The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1)

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  With a smile, she tugged the passenger door open and leaned inside to dig through the contents of her purse, scattered across the floor. Snagging her phone, she pushed a button and groaned in frustration at the empty screen.

  “Damn it!” she hollered, voice bouncing inside the car as laughter again burbled in her chest, spilling over at the absurdity of her situation. How much leverage would her twins have, now that she was in the same situation they’d been in, but one worse since she had a flat tire? It wasn’t smart to let two teenage boys get one up on a parent, that much she knew.

  Never one to accept defeat while wearing a comfortable pair of shoes, Evelyn scraped her purse and its contents together, pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the car. She locked the doors and stood quietly on the asphalt, enjoying the release of the sun’s collected warmth as the road cooled. Suddenly she turned and unlocked the car, pulled two dollar bills from her wallet, and flattened them on the car seat. “For the cuss bucket,” she whispered.

  She relocked the car and with a great huff, slung her purse over her shoulder and marched toward Arcadia, white shoes and trousers flashing against the road’s surface, pace slowing as she caught sight of a lone headlight weaving toward her. She was still on the far side of the bridge and trotted forward, waving her arms to make sure they saw her in time to stop. But the motorcycle slowed and arced gracefully into the trees before reaching the bridge.

  “Come on! Just one break tonight,” she demanded of the wide, silent sky. “Just one!” She watched as a star shot across the heavens, directing her to town. “Fine,” she muttered, hoisting her purse and trudging toward the spot where the single taillight had disappeared. “I’ll do it myself.”

  CHAPTER 83

  “I’VE GOT HIM,” PORKY said, voice broken by static. “He’s headed west out of downtown.”

  “Is he still in that old pickup?” Munk asked, adjusting the radio’s volume.

  “Yeah.”

  “Anybody with him?”

  “Not that I could see.”

  “Good. I’ll have Truman call the patrol boys and tell them to drop back. They’re itching to pull him over because the pickup’s plates aren’t registered. Mitch, you getting this?”

  “Affirmative.”

  The radio was silent for several minutes and Cass fidgeted in the seat beside Mitch. They were in his truck waiting at a spot on the south side of town, watching as the minimal evening traffic flowed past.

  Porky spoke again. “He’s turned into the shopping center and parked in front of the grocery store.”

  Mitch cast a glance at Cass. “What’s he doing?”

  “Supplies?”

  Mitch thumbed the radio’s microphone. “Is he going in?”

  “Yes, to that little card shop in the corner. What should I do?”

  “Park among a bunch of cars, but make sure you can see the card shop’s front door. Jerome?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Park away from where our friend is parked, then go in the shop and keep an eye on him, just in case he tries to go out the back. Browse, and don’t approach him.”

  Munk’s voice broke through the gentle hiss of static on the radio. “Truman and I are taking one turn through the parking lot. Jerome’s inside.” He paused. “Porky, I see your car. That’s a good place to wait. Sit tight.”

  Mitch adjusted the radio’s volume and shifted in the driver’s seat to look at Cass. “Why a card shop?”

  “Meeting a fellow freak? Buying ‘you’re special’ cards for the other child molesters that’ll be there tonight?”

  Mitch’s chuckle was cut short by the sound of Porky’s voice over the radio. “Here he comes.”

  “Does he have anything with him?” Mitch asked.

  “A plastic bag.”

  “Can you tell what’s in it?”

  “It’s small. Like they give you when you buy a card. Looks flat and like it doesn’t weigh much.”

  Mitch nodded at Cass. “Guess you were right about the cards.”

  “He’s getting into his truck,” Porky said. “Jerome’s just coming out of the shop now. What do we do?”

  “Start following again, but keep lagging behind. Munk?” Mitch asked. “Where are y’all?”

  “We’ve headed south and are tucked into a dirt road off the Loop in case he comes this way.”

  “Stay put until we hear different.”

  Jerome’s voice broke through the light static. “Porky’s following him out of the parking lot. Looks like they’re going west out of town. What should I do?”

  “Fall in and keep Porky in sight. What happened in the card shop?”

  “He just browsed for a couple of minutes and went to the register. I didn’t see what he bought.”

  “No problem. Munk?”

  “We’re headed back to town,” Munk said.

  Cass’s frown was barely visible in the dim dashboard lights. “West doesn’t make sense. Not if The Sanctuary is in the river bottoms.”

  “You’re right,” Mitch answered. “He should be going east or south.”

  “Uh, Mitch?” Porky said.

  “Go ahead, Porky.”

  “He’s about a mile out of town and he’s slowing down.”

  “Drive on by,” Mitch instructed. “Let us know what you see in your rearview.”

  “He’s turning around. Toward town. Jerome, are you still back there?”

  “I am,” he answered. “I see him turning around. You’re about to crest a hill, is that right?”

  “Yeah,” Porky said.

  “Is there anybody coming toward you on the other side of that hill?”

  “Nope.”

  “Mitch?” Jerome asked. “Is it okay for Porky to turn around and come back to town? If there’s nobody else on the road, we shouldn’t lose him. I’ll do the same if it’s okay.”

  “No problem, but switch places. Jerome, you go first and Porky, you follow. He’s probably checking his tail. Just hang back.”

  Jerome spoke again after a few minutes. “He’s turning south on the Loop.”

  “I see him,” Munk said. “And you, Jerome. That’s a perfect distance. We’ll wait for Porky to make the turn onto the Loop and then follow.”

  “Let us know when he crosses the rail road tracks,” Mitch instructed.

  The radio was silent for several minutes before Jerome spoke again. “He’s just crossed the tracks. Hang on a minute. He’s exiting the Loop. Yeah, he’s going south. Should I keep following?”

  “Switch again. Jerome, you pull into the gas station like you’re going to fill up. Porky, you take the lead in following our friend. Jerome, after Porky passes the station, you fall back in again. We’re just pulling up to the light at the Loop. We’ll follow you, and Munk and Truman will follow us. Clear?” Mitch asked.

  A round of affirmative answers sputtered across the radio. It spat soft static while the cars moved into position.

  “Mitch?” Porky asked. “Did you see the car between me and him? You want me to catch up with him?”

  “Just hang back,” Mitch instructed. “Let’s see where he goes. Me and Cass are falling in behind Jerome. We’re about three cars back, no more than a mile.”

  “– turning!” Porky cried. “Can you see him?”

  “Is that FM 323?” Mitch asked.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Good work Porky, drop him and keep going. Circle around to my house if you have time. Darla’s got brownies in the oven and some fancy coffee brewing.”

  “Grey told me I was on call tonight. Sugar and caffeine are just what I need.”

  Mitch chuckled. “Is he expecting new bodies in the morgue?”

  “He’s a cautious man. Just make sure it’s not one of yours now, y’all hear?”

  “Amen. See you later, Porky. Jerome, it’s your turn.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll turn in after him.”

  “Give him some space, but keep your eyes on his taillights.”

  �
��Where are you gonna be?”

  “We’re passing 323 now, but we’ll do a u-turn and follow you. I’ll cut the lights before we make the turn, so don’t worry if you can’t see us. If you need anything, pick up the radio.” Mitch watched in his rearview mirror as Jerome turned smoothly off the highway. “Munk?”

  “I saw him.”

  “Drive past and do a u-turn behind us, then follow us in.”

  “Roger. You think it’s wise to cut your lights?”

  “Why?” Mitch asked, slowing down as he neared an opening in the highway median. He waited for several approaching cars to pass, and then swung through a u-turn and headed north.

  “He might not be the last in.”

  Mitch glanced at Cass. “He’s got a point.”

  “No lights,” she said, white teeth flashing against her darkened face. “Don’t give ’em a chance.”

  “All right,” he answered, thumbing the radio mike. “Munk, we’ll be dark. Give us a good thirty seconds before turning in, but keep your headlights on.”

  “Roger.”

  Mitch glanced at Cass’s troubled face as he turned onto 323 and doused his headlights. “What?”

  “Where did Jed Salter leave his kid, Brian? They were coming camping together.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind about bringing the kid, or the boy got sick or something. Either way, it’s better that he’s not out here.”

  “How’s Sheriff Hoffner?”

  “Unhappy with the whole thing.”

  “Is he monitoring us?”

  He nodded. “I told him we’d use a quiet channel, hope nobody picks us up.”

  “You ready for this?”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine what they’ll be into out there, can you?”

  “No, but I’m prepared to see anything. Men and men, men and girls. Whatever.”

  “I hope they’re just dancing around a bonfire, maybe biting the heads off of chickens. I can handle something like that. But the other…” A shiver ran through his body. “I don’t know.”

  Jerome’s voice broke through the steady hum of static. “Munk? Mitch?”

  “Go ahead,” Munk said.

  “He’s turning in before the Sabine River.”

  “Where Blackie’s clearing is, south side of the road?” Mitch asked.

  “Before that, and on the north side. I’m just passing now.” Jerome’s voice paused and static filled the silence. “I don’t see any tail lights in there, but that’s where he went. It’s barely a dirt trail. Anything else I can do?”

  “Nope. Go back to my house and drop off your car. If you’ve got time, have a brownie or two.”

  “I just might do that.” After a moment, the radio clicked again through the static. “Y’all? There’s another car out here.”

  “Where?”

  “Parked on the other side of the bridge, headed toward town. Nobody in it. What do you want me to do?”

  “Keep going. See you at the house later, all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Over and out,” he chuckled into the mike, a throaty sound. “I always wanted to say that.”

  “Munk?” Mitch asked, watching Jerome’s taillights disappear down the dark road. “You there?”

  “Yup. I caught it all. What are you going to do?”

  “Drive by, spot the place where he turned off, and go check out this car.”

  “Truman says there’s a county road just ahead, maybe three quarters of a mile before we hit the bridge. We’ll park and wait to hear from you.”

  Mitch rolled down the dark road, eyes following the verge, looking for a break in the tree line. Cass leaned toward the dash, twisting to see past him into the night. “There.” She pointed at a smudge of sandy road that vanished between dense brush. “See it?”

  He maintained his speed, watching the odometer until they reached the bridge. He lifted the radio’s mike. “Munk? The turnoff is on the north side of the road, three-tenths of a mile before the Sabine River. We’ll pass the car shortly. Got that?”

  “Yup.”

  Moonlight glittered on the silvery Sabine River. The bridge rose slightly and blocked their view until they reached the middle, where only yesterday Cass and Truman had dangled their legs over its side. No lights were visible along the eastern riverbank. “Car’s on the north side,” Mitch grunted. “Get the plates and type them in.” He was silent as they approached the car and slowed as she wrote the number down. Stretching up from the driver’s seat, he peered down into the vehicle. “Big Oldsmobile. I didn’t see anybody in the car. But,” he squinted at the moonlit road, “it’s got a flat. Find anything?”

  Cass typed quickly on the portable computer under Mitch’s dash. “It’s Evelyn Grove’s car. Isn’t she Munk’s sister?”

  “They live out this way?”

  She shrugged, reaching for the radio and explaining the situation to Munk.

  “A big gray Olds?” he asked.

  “It could be gray.”

  “All right,” he sighed into the radio. “Somebody must’ve come to pick her up. There’s no way she’d change a flat tire. I’ll make some calls and make sure she got home okay.”

  Mitch continued over a small hill before pulling to a stop on the side of the quiet road. Since they had turned off the main highway, they’d seen only Salter’s vehicle plus the chase cars, and now Evelyn Grove’s. Headlights still off, he checked his rearview mirror and swung the truck in a wide u-turn, heading back toward the bridge.

  “What now?” Cass asked.

  “Check out the western side of the river as we clear the bridge. They’ve got to have some light this time of night.”

  She lowered the window and the gentle hiss of tires on asphalt and then concrete drowned out the radio’s static. A spring breeze caught the open window, carrying with it a quiet snicking as the truck passed over seams in the bridge. She squinted at the dark line of trees nudging against the river. “Nothing specific,” she said in a low voice, pointing through the open window, “but there’s a glow back where Salter turned in.”

  The tires found asphalt again and Mitch cut sharply into the woods, pulling onto the narrow trail Blackie had taken them down Tuesday. Wispy pine branches slithered along the truck’s side and Cass raised the window. Mitch rolled to a stop after about twenty feet and cut the engine.

  “What if we’ve got it wrong?” she asked, eyes digging into the dark forest, fingers linked in a tight knot.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if those pictures are nothing to do with this cult? What if they really are just a bunch of men who get together for some pseudo-Christian rituals every now and again? What if there are no kids?”

  Mitch twisted in his seat to face her, one arm crooked over the steering wheel, blackened face drawn in the moonlight. “Why are you having doubts now?”

  “Every bit of it is circumstantial. We don’t have one shred of evidence linking anyone to The Church, or to those photographs.” She dug her fingers into her hair, scraping it tighter into its clasp at her neck. “This could be an almighty shit storm.”

  Mitch chuckled, teeth flashing in the dark.

  “What?”

  “You sounded like Sheriff Hoffner just then.” He looked through the truck’s back window, toward the main road. “You’re right. We have nothing absolute about those photographs, or about Garrett’s death. But this is the only lead we’ve got. We’ll take a peek at what they’re up to. If it’s nothing more than a bunch of middle aged dudes greasing themselves up and dancing around a fire, we’ll just back out, okay?”

  Cass nodded and Mitch picked up the mike.

  “Munk?”

  “He’s on the phone,” Truman replied. “What’s up?”

  “We’re parked across the road from the turn in, pulled back on Blackie’s trail. We’ll walk down the path that our friend took and see what’s going on.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “Cross the bridge and pull in behind Evelyn Grove’s
car, headlights only. It won’t look strange if a patrol car is checking out an abandoned vehicle. Hang there until we call.” Mitch paused. “Has Munk found his sister?”

  “Not yet. He’s trying his nephews’ cell phones now.”

  “We’ll use your cell as the primary point of contact for now.”

  “Roger. Cell reception is –”

  “Mitch,” a sharp voice barked through the radio.

  “Sheriff? You’ve followed everything?”

  “All of it.”

  “What did you need?”

  “I can’t find Mayor Rusted.”

  “Sir?” Mitch asked, gripping the steering wheel in frustration.

  “I’m getting ready to talk to the press and I can’t find him.”

  Mitch lowered his head to the steering wheel as Cass’s eyes snapped wide. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now, sir.”

  “I don’t have a choice. The networks are here – FOX, CNN, ABC, CBS. All of them. Mayor Rusted wouldn’t miss a chance like this.”

  “I can’t help you, sir. I don’t know where he is.”

  “You might find him before too long,” Sheriff Hoffner said, voice faint through the static. “His wife said he was out at a meeting tonight. When I pressed her on what meeting, where it was, she started to cry.” He sighed into the radio. “Good Lord, I’m afraid he might be part of all this.”

  CHAPTER 84

  ANTICIPATION CRACKLED THROUGH CASS’S nerves and her senses responded with a jump in perception. To her sensitive ears, the night roared with the rustle of unseen creatures snuffling through the undergrowth and the tremble of soft wings across the sky. They had chosen their location wisely, this Church. After leaving the farm-to-market road, the dirt track doglegged sharply and bumped away from the river. Massive evergreen shrubs sagged against a path barely wide enough for a pickup and blocked further view of a vehicle from the road. Anyone turning in would sense only abandon, and the narrow trail was gouged deeply enough from the wash of rainwater to discourage further investigation at the risk of shocks and suspension. Cass and Mitch crept through the thin moonlight, testing with their feet to find the gullies and bumps, inching around jagged cuts in the earth’s surface when a crack was too wide to step across, slinking along either side of the trail like shadowy wraiths.