Carolina Moon

packed?”
    “That’s right. Her clothes in it, and some of his. She knew he was coming. We’re checking the phone records. Gotta figure he called her, and she gave him the lay of the land. She wasn’t what you’d call cooperative with the police ‘round these parts.”
    And he blamed her, though she was dead as Eve, for the murder of his man.
    “Mr. Mooney going to be up to doing a next-of-kin ID on her?”
    “Yeah.” Carl D. rubbed his mouth again. “He’ll do it. You inform the deceased’s mother yet?”
    “No. I was going to handle that back at the office.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do that, Sheriff Bridger. Not wanting to step on your ground here, but she knows me.”
    “You’re welcome to that part of the job. It ain’t one I relish.”
    “Fine then. I’ll take J.R. on by his mama’s. It’ll be easier for them that way.”
    “All right. He’s a cop killer now, Chief Russ. If it gives your friend there any comfort, you let him know that bastard won’t be able to run far enough or fast enough.”
    “You keep me up-to-date, Sheriff, and I’ll do the same. I got the federals coming tomorrow or the day after. They’ll want to pay you a call.”
    “Welcome to. But this is my turf, and that was my man they carried away in a bag this morning.” Bridger spat on the ground. “Bodeen better pray to his almighty God the feds get to him before I do.”
    Miles away, Hannibal Bodeen tore into a pork chop. He’d gotten it, along with bread and cheese and a bottle of Jim Beam, from a house he’d broken into. It had been simple enough, with the family gone off to church. He’d watched them stroll out of the house in their fancy Sunday clothes and pile into a shiny minivan. Hypocrites. Going to church to show off their material goods. Into the house of the Lord to flaunt themselves.
    God would punish them, just like he punished all the proud and pompous. And God had provided, he thought, as he gnawed the pork bone clean.
    He’d found plenty of food in that big house. Meat wrapped up from last night’s dinner. Enough to restore his body. And drink to sustain him in his hour of need. This was his trial, his test, this wandering in the wilderness.
    He tossed the bone aside and took a long drink from the bottle.
    For a time he’d despaired. Why was he being punished, a righteous man? Then it all came clear. He was to be tested, he was to prove his worthiness. God had shouldered him with temptation, time and time again. There had been times he’d been weak, times he’d succumbed. But now he was given this chance.
    Satan had lived in his house, under his roof, for eighteen years. He had done his best to drive the devil out, but he had failed. He would not fail again.
    He lifted the bottle, let the heat of the whiskey strengthen him. Soon, very soon, he would complete the task that had been given him. He would rest, he would pray. Then the way would be shown to him.
    He closed his eyes and curled up to sleep. The Lord provided, he thought, and laid his hand over the gun tucked beside him.

27
    T ory watched Chief Russ’s car drive slowly down her lane, make the turn onto the road to Progress. She sat where she had since her uncle had told her about her mother, where she’d lowered herself inch by inch into the old rocker on the front porch.
    It was her stillness that worried Cade. Her stillness, and her silence.
    “Tory, come on inside and lie down awhile.”
    “I don’t want to lie down. I’m all right. I wish I weren’t so all right. I wish I felt more than I do. There’s a blankness inside me where there should be grief. I’m trying to write something on it, and I can’t. What am I that I can’t feel grief for my own mother?”
    “Don’t push yourself.”
    “I felt more grief and pity for Sherry Bellows. A woman I met once. I felt more shock and horror for a stranger than I do for my own blood. I looked in my uncle’s eyes and I could see the pain there, the sadness. But it’s not in me. I’ve got no tears for her.”
    “Maybe you’ve shed enough of them already.”
    “Something’s missing inside me.”
    “No, it’s not.” He came around now, knelt in front of her. “She stopped being part of your life. It’s easier to mourn a stranger than it is someone who should have been part of you, and wasn’t.”
    “My mother is dead. They believe my father killed her. And the question in my mind, most prominently in my mind at this moment, is why do you want to