Divine Evil

give it a shot.”
    “You were living in D.C., right?” “That's right.”
    Clare leaned back against the stair rail, her eyes amused and measuring. “A cop. I always figured Blair was pulling my chain. Who would have figured Cameron ‘Wild Man’ Rafferty on the side of law and order?”
    “I always liked to do the unexpected.” His eyes stayed on hers as he lifted his bottle and drank. “You look good, Slim. Real good.”
    She wrinkled her nose at the old nickname. While it didn't carry the same sting as some of the others-Beanpole, String, Gnat Ass-that had clung to her during her youth, it did remind her of the days when she had stuffed her woefully underfilled bra with tissues and consumed gallons of Weight-On.
    “You don't have to sound so surprised.”
    “The last time I saw you you were what? Fifteen, sixteen?”
    The autumn after her father had died, she thought.
    “About.”
    “You grew up nice.” During their brief wrestling match inside, he'd noticed that while she was still on the skinny side she'd rounded out here and there. Despite the changes, she was still Blair Kimball's sister, and Cam couldn't resist teasing her. “You're painting or something, right?”
    “I sculpt.” She flipped her cigarette away. It was one of her pet peeves that so many people thought all artists were painters.
    “Yeah, I knew it was some arty type thing up in New York. Blair mentioned it. So do you sell stuff-like bird-baths?”
    Miffed, she studied his bland smile. “I said I was an artist.”
    “Yeah.” All innocence, he sipped his beer while crickets chorused around them. “This guy I knew was really good at making birdbaths. He used to make this one with a fish on it-a carp, I think-and the water would come out the carp's mouth and fill the bowl.”
    “Oh, I see. Class work.”
    “You bet. He sold a bundle of them.”
    “Good for him. I don't work in concrete.” She couldn't help it-it irked her that he wouldn't have heard of her work or seen her name. “I guess you guys don't get
People
or
Newsweek
around here.”
    “Get
Soldier of Fortune,”
he said, tongue in cheek. “That's real popular.” He watched her take another chug of beer. Her mouth, and he still remembered her mouth, was full and wide. Yeah, she'd grown up nice all right. Who would have thought that shy and skinny Clare Kimball would turn into the long, sexy woman sitting across from him. “Heard you were married.”
    “For a while.” She shrugged off the memory. “Didn't work out. How about you?”
    “No. Never made it. Came close once.” He thought of Mary Ellen with a trace of sweet regret. “I guess some of us do better single file.” He drained the beer and set the empty bottle on the step between them.
    “Want another?”
    “No, thanks. Wouldn't do to have one of my own deputies pick me up DWI. How's your mother?” “She got married,” Clare said flatly.
    “No kidding? When?”
    “Couple of months ago.” Restless, she shifted and stared out at the dark, empty street. “How about your parents, do they still have the farm?”
    “Most of it.” Even after all these years, he couldn't think of his stepfather as a parent. Biff Stokey had never and would never replace the father Cam had lost at the tender age of ten. “They had a couple of bad years and sold off some acreage. Could have been worse. Old man Haw-baker had to sell off his whole place. They subdivided it and planted modulars instead of corn and hay.”
    Clare brooded into the last of her beer. “It's funny, when I was driving through town I kept thinking nothing had changed.” She glanced back up. “I guess I didn't look close enough.”
    “We still have Martha's, the market, Dopper's Woods, and Crazy Annie.”
    “Crazy Annie? Does she still carry a burlap sack and scout the roadside for junk?”
    “Every day. She must be sixty now. Strong as an ox even if she does have a few loose boards in the attic.”
    “The kids used to tease her.”
    “Still do.”
    “You gave her rides on your motorcycle.”
    “I liked her.” He stretched once, lazily, then unfolded himself to stand at the base of the steps. Looking at her now, with the dark house brooding behind her, he thought she seemed lonely and a little sad. “I've got to get on. Are you going to be all right here?”
    “Sure, why not?” She knew he was thinking of the attic room where her father had taken his final drink and final leap. “I've got a sleeping bag, some groceries, and