Divine Evil

took a sip of his coffee and fought to swallow it down. “I think—that is, some of us think, that things are getting a little out of hand….” He stumbled to a halt, struck dumb by the flash in Atherton's eyes. Cold fire.
    “Some of us?” Atherton said gently.
    “It's just that—it used to be …”
Fun
was the word Bobwas groping for, but it seemed miserably inappropriate. “I mean, it was just animals, you know. There wasn't any trouble. There was never any trouble.”
    “You're too young, perhaps, to remember Jack Kimball.”
    “Well, no. I mean, that was just before my time. But in the last year or two things have started to change.” Bob's gaze darted around the room. “The sacrifices—and Biff. Some of us are worried.”
    “Your fate is in the hands of the Master,” Atherton reminded him mildly, as he might remind a recalcitrant student to complete an assignment. “Do you question Him? Or me?”
    “No—no. It's just that I—some of us were wondering if we shouldn't ease back a little, let things calm down. Blair Kimbal's been asking questions.”
    “A reporter's curse,” Atherton said, with a gentle wave of his hand. “He won't be here long.”
    “Rafferty will,” Bob insisted. “And once it comes out about Sarah—”
    “The whore got what she deserved.” Atherton leaned forward, his expression pleasant. “What is this weakness I see? It concerns me.”
    “I just don't want any trouble. I got a wife and kids to think of.”
    “Yes, your wife.” Atherton settled back again, dabbed his lips with a paper napkin. “Perhaps you'd be interested to know that your Bonny Sue is fucking another man.”
    Bob went dead white, then beet red. “That's a lie! A filthy lie!”
    “Be careful.” Atherton's expression never changed, but Bob paled again. “Women are whores,” he said quietly. “It's their way. Now I'll remind you that there's no turningback from the path you've chosen. You're marked. Others have tried to turn away and have paid the price.”
    “I don't want any trouble,” Bob mumbled.
    “Of course not. Nor will we have any but what we make ourselves. The boy will watch Clare and watch her well. Others are watching Lisa MacDonald. And you.” He smiled again. “I have two assignments for you. First is to tell those who are discontent that there is only one high priest. Second is to take a particular statue from the Kimball garage and deliver it to our place in the woods.”
    “You want me to steal that metal thing right from under Clare's nose?”
    “Be innovative.” Atherton patted Bob's hand. “I know I can depend on your loyalty.” And your fear.
    Cam put in yet another call to Florida. With a lot of time and perseverance, he'd been able to trace the former sheriff from Fort Lauderdale to Naples, and from Naples to Arcadia, Arcadia to Miami, and from there to a little town near Lake Okeechobee. Parker had moved from one town to the next within a period of six months. To Cam, it looked more like running.
    But from what?
    “Sheriff Arnette.”
    “Sheriff Arnette, this is Sheriff Rafferty, Emmitsboro, Maryland.”
    “Maryland, huh? How's the weather?”
    Cam glanced out the window. “Looks like rain coming in.”
    “Eighty-five and sunny,” Arnette put in smugly. “So what can I do for you, Sheriff?”
    “I'm trying to track down the man who used to hold my job here. Name's Parker. Garrett Parker. He and his wife, Beatrice, moved into your territory about a year ago.”
    “I recollect the Parkers,” Arnette said. “They rented a place by the lake. Bought themselves an RV. Said they were going to do some traveling.”
    Cam rubbed an ache at the back of his neck. “When did they leave?”
    “Ain't. Both of'em buried in Cypress Knolls the last ten months.”
    “They're dead? Both of them?”
    “House burned to the ground. Didn't have no smoke detectors. They was both in bed.”
    “What was the cause of the fire?”
    “Smoking in bed,” he said. “House was all wood. Went up like a tinderbox. You say he was sheriff there before you?”
    “That's right.”
    “Funny. He told everybody he was a retired insurance man and they were from Atlanta. You got any idea why he'd do that?”
    “Maybe. I'd like to see a copy of the police reports, Sheriff.”
    “I could do that—if you tell me what you've got cooking.”
    “There's a chance that the Parkers′ deaths might be connected to a murder I've got here.”
    “That so?” Arnette paused and