”

  Susan pulled back. “When?”

  “Just now.”

  They hugged each other tight. “Boy, we haven’t done this very often,” Susan said.

  “We need to do it more. We are all we have tonight.”

  “Mom, tonight it’s enough.” They held each other for a few more seconds. “You’re going to love what I got for you too.”

  “Susan, you being here is the best gift I could have gotten. But I would like one more gift.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Let’s take a trip to the beach and build a sandcastle.”

/>   Susan stood and put her hands on her hips. “Whoa, I’m not building a sandcastle in this freezing cold weather. Why do we need to do this now?”

  Her mom hesitated. “I think it’s time we both make a moment. For too many years, I watched them pass me by. I was always too busy chatting with my friends to create a moment with you. I’d like to do that now. It would be nice if you joined me. No pressure.”

  “But plenty of guilt,” said Susan.

  “Okay, some guilt.”

  Susan nodded and extended her hand. “Let’s go. Let’s make this a memorable Christmas.”

  Chapter 59

  First-century Jerusalem

  Augustus watched his crew row with weary arms while another set of men pitched buckets of water back into the sea. “Land is nearby,” Augustus told Michael. “I can smell the fires burning in the distance.”

  Michael wasn’t sure whether he believed him. He could be saying this to keep me calm. But he is a man who has taken many journeys. He is a better judge of time and distance on the sea than I will ever be.

  He paced back and forth, end to end along the top deck several times, looking for any clues where Elizabeth might be. What if Alexander is lying and will take whatever money I can find? What happens if I cannot come up with enough silver to free her if he really has her? Do I give whatever I can without any proof that she is safe? He shook his head, growled and kicked at some long carts at the far end of the boat, away from Augustus and the rowing men.

  Thump. What was that? He kicked at a pile of long carts with his feet again and then pushed the top one. He shook the second and swatted the bottom one again, this time three times with each foot. He heard a muffled noise. Thump. Thump. Thump. He dropped to his knees and took a quick glance behind him. “Is anyone in there?”

  Thump. He heard muffled noises again. He placed his ear to the cart. “If this is Elizabeth, knock twice.”

  Thump. Thump.

  “Dear Jesus.” He stood and tried to budge the top two carts off the bottom one. He pushed at the sides and noticed holes about two inches in diameter on the carts. He fell to his knees again and whispered in the hole. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”