Divine Evil

less official and more like a visit.”
    “All right. I'll drive.”
    “Be my guest. The keys are in it.” She took the bracelet back, settled in the passenger seat, and began to file. “What will you do after you get the bracelet from her?”
    He backed out of the drive. “Hope to God she canremember where she found it. Then I'll call the Jamisons. They'll have to identify it.”
    “It must be awful for them. Not knowing where she is, how she is.”
    If she is, Cam thought.
    Annie's trailer was on the edge of town, on a small, overgrown plot of land known as Muddy Ridge. No one knew why, since the soil was so thin and the rocks so plentiful that there hadn't been any appreciable mud there since the summer of seventy-two, when Hurricane Agnes had hit.
    But Muddy Ridge it was, and the scattering of trailers that shared it accepted the title with a kind of pride.
    At this hour, on a Sunday, the only inhabitants out and about were a pair of slack-hipped, skinny dogs busy holding a pissing contest on the tires of a pickup. From one of the trailers came the slick, oily voice of a broadcast evangelist, selling God.
    There was no mistaking Annie's trailer. She had painted one side of it a bright purple with some paint she'd found in the dumpster behind the hardware store. The rest of it was a faded metallic green, with the exception of the steps Davey Reeder had recently repaired and which Annie had painted a violent yellow. The result was a visual rendering of indigestion, but Annie loved it.
    “I remember the last time I was here,” Clare said. “It was just before Thanksgiving, when I was—oh—fourteen, fifteen, and I rode out with my mother to deliver some pumpkin pies.” She set the file down on the armrest between them. “Do you know what I love about this town, Cam? People take care of their Annies, and they don't even think about it. They just do it.”
    Clare slipped the bracelet into her pocket. They couldhear Annie singing “Amazing Grace” inside the trailer. Her voice in the still morning air was haunting, and so much truer, purer, than the practiced rise and fall of the evangelist's.
    “Wait.” Clare put a hand on his arm before Cam could knock. “Let her finish.”
    “ I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind, but now I see.′ ”
    Cam knocked on the metal door. He noted that the screen had holes in it and made a mental note to have it repaired before summer. There were sounds of shuffling and murmuring inside before Annie opened the door, blinked, then beamed.
    “Hello. Hello.” She had put on one blouse over another, and some of the buttons from the bottom one were pushed through the holes of the one on top. Her tennis shoes were neatly tied, and her arms and chest clinked with jewelry. “You can come in. You can come right on in and sit down.”
    “Thank you, Annie.” Cam stepped through the doorway. The trailer was crammed with boxes and bags. The white Formica counter separating the kitchen and living space was covered with treasures—shiny rocks, plastic prizes from boxes of Cracker Jacks, empty bottles of perfume and Listerine.
    The walls were alive with pictures that had been carefully cut from magazines. Springsteen rocked beside a kindly-faced Barbara Bush. Christie Brinkley flashed a winning smile next to a fading portrait of the Suprêmes in spit curls and pale lipstick.
    They were her friends, her companions, from Princess Di to an anonymous model for clean, shiny hair.
    “You can sit,” Annie told them. “Sit anywhere you want. I have some Cherry Smash and some Oreos.”
    “That's nice.” Clare chose a faded floral cushion while Cam ducked under a Mickey Mouse wind chime. “But you don't have to bother.”
    “I like company.” Annie arranged cookies in a circular pattern on a chipped plate, then poured the sweet cherry drink into three plastic cups. “Mrs. Negley came and brought me some books. I like to look at the pictures.” With the grace of habit, she moved around the boxes to serve the drinks. “You can have more.”
    “This'll be fine,” Cam told her. “Why don't you sit down with us?”
    “I have to get the cookies first. You're always supposed to offer company something to eat. My mama said.” After setting the plate on a box, she settled. “Did you like the parade yesterday?”
    “Yes.” Clare smiled at her. “I liked it very much.”
    “The music was good. Good and loud. I wish we could have a parade every day. Afterwards I went to