Divine Evil

important.”
    “I find lots of things. I find them all the time.” She smiled with her old, guileless eyes. “Do you want another cookie?”
    “What are you going to do now?” Clare asked as they drove away from Annie's trailer.
    “Call the Jamisons.”
    She reached out to touch his arm and knocked the metal file to the floor. “It's too bad she couldn't remember where she found it.”
    “There's no telling what she remembers. You were a big help, Clare. I appreciate it.”
    “I wish we'd found the girl instead of the bracelet.”
    “So do I.”
    Clare turned to stare out of the window. “You don't think you're going to find her.”
    “There's no evidence—”
    “I'm not talking about evidence.” She looked back. “I'm talking about instinct. I could see it in your face when you put the bracelet in your pocket.”
    “No, I don't think I'm going to find her. I don't think anyone's going to find her.”
    They drove the rest of the way in silence. In thedrive-way they got out of opposite sides of the car. She went to him, sliding her arms around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder.
    “Why don't you come in, let me fix you some coffee and a couple of eggs?”
    “I like the thought of you cooking for me.”
    “I guess I kind of like it myself.”
    “I've got work, Slim.” He kissed the top of her head before he broke the embrace. “I'm going to have to settle for carry-out from Martha's.”
    “I'll be around when you're finished.”
    “I'm counting on it.”
    Clare waited until she had waved him off before turning to go into the house. She followed the sound of voices into the kitchen.
    “I don't like it,” Angie insisted. “When it happens that often, it's deliberate.
    “What?” Clare pushed through the door and studied the trio around the kitchen table. “Something going on?”
    “Where's Cam?” Angie countered.
    “He's going back to his office. Why?”
    “Angle's a little spooked.” Blair guzzled coffee and tried to clear his brain. The hangover was down to a miserable thud-bump-thud. “The phone rang last night.”
    “The phone rang three separate times last night,” she corrected. “And each time I answered, whoever it was hung up.”
    “Kids,” Clare decided and headed to the coffeepot.
    “One kid, maybe.” Angie tapped her foot in agitation. “That kid across the street.”
    “Ernie?” With a sigh, Clare leaned back against the counter and sipped her coffee. “Why would you think that?”
    “The second time it happened, I got up. There was a light on in the top window of his house.”
    “For God's sake, Angie.”
    “Yesterday at the parade, he was staring at you.”
    “That's it then. I guess we'll have to drag him out in the street and shoot him.”
    “Don't take it lightly,” Jean-Paul told her. “The boy is trouble.”
    “The boy is just that. A boy.”
    “He's toying with Satanism,” Jean-Paul insisted, and Blair choked on his coffee.
    “What?”
    “Ernie's got a pentagram,” Clare said, “and Jean-Paul's seeing demons.”
    “I see a troubled, and perhaps dangerous, boy,” the Frenchman said tightly.
    “Hold on.” Blair held up a hand. “What's this about a pentagram?”
    “An inverted pentagram.” Jean-Paul frowned over his coffee. “The boy wears it, flaunts it. And he watches Clare.”
    Blair set his cup aside and rose. “Clare, I think you should talk to Cam about this.”
    “Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing to talk about. And God knows Cam has enough to do without adding demon-busting to the list. I'm going to work.” The screen slammed behind her.
    “How much do you know about Satanism?” Blair asked Jean-Paul.
    “Only what I read in the papers—enough to make me uneasy about this boy.”
    “Tell him about the cat,” Angie insisted, glancing toward the garage.
    “What cat?”
    She leaned forward, hurrying on before Jean-Paul had a chance to explain. “Someone left a dead cat—a headless cat—outside the back door. Clare insists it was dragged there by some stray dog, but I don't think so—it wasn't mangled.” She sent an uneasy glance toward her husband. “Jean-Paul looked it over when he—when he got rid of it.”
    “It was decapitated,” he told Blair. “Not mauled, as an animal might do. Beheaded.”
    Nodding grimly, Blair rose. “Keep an eye on her. I need to make some calls.”

Chapter 20
    “W HY THE HELL didn't she tell me?” Cam demanded when Blair sat across from him in the sheriff's