Emerson glanced at Larry. “He does have an imposing presence.”
“I try to keep fit,” Larry said.
“Now what?” Riley asked.
“We’re disappearing,” Emerson said. “And we’re going on the hunt. I intend to find the missing gold. Larry has agreed to help us.”
“Yep, I’m coming out of retirement to do some chauffeuring for Emerson. Just like old times.”
“Us?” Riley asked Emerson. “Like, you and me?”
“Of course,” Emerson said. “You can’t continue at Blane-Grunwald. They’re trying to kill you. And since you’re unemployed, I’ll hire you. You can be my apprentice.”
“Your apprentice what?”
“Whatever I am.”
“Criminy.”
“Ask him for two weeks’ paid vacation,” Larry said.
“Vacation is a dated concept,” Emerson said. “No one of any consequence takes a vacation.”
“What about all those trips you took to commune with the Siddhar?” Riley asked.
“I didn’t have a job, therefore they weren’t vacations. They were extensions of my life experience.”
Riley returned to the refrigerator and pulled out the loaf of bread, the ham, the cheese, and the mustard. Her life experience told her she was hungry.
“Were you able to retrieve any of my things?” Riley asked Emerson. “My phone? My wallet?”
“All safely locked away at the Carlyle. If we’re going to go off the grid we must do so completely. No more cellphones. No more Internet. No more credit cards. Nothing that can leave a footprint in cyberspace.”
“I feel like a fugitive.”
“Quite the opposite, but I see the comparison,” Emerson said.
Riley made three sandwiches, wrapped them in aluminum foil, and handed them over to Emerson. She went to her bedroom, threw some underwear and other basic essentials into a small backpack, and returned to the kitchen.
“What about my broken window?” she asked.
“After I do my chauffeuring I can come back and fix the door and the window,” Larry said.
Larry steered his Honda Civic down a back road that ran parallel with Rock Creek Park and turned in to an isolated cemetery. It was a boneyard straight out of an old black-and-white horror movie, filled with mausoleums, tombstones, and weird statues. It was built on a slope that dipped down into the wilderness of the park, and Larry drove down the rutted, bumpy road to the furthest edge of the burial ground.
They stopped in front of an old, lichen-covered monument that read KNIGHT in bold letters.
“Holy moly, it’s a family crypt,” Riley said.
“Yes, but I don’t plan to be buried here,” Emerson said, getting out of the car. “I’m going to be stuffed and put on display in my parlor.”
“You’re joking this time, right?”
“Maybe.”
Emerson walked to the Knight memorial and knelt at the foot of a statue of a shrouded woman dressed in flowing robes, her face turned down in sorrow. Riley got out of the Civic and took a closer look at the statue. It was haunting and oddly erotic at the same time. A cold breeze rattled the leaves of a nearby oak tree, and Riley zipped her sweatshirt up to her neck.
“She’s beautiful,” Riley said, looking at the statue.