Divine Evil

held it up, a bit uncomfortable. Everybody knew Biff had fooled around, but it was different when you were the one who found a woman's earring in his toolshed. “I, ah, guess I should bag it.”
    “Yeah. And this, too.” Cam peeled off a bag of cocaine that had been taped to the underside of the worktable.
    “Holy shit, is that what I think it is?”
    Bud's eyes bulged. If Cam had held up a five-headed toad, he'd have been less amazed. “Jesus, Cam, what are you going to tell your mom?”
    “Just tag it, Bud.”
    “Sure. Yeah.” He took the bag, cradling it in his hands as if it were a squirming infant.
    Using his flashlight, Cam crawled on his hands and knees, working every inch of the floor. Mixed with the broken beer bottles he found a thin slice of smoky glass. He held it up and peered through it. Prescription. Carly Jamison had been nearsighted. He shifted through the broken glass and found two more pieces.
    When they'd finished the search, he stepped out into the sunlight. “Did you bring the Jamison girl's picture?”
    “Sure, like you said. It's in the car.”
    “You go ahead and dust for prints.”
    “Sure.” Bud brightened instantly. It was something he practiced religiously and rarely got to put into use. “I'll get right on it.”
    Cam took the photograph out of the car and walked toward the house, where his mother still waited. She looked old, he thought, even older than when she had opened the door for him two hours before.
    He held out the picture. “Is this the girl in the photograph you found in the shed?”
    Jane licked her lips and forced herself to look. It was a pretty face, young and pretty. She had to turn away from it. “Yes.”
    “Try to think back to around Eastertime. Did you ever see this girl around?”
    “I never saw her.” Jane looked over his head, toward the fields. “Is she dead?”
    “I'm afraid she might be.”
    “You think Biff killed her.”
    “He had a part in whatever happened to her. She was in that shed. Tied up, held there.”
    She thought she'd cried herself out, but the tears began again, pouring from her burning eyes. “I didn't know. I swear on my life I didn't know.”
    “Who was around here during that time? Who came out and spent time with Biff?”
    “Cam, that was weeks and weeks ago. I don't know. How would I remember? I was down with the flu before Easter. Remember, you brought me flowers.”
    “I remember.”
    “Biff came and went. There might have been a pokergame, or that might have been after Easter.” She pushed a hand over her limp hair. “I never paid any mind to that kind of thing. He didn't want me to. What difference does it make now? He's in hell. He sold his soul and sent himself to hell.”
    “All right.” He was beating a dead horse and knew it. “If you remember anything, you call me. I don't want you to talk to anyone about this.”
    “Who would I talk to?” she said dully. “They'll all find out anyway. That's the way things work.”
    He let out a sigh. “Do you want to come and stay with me until … for a while?”
    Surprise registered first. Then shame. “No, I'll be fine here, but it's kind of you.”
    “Damn it, you're my mother. It's not kind. I love you.”
    She could barely see him for the tears blurring her eyes. But he looked as she remembered him as a boy. Tall and straight and defiant. Angry, she thought. It seemed that he'd been angry with her since the day his daddy had died.
    “I'll stay just the same. It's my home for a little while longer.” She started to walk into the house, then stopped. It took the rest of the courage she had left just to turn and face her son again. “When you were five, you got ahold of my good red nail polish. You wrote I love you Mom′ in big, block letters on the bathroom tile. I guess nothing before or since ever meant so much to me.” She looked at him helplessly, hopelessly. “I wish I'd told you that before.”
    She went inside, alone, and closed the door quietly behind her.
    Clare was waiting for him when he got home. She met him at the door, took one look, and put her arms around him.
    “We don't have to talk about it.” She tightened her gripwhen he laid his cheek against her hair. “I picked up some pizza. If you'd rather be alone, I'll head home. You can just warm it up when you get around to it.”
    He lowered his mouth to hers. “Stay.”
    “All right. Angie and Jean-Paul left about an hour ago. They had to get back to the gallery and said to