The Shroud Key Page 21

  “Maybe.”

  “Will it have God in it?”

  Her question takes me by surprise.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  She giggles.

  “I don’t know. It just came out.”

  “God works in mysterious ways, so they say.”

  “Do you believe in God, daddy?”

  It’s strange, because I suddenly feel my eyes welling up. I’m looking at my daughter, but in my head I’m seeing the shroud and the secret chamber inside the Third Pyramid and I’m seeing the Vatican soldier whom I shot in the leg and who later on, stood by my side while I excavated the bones of Jesus of Nazareth.

  Slowly I straighten back up while reaching into my trouser pocket. I pull something out, place it over her head so that it hangs off her neck. It’s the miniature cross with the angelic statuette of the woman attached to it.

  “Yes, honey,” I say. “I do believe in God. You can too if you want.”

  She takes the cross in her little fingers and looks at it with awe.

  “Is this real treasure from your adventures?”

  “Yup. Don’t lose it.”

  “I’ll hang on to it with all my might forever and ever.” She hugs my legs so tightly I think they might break. “Thank you, daddy. Thank you.”

  She releases her hold, shifts her baby blue and pink peace-sign-covered backpack up on her shoulder and turns for the school stairs, where a young lady takes her hand. After issuing me a quick, pleasant smile and a wave, the young lady leads my daughter into the building. As always when my little girl leaves my sight, my throat goes tight and my heart sinks.

  _ _ _

  Walking back towards my apartment in the warmth of the morning sun, I check my smartphone for any new emails.

  The top one belongs to an address I don’t recognize. But the subject heading says. “ERASTUS. Not Spam.” I open the email while I slowly walk along the busy sidewalk. It reads,

  “Thought you might find this of interest. By the way, you still have my cross. It’s okay. I want you to keep it.

  “Yours in good faith.

  “Pax

  “Father Gabrielle”

  In my head I once more picture the Vatican soldier. His dark clothing, his black fedora, the limp I gave him after I shot him in the left thigh inside my apartment vestibule. His cross now belongs to my daughter as if he somehow fully intended for her to have it.

  God works in mysterious ways …

  At the bottom of his email is a hyperlink.

  Stopping in my tracks on the sun-soaked sidewalk, I press the link and wait for the website to come up. It’s the digital version of the Times Union Newspaper. My old hometown newspaper in Albany. The piece Father Gabrielle has linked me to bears the headline, “Mayor Erastus Corning Grave Unearthed for Reburial.”

  Glancing at the story I can see that the resting place of the old Albany mayor was excavated on an emergency basis after flood waters from some recent severe rainstorms threatened to erode the entire burial site. While a new plot has not yet been chosen by the surviving Corning family, the remains of Mr. Corning are said to be stored in an undisclosed location.

  Accompanying the story is a photo. The big monument bearing the full-sized Maltese cross and its angelic bronze lady has been removed, the ground beneath it all dug up. There’s nothing left. Nothing to indicate that a body was ever buried there, much less the mortal remains of Jesus.

  I find myself smiling, laughing.

  So I didn’t imagine seeing Jesus after all. And naturally, my having tracked down the true bones of Christ did not go unnoticed by the Vatican and those who shall remain anonymous but who bear most of the power in this world. The political and religious leaders. The spinners and the puppeteers … The cave painters … Those men and women who, through the centuries, have created the things we believe in and the rules we live and die by. The things that give us hope, true or false … The things that give meaning to our mortal lives.

  Pocketing the smartphone, I resume my walk back to my studio apartment above the Italian restaurant. It’s time to get to work on my new novel.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Vincent Zandri is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of more than sixteen novels, including The Innocent, Godchild, The Remains, Moonlight Falls, and The Shroud Key. A freelance photojournalist and traveler, he is also the author of the blog The Vincent Zandri Vox. He lives in New York and Florence, Italy. For more, go to http://www.vincentzandri.com/.