Divine Evil

right now.”
    “You lost me.”
    “The water's boiling over.”
    She turned around in time to see the water bubble up and sizzle on the burner. “Oh, shit.”
    Bud took his routine patrol up to the quarry, circling around while he munched on a bag of Fritos. As hard as he tried not to think about what he had seen that afternoon, his mind kept shooting back, flashing the image of Biff's mauled body behind his eyes like a personal movie projector. He was deeply ashamed that he'd thrown up at the scene, though Cam had made no fuss over it.
    Bud firmly believed that a good cop-even if he was only a small town deputy-required an iron will, iron integrity, and an iron stomach. He'd fallen flat on the third one that day.
    News of Biff's death was all over town. Alice had stopped him on the street, pretty in her pink uniform and smelling of lilacs. It had done his ego considerable good to look sober-faced and quote the official line.
    “Biff Stokey's body was found alongside Gossard Creek off of Gossard Creek Road. The cause of death has yet to be determined.”
    She'd looked impressed with that, Bud thought now, and he'd nearly screwed up the courage to ask her to the movies. Before he could, she'd rushed off, saying she'd be late for her shift.
    Next time, he promised himself, and crunched down on a Frito. In fact, maybe when he'd finished his patrol, he'd stop by Martha's for a cup of coffee and some pie. Then he could offer to walk Alice home, slide an arm around her shoulder, and mention, real casual like, that the new Stallone movie was playing at the mall.
    The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea, so he sped up another five miles an hour. On his waydown Quarry Road, he began to tap a foot on the floorboard, thinking how nice it would be to watch Stallone slaughter all the bad guys with Alice beside him in the darkened theater.
    When he rounded a turn, a flash of metal caught his eye. He slowed, squinting against the rays of the lowering sun. It was a car bumper sure enough, he thought with some disgust. Damn kids didn't even wait until nighttime anymore.
    He pulled to the shoulder and got out. Nothing embarrassed him more than having to poke his face into the window of a parked car and advise lovers to move along.
    Just last week he'd seen Marci Gladhill without her blouse. Even though he'd averted his eyes quickly, he had a hard time adjusting to the fact that he'd seen Less Glad-hill's oldest girl's tits. And they'd been whoppers. He imagined he'd have a harder time if Less ever got wind of it.
    Resigned, he stepped off the shoulder and into the brush. It wasn't the first time he'd caught kids driving into bushes to do the backseat tango, but it was the first time he'd caught any in a Cadillac. Shaking his head, he took another step and froze.
    Not any Caddy, he realized. Biff Stokey's Caddy. There wasn't a person in town who wouldn't recognize the glossy black car with its flashy red upholstery. He walked closer, his feet causing twigs and brush to crackle and crack.
    It had been pulled halfway into the thicket of wild blackberry, and the thorns had left nasty thin scratches along the gleaming black paint.
    Biff would've had a shit-fit, Bud thought, and shuddered, remembering what had happened to Biff.
    He tried not to think too hard about that, and spent some time cursing and picking thorns out of his pant legs.At the last minute, he remembered to use a handkerchief to open the door.
    The stereo unit, complete with CD, that Biff had bragged about was gone. Neatly and skillfully removed, Bud noted. The glove box was open and empty. Most everybody knew that Biff had carried a .45 in there. The Caddy's keys were tossed on the seat. He decided against touching them.
    He closed the door again. He was damn proud of himself. Only hours after the body had been discovered, and he'd come across the first clue. With a spring in his step, he walked back to his cruiser to radio in.

Chapter 10
    C LARE DIDN'T KNOW what had awakened her. She had no lingering image of a dream, no aftershock of fear from a nightmare. Yet she had shot from sleep to full wakefulness in the dark, every muscle tensed. In the silence she heard nothing but the roar and pump of her heartbeat.
    Slowly, she pushed the top of the sleeping bag aside. Despite its cocooning warmth, her legs were icy. Shivering, she groped for the sweatpants she had peeled off before climbing in.
    She realized her jaw was locked tight, her head cocked to