Divine Evil

by Nora Roberts

  “Sure. My life.” He kicked a chair over. “It's my life. You didn't give me a choice when we moved here, either. Because it would be ‘good’ for me.”

  “Your father and I thought it would. We thought it would be good for all of us.”

  “Yeah. It's just great. You take me away from all of my friends and stick me in some hick town where all the kids talk about is shooting deer and raising pigs. And men go around killing women.”

  “What are you talking about?” She laid a hand on his arm, but he jerked away. “Ernie, I know that woman was attacked, and it was terrible. But she wasn't killed. Things like that don't happen here.”

  “You don't know anything.” His face was dead white now, his eyes bitter and wet. “You don't know anything about this town. You don't know anything about me.”

  “I know I love you, and I worry about you. Maybe I've been spending too much time at the restaurant and not enough with you, just talking. Sit down now. Sit down with me and let's talk this out.”

  “It's too late.” He covered his face with his hands and began to weep as she hadn't seen him weep in years.

  “Oh, baby. Honey, come here. Tell me what I can do.”

  But when she put her arms around him, he jerked away. His eyes weren't bitter any longer, but wild. “It's too late. I made a choice. I already made it, and it's too late to go back. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone, that's what you're best at.”

  He stumbled out of the house and ran. The louder she called after him, the faster he ran.

  Chapter 24

  CLARE PUT THE FINISHING TOUCHES on her sculpture of Alice. It would be the first piece for the women's wing at the Betadyne. It showed grace, competence, fortitude, and quiet determination. She could think of few better qualities in a woman.

  She glanced up once when she heard Ernie's tires scream on the pavement as he roared down the street. Her brow furrowed as she heard his mother calling him. Before Sally had told her about the telescope, Clare would have been tempted to drive after him herself, to try to soothe and smooth over.

  Don't get involved, she told herself as she went back to her work. If she hadn't gotten involved in the first place, she wouldn't feel odd and uneasy every time she pulled down the bedroom shade.

  And she had problems of her own. Contracts and commissions, a relationship that had zoomed out of control, a damn luncheon speech. She blew the hair out of her eyes and looked at her watch. Plus she had to tell Cam about the phrase Lisa had remembered.

  Where the hell was he?

  She'd gone directly by the sheriff's office on her way back from the hospital, but he hadn't been there. She'd called his house, and he hadn't answered. Out preserving law and order, she supposed, and smiled a little. She'd see him in a few hours in any case, when they were both off duty.

  Clare turned off her torch and stepped back. Not bad, she thought, narrowing her eyes. Excitement began to stir as she pushed her goggles up. No, it wasn't bad at all. Perhaps it wouldn't be exactly what Alice had had in mind since the female form was elongated, exaggerated, the features anonymous. It was Everywoman, which was exactly what Clare thought she might title it. The four arms might throw Alice off a bit, but to Clare they symbolized a woman's ability to do her duties simultaneously, and with the same cool-handed style.

  “What's that supposed to be?” Blair asked from behind her and made her jolt. “A skinny rendition of the goddess Kali?”

  “No. Kali had six arms. I think.” Clare pulled off goggles and skullcap. “It's Alice.”

  Blair lifted a brow. “Sure it is. I could see that right away.”

  “Peasant.”

  “Weirdo.” But his smile faded quickly when he stepped into the garage, a stack of books in his hands. “Clare, what's all this?”

  One glance had her cheeks heating. “You've been poking around in my room. I thought we settled the privacy issue when we were ten.”

  “The phone rang while I was upstairs. Your bedroom phone is the closest.”

  “I didn't realize I'd put the phone in my nightstand drawer.”

  “I was looking for a pad. I'm doing some research for Cam, and I needed to write something down. But that's not the issue, is it?”

  She took the books from him and dropped them on a workbench. “My reading material is my business.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “That's not an answer.”

  “It's my answer.”

  “Clare, this isn't a matter of my peeking into your diary and finding out you have a crush on the captain of the football team.”

  “It was the tight end.” She tried to shrug away, but he held firm. “Blair, I've got work to do.”

  He gave her a quick shake that was both affectionate and impatient. “Listen, I thought it was what's going on between you and Cam that had you so nervous and upset.”

  “Just nervous,” she corrected. “Not upset.”

  “No, I can see that. But I knew something was bothering you the minute I got here. Why do you think I stayed?”

  “Because you're addicted to the way I burn hamburgers.”

  “I hate the way you burn hamburgers.”

  “You ate two last night.”

  “Which should give you a clue to how much I love you. Now where did you get the books?”

  The anger went out of her. He could see it melt out of her eyes until they were dark and damp. “They were Dad's.”

  “Dad's?” His fingers went limp on her shoulders. Whatever he had suspected, whatever he had feared, it had never been this. “What do you mean they were Dad's?”

  “I found them in the attic, in the boxes Mom stored away. She'd saved most of his books and some other things. His gardening shirt and his—his broken compass. The rocks he'd collected when he took that trip to the Grand Canyon. Blair, I thought she'd gotten rid of everything.”

  “So did I.” He felt like a child again, confused, vulnerable, sad. “Let's sit down.”

  They sat on the half step between the kitchen and the garage. “It always seemed, after he died, that she just—put it all behind her. You know.” Clare gripped her hands together, holding them between her knees. “I resented that, the way she picked up and went on. I knew—in my head I knew—that she had so many things to deal with. The business falling apart, the awful scandal with the shopping center. The fact that even though it was ruled an accident, everyone wondered if he'd jumped. She just handled everything so well. In my heart I hated her for it.”

  He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “She had us to worry about, too.”

  “I know. I know that. It just seemed that she never stumbled, you know? She never faltered or fell apart, so a part of me always wondered if she'd ever really cared. Then I found all those things, the way she'd boxed them up so carefully, keeping all those little junky things that had meant so much to him. I realized, I think I realized, how she might have felt when she'd done it. I wished she'd let me help her.”

  “You weren't in any shape to help. It was worse for you, Clare. You found him. I never saw …” He shut his eyes a moment and leaned his head against hers. “Neither did Mom. We all lost him, but you were the only one who had to see. She stayed up with you all that first night.”

  Clare looked back at him, then down at her feet. “I didn't know.”

  “Doc Crampton sedated you, but you kept calling out in your sleep. And crying.” When she lifted a hand to Blair, he gripped it hard. “She sat by the bed all night. Everything happened so fast after that. The funeral, then the story breaking about the kickbacks.”

  “I wish I understood. I wish I understood any of it.”

  They sat silently for a moment, hip to hip. “Tell me about the books.”

  “I found them upstairs. You know how Dad used to read anything—everything.” She was talking too fast and rose, hoping to slow herself down. “Religion was a kind of obsession with him. The way he was raised …”

  “I know.” Obsessions. Rebellions. Power. Good God.
>
  “Well, he just devoured stuff like that. From Martin Luther to Buddha and everything in between. I guess he was just trying to figure out what was right. If anything was right. It doesn't mean anything.”

  He rose as well, to take both of her nervous hands. “Have you told Cam?”

  “Why should I?” Panic sprang into her voice. “It doesn't have anything to do with him.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing. I'm not afraid of anything. I don't even know why we're talking about this. I'm just going to put the books back in the attic.”

  “Cam's working on the theory that Biff's death and the attack on Lisa MacDonald might be tied up with a cult.”

  “That's ridiculous. And even if it has some merit, which it doesn't, it hardly applies to Dad. He's been dead for more than ten years.”

  “Clare, be logical. This is a small, close-knit community. If there's a cult going on in this town and you found a library on Satanism in somebody's house, what conclusion would you draw?”

  “I don't know.” She pulled her hands away. “I don't see that it applies.”

  “We both know that it applies,” he said quietly. “Dad is dead, Clare. He doesn't need you to protect him.”

  “He wouldn't have had anything to do with this kind of thing. Christ, Blair, I read the books, too. I'm not going to go out and sacrifice a virgin.”

  “You sent Cam out to the farm because you'd seen one book in Biff's den.”

  She looked up. “You seem to know a lot about what's going on.”

  “I told you, I'm helping him with research. My point is, you thought that one book was enough to warrant his investigating. And you were right. Do you know what he found?”

  “No.” She wet her lips. “I didn't ask. I don't want to know.”

  “He found evidence that Carly Jamison had been held there.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “He found drugs, too. And his mother told him she'd burned a black cloak, black candles, several pornographic magazines with a Satanic bent. There's no doubt that Biff was involved with some kind of cult. And it takes more than one person to make a cult.”

  “Dad's dead,” she said again. “And when he was alive, he could barely tolerate Biff Stokey You can't honestly believe that our father would have had anything to do with kidnapping young girls.”

  “I wouldn't have believed he'd do anything illegal, either, but I was wrong. We have to face it, Clare. And we have to deal with it.”

  “Don't tell me what I have to deal with.” She turned away.

  “If you don't go to Cam with this, I will.” She shut her eyes tight. “He was your father, too.” “And I loved him as much as you did.” He grabbed her and spun her around. “Damn it, Clare, do you think any of this is easy to take? I hate thinking there's a chance, even a shadow of a chance, that he might have been involved with something like this. But we have to deal with it now. We can't go back and make everything all right. But maybe, just maybe, if we figure it all out, it'll make a difference.”

  “All right.” She covered her face with her hands. When she dropped them, her eyes were cool and dry. “All right. But I'll go to Cam.”

  “I figure she just lit out.” Mick Morgan sipped coffee and nodded at Cam. “You know how she was. Sarah'd get a bug up her butt and do most anything.”

  “Maybe.” Cam kept typing the report. “Seems odd she'd have left the money behind, though. From what her mother told me, she and Sarah had been fighting about Sarah's little sideline. Sarah told her she wasn't going to be making money that way much longer. Claimed she had some deal in the works that was going to set her up.”

  “Could be just talk,” Mick mused. He didn't like the way Cam was latching on to this. He hadn't figured anyone would think twice about Sarah Hewitt leaving town. “Or could be she'd hooked up with something, and that's why she took off. Odds are she'll cruise back into town in a few days.” He set the mug down and sighed. “Women are a mystery to me, Cam, and that's a fact. My wife took off to her mother's for a solid week once ′cause I bitched about her meatloaf. There's no figuring them.”

  “I'll go along with that.” He pulled the sheet out of the typewriter. “But I feel better having the APB out on her. Bud's pretty shook. I might need you to fill in some for the next couple of days.”

  “Sure thing. He's a good kid, Bud is. Never could figure how come his sister never straightened out. Want me to take Bud's route?”

  “Appreciate it. He's staying with his mom. Finish your coffee, though. There's time.”

  “Don't mind if I do.” The chair creaked as he leaned back. “Sure was funny, you finding all that stuff out to the farm. Biff Stokey'd be the last person I'd figure for drugs. Liked his beer, all right, but can't see him sniffing powder up his nose.”

  “Makes me wonder how well we know anyone. You played poker with him, didn't you?”

  “Oh, now and again.” Mick smiled reminiscently “We'd get a group together and get drunk, eat salami sandwiches, and play a quarter limit. Not strictly legal if it comes to it, but nobody squawks about the bingo over at the Catholic church or the tip jars at the firehall on Las Vegas night.”

  “Drugs?”

  The casual question had Mick's brows lifting. “Come on, Cam. You don't think any of those boys would have done that shit around me? Hell, I can't see Roody lighting up a joint. Can you?”

  The image had Cam grinning. “No. Fact is, it's hard to see drugs and murder around here. But we've got both.”

  “I'd say they're tied in. Looks to me like Biff got in over his head and some dealer from the city whiffed him.”

  Cam gave a noncommittal grunt. “I found out something else odd today. Parker and his wife are dead.”

  “Sheriff Parker?” Mick sat up straight. His insides began to tremble. “Jesus, Cam. How'd that happen?”

  “House fire. They were living on a lake in Florida.”

  “Lauderdale.”

  “No.” Cam steepled his hands. “They moved from Lauderdale. In fact, they moved quite a bit last year. Zigzagging around the state.”

  “Itchy feet.”

  “Itchy something. I'm waiting for the police and fire department reports.”

  Mick was seeing Parker where Cam sat now, his belly over his belt, and had to bring himself back. “What for?”

  “I'll know when I see them.” He glanced up as Clare walked in. He shuffled papers on top of the report he'd just typed, then smiled at her. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She didn't quite manage a smile. “Hello, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Hey there. Heard you're working on some big deal with a fancy museum.”

  “Looks that way.” She set the bag of books on the desk. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Nope.” Mick set his mug aside again. One look from Cam had told him the Parker business wasn't for open discussion. “Just chewing the fat.”

  “I'd like to talk to you,” she said to Cam, “if you've got a minute.”

  “I've got a few of them.” He could see trouble on her face and glanced at Mick.

  “Guess I'll be going on, then.” The deputy stood. “I'll check back in at seven.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Nice seeing you, Clare.” He gave her a little pat on the shoulder as he moved by her.

  “You, too.” She waited until he'd closed the door, then dived straight in. “I don't think this means anything. More than that, I don't think it's any of your business. But—”

  “Whoa.” He held up a hand, then took hers. “Should I suit up?”

  “I'm sorry,” she said more calmly. “It's just that I've had a go-around with Blair, and I'm not happy about the outcome.”

  “Want me to go rough him up for you?”

  “No.” This time she did smile a little. “I can do that for myself. Cam, I don't want you to think I was keeping this from you. I felt—still feel—that it's family business.”

  “Why don't you just tell me?”

  Instead, she
took the books out of the bag and set them on his