Divine Evil

saying it here, with her hand clasped warmly in the hand of her father's closest friend. “Last night when I went up there, I realized I never had. I'm so afraid I never will.”
    Crampton was silent for a moment, smelling the smells of his garden, listening to the birdsong and the light ruffle of leaves in the spring breeze. “Jack and I talked about more than mulch and beetles in those long evenings. Heused to tell me how proud he was of you, and Blair. But you were special to him, the way I suppose you understand Blair's special to Rosemary.”
    “Yes.” Her lips curved a little. “I know.”
    “He wanted the best for you. He wanted the world for you.” Crampton sighed, remembering, regretting. “Perhaps he wanted too much, and that was why he made mistakes. I know this, Clare, that whatever he did, right or wrong, everything he did circled back to love for you. Don't blame him too much for being weak. Even in weakness he put you first.”
    “I don't want to blame him. But there are so many memories. They drown me.”
    He studied her with his solemn eyes. “Sometimes you can't go back, however much you'd like to. Trying to go back can hurt more than it can heal.”
    “I'm finding that out.” She looked away, over the neatly trimmed lawn. “But I can't go forward, Doc. Not until I know.”

Chapter 11
    N O AMOUNT OF REASON could sway Jane Stokey from having an open casket. When a man was dead, it was the duty of those who had known him to look one last time at his face, to remember him. To speak over him.
    “He was a mean motherfucker,” Oscar Roody commented, tugging on the knot of his tie. “After a couple of beers, old Biff would as soon punch you in the face as look at you.”
    “That's a fact.” Less nodded wisely as he studied Biff's face. Rot in hell, you bastard, he thought. “Chuck sure knows his business now, don't he? From what I hear, Biff was messed up good and proper, but it just looks like he's taking a little snooze.”
    “Probably used a pile of makeup.” Oscar took out a bandanna and honked into it. “You ask me, it's gotta be creepy putting makeup on a dead man.”
    “I'd do it if it'd buy me a pool. I heard he got every bone in his body broke.” Less shifted, looking for evidence and for the thrill. “Sure can't tell it.”
    They moved on and snuck outside for a smoke.
    Jane was there, already seated in a chair at the front of the rows Griffith's had set up. Since Biff had had no church affiliation, the simple service would be held right there in the funeral parlor, with Chuck officiating. She wore the stiff black dress, her hair neatly pinned back, and accepted the condolences and awkward words of sympathy.
    People filed by Biff to pay their last respects.
    “He tried to get his fat hand up my skirt more times than I can count.” Sarah Hewitt smirked down at the dead face.
    “Come on, Sarah.” Flushing, Bud looked right and left, hoping no one was close enough to have heard. “You can't talk that way here.”
    “It's stupid that we can say whatever we want about the living, but once someone's dead, we have to say what a nice guy he was-even if he was a bastard.” She lifted a brow. “Did they really castrate him?”
    “Jesus, Sarah.” Bud took her arm and pulled her to the rear of the room.
    “Well, look who's here.” Sarah's smile became thoughtful as she watched Clare walk into the room. “The prodigal daughter.” She skimmed her gaze up and down Clare's figure, envying the simple and expensive dark suit. “Never did fill out, did she?”
    Clare's heart was a hot ball lodged in her throat. She hadn't known it would be so bad. The last time she had entered this room, had seen a coffin decked with flowers and flanked by townspeople, her father had been inside it. She would swear the same dreary recorded organ music had been playing.
    The stench of gladiolas and roses spun in her head. There was horror in her eyes as she stared down the narrow centeraisle between the rows of folding chairs and fought the urge to turn and bolt.
    God, you're a grown woman, she reminded herself. Death is a part of life. One you've got to face up to. But she wanted to run, run out into the sunshine, so badly that her knees were vibrating.
    “Clare?”
    “Alice.” She gripped her friend's hand and fought to steady herself. “Looks like half the town turned out.”
    “For Mrs. Stokey.” Her gaze flicked over faces. “And for the entertainment.” She was feeling awkward