

## Satan

In

## Serenity Gardens

Donna Huffer

Copyright © 2012 by Donna Huffer. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

First Electronic Edition: September 2012

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Other books by Donna Huffer:

The Witches of Drohrback Hollow

Secrets of Serenity Gardens

The Picture

### Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

### Chapter One

"Freddie, Freddie, he's a deadie!" chanted the figures hiding among the dark trees. The homeless man sat up abruptly on the park bench where he had been snoozing. His cover, yesterday's newspaper, and an empty bottle of Boone's Farm rolled off his body and into the dirt under the bench. He made no attempt to recover them, but shook his dirty fist at the silhouettes darting between the trees. He still wasn't sure he was awake. This could be a bad dream caused by the booze. Back at the hospital, he had often been haunted by such creatures of the night. The doctors assured him they would go away if he would get off the booze. They weren't so sure about the voices.

"Get lost! Stop bothering me!" he shouted into the darkness. Laughter echoed back to him. Suddenly a rock struck him in the chest and bounced off his coat into the mud beside the bench. He stood up and yelled more obscenities at the moving shadows. Then he glanced at the rock. It looked real. He picked it up and threw it back at the woods. He realized he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. Those kids were really out there bent on tormenting him.

"Freddie! Freddie! Come out and play!" The voices floated with the wind.

"Cowards! Come out here, and we'll see who plays. I'll knock your heads off."

"Here I am," came the response, and a man walked out of the woods and into the glow of the park light. Freddie rubbed his tired eyes and thought he was still too drunk to see straight. The man was dressed in black, encircled by a large cloak that hung to the ground. A black pentagram was painted on his cheeks. He slowly raised his arm, and the cloak fell back revealing a red python tattoo above his wrist.

Freddie laughed at the strange man. "Halloween, all ready? Thought that was a month off."

"You have been chosen, Freddie," the man said solemnly, pointing his finger at the homeless man.

"Chosen, huh? You mean I won the lottery?" Freddie laughed again. "You should be a comedian."

"Chosen to die for the Great Master, Satan, the lord of the earth."

"Come on, junior. I'm ready for you! I've whipped men twice your size! You come try it!" Freddie threw his fists up in a boxing stance. The blade of a knife popped out of the dirty sleeve of his coat. He knew how to defend himself.

"Better go home to your momma!" Freddie shouted at the man in the black cape. "I'm from the old school. Fought punks like you all my life."

"I have no momma. We have only Lucifer now, the ultimate king of the world. You're outnumbered, Freddie. My boys need a lesson in killing, and you're the target for tonight's jollies. You don't mind teaching them, do you? Volunteering for the job?"

A rope suddenly slipped around Freddie's neck and tugged tightly at his skin, almost knocking him to the ground. He tried to reach his attackers behind him, but they stayed away from the slashing knife. Losing air, Freddie grabbed at the rope around his neck and tried to pry it off, but it was cutting into his flesh. He couldn't breathe. The man in the cape came closer, lowering his hood. "Remember me, Freddie?"

Recognition flashed in the old man's eyes. "You bastard! How did you get out?" the homeless man uttered as he sank to his knees. "They promised me you'd never get out of there. Ever." The knife slipped from his hand into the grass. Blindly, he tried to grab the arm twisting the rope behind him and managed to touch a sleeve. He jerked the arm forward and for an instant felt the rope loosen as the attacker lost his grip. Then he bit down as hard as he could into the flesh and heard a scream.

Gasping for air, Freddie tried to crawl forward, but another hand grabbed his hair and jerked him back. The rope tightened again, this time without mercy. Freddie died as his windpipe collapsed, crushed by the rope. They let him fall back, stretching him full length along the ground. Then they pulled his arms out so that the body resembled a cross.

"Use the blood from your arm to mark him," ordered the leader. "It'll be a nice touch. Let them know the power of Satan."

"Satan, here is your sacrifice," another muttered as they gathered around him.

The others helped their comrade carefully dip his gloved finger in the blood flowing freely from the bite wound. He drew a rough pentagram on the dead man's forehead. Another pulled out a hacksaw from his bag and began to saw off a hand.

"See you in Hell, Freddie," the leader said. A camera flashed, and then they were gone.

Detective Jim Benton surveyed the scene with his partner, Harry Lincoln. At present they were Newlenberg's only homicide detectives. With ongoing budget cuts, it wasn't likely they would get any more help soon. The photographer Kyle, who was a traffic cop by day, was packing up his equipment and folding up his tripod when they got there. Night courses at the community college had landed him the title of official photographer.

"Hi, Kyle," Harry offered.

"Where you guys been?" Kyle asked. "Someone else lose their life tonight?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. There was a shooting over at Tooters. A couple of guys seriously hurt, but no one killed. They still called us to the scene. Nothing like a bar fight to ruin your night."

An officer handed Jim and Harry a bag. The detectives slipped on their plastic booties to keep from contaminating the scene. "As soon as possible," Jim told the photographer as he walked by.

"Right, Detective Benton," the photographer answered, slipping under the police tape. "Or when I get around to it," he mumbled under his breath. Other officers, also in plastic booties, moved carefully around the site making foot molds with dental stone. Jim leaned over the body. He took out his notebook.

"Freddie Bowers, isn't it?"

Harry also leaned over the body. "Looks like him. Smells like him. I heard they hauled him in just this morning for urinating in public at the Stop and Go. So is this where he sleeps at night?"

"This is as good a place as any." Jim motioned an officer over. "What have you got so far?"

"Several sets of footprints. They seem to lead to and from those trees over there. A sweep of the area only turned up those marked items by the body. Nothing left by the perps."

"Okay. Good job. See if you can narrow down the count of footprints. We'll have a look at the body now."

"Someone's been watching too many horror films," Harry said to Jim. "Isn't that some damn cult symbol on his head? A Jewish thing?"

"I saw it once somewhere in a book we had to study at the academy. Or maybe it was on TV. We'll have to look it up."

"Who found the body?" Harry asked a passing officer who was sketching the body's position.

"A jogger named John Black. Lives near the park. Often comes this way, he said. Saw nothing until he was right on the body. His watch said ten o'clock. He'd never seen a dead body before so he threw up back there along the path. He's pretty shaken up, mumbling about how things like this can't happen in this town."

Jim chuckled. "Sure they can't, and yet we are here. According to the city manager, that's why we can't hire more help. Crime is nonexistent in Newlenberg, Virginia."

Harry looked at Mr. Black, vomiting again in the weeds. Jim shook his head. "We'll talk to the jogger later after he calms down. Where's the medical examiner? How long does it take to drive to the park? Didn't they call him an hour ago? At least we had an excuse to be late to the scene."

"Dispatcher said he was on his way. What do you make of this, Jim?" Harry pointed to the body. "He looks like a cross."

Jim nodded. "A ritual display of the body. Poor Freddie wasn't some random target, was he? These screwballs were looking for him." Suddenly Jim stopped and knelt by the body. Using his pencil, he lifted the bloody sleeve. It was empty. "The bastards cut off his hand. Look, it's missing. Sawed right off. Jesus, I hope he was dead when they did that."

"Can we go back to the bar?" Harry muttered. "At least you knew what kind of idiots you were dealing with there. I don't understand this kind of savagery."

"Look like he put up a fight. You have to have a lot of courage to attack an insane homeless man like Freddie. He's been known to break arms and bite off fingers when riled. Just ask Officer Johnson to show you his scar."

Harry winced. "So you think that there's some band of misfit teenagers roaming the town looking for people like Freddie?"

"Maybe. Whoever they are, they're being quiet and staying out of sight. No reports of rowdy teenagers charging down Main Street. Teenagers usually like an audience. Then there's all this weirdo crap with the symbol on the head and a missing hand. They're sending us a message."

Harry looked up. "What message?"

"I don't know, but it's loud and clear," Jim told him. "It screams nutcase."

"Yeah, nutcase for sure. You think they might do it again?"

Jim sighed. "I certainly do. This was a big success for them." Harry reached down beside the bench and retrieved Freddie's rusted pocket knife from the grass. He slid it carefully into his evidence bag.

"At least he tried to save himself. I hope someone got cut by this," Jim told Harry. "By the number of footprints, I'd say he was outnumbered and overcome. But then, how hard could it be to overpower a sleeping insane drunk? Cowards."

Jim inserted his gloved hand into the dead man's pocket. He found three quarters, a rusty bottle opener, but no wallet. Freddie's other pockets were empty. Jim straightened up and carefully walked around the body to the head.

"No ID. I bet he had a long mental history. Call the local mental hospital tomorrow and see if he had any relatives. I don't know who we should notify about this. We have to give the body to someone, even if it's Mary Shepard over at the funeral home. I understand she takes the Freddies of the world for free."

"Sure, Jim." Harry scribbled more notes on his pad.

"Look at this," Jim told his partner. "I don't think I've seen this before except in the manuals." Jim parted Freddie's collar and exposed the rope embedded in the dead man's neck and encrusted with dried blood.

"Choked for all he was worth," Harry agreed. "That's cruel, isn't it? You think the strangulation was part of this whole ritual thing?"

"Don't know. We'll have to consult an expert. Who in this town would be an expert on screwballs?"

"The medical examiner. He's a wealth of information." Harry pointed at Dr. Benjamin Lorner trudging up the path carrying his black medical bag. He was dressed in an expensive gray suit and tie. His blonde hair was slicked back neatly, and his fancy cologne followed him up the hill. He climbed slowly uphill toward the detectives, careful of where he was stepping with his leather shoes.

Harry whispered to Jim. "Remember how he often tells us he knows everything, and we know nothing. The police are stupid and slow. I bet he has all the answers about this case."

The medical examiner lifted the police tape and joined the detectives standing over the body. "I parked my new BMW next to your squad car, Jim. See that no one scratches it."

"BMW? Out on the town tonight, good doctor?" Jim asked.

The doctor sat his bag down on the ground and opened it. "Yes and I'm annoyed to have to come over here. Where I used to work in New York, a night off was a night off and the doctor was covered. This is such a hick town. The minute I get a little time to myself, the phone rings and some yahoo has stabbed someone. Can't you guys handle anything by yourself?"

"We aren't doctors," Jim said. "By law you have to be here, night off or not. Take your grievances up with the mayor. He won't give us the help we need or pay for your replacement. We're all screwed here, not just you."

Dr. Lorner pointed to the body. "The mayor is the biggest dork of all. I heard his last speech. We're a crimeless town. What we have lying here is just a figment of our imaginations. You'd think murderers would have the decency to kill people during the day," the doctor grumbled. "I was having such a good time for a change."

"Busy night?" Harry asked.

"Delightful dinner with a glorious red head. She's a decorator downtown . . ."

The detectives looked at each other and said together, "Connie!"

"You know her?" the doctor looked up with surprise.

Jim nodded. "Been there, done that, and escaped with my life. We did you a favor tonight, Doc. You'd have ended up like poor Freddie here."

The doctor glared at them. "I'm going to ignore that, and you can explain your secret jokes later. Right now, I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible. Unlike you, I have a life. What do we have here? You've seen this man before?"

"Often. Homeless male. Cause of death believed to be strangulation because there's a rope around his neck. Could be other factors. Among other things, there's a crucifixion display of the body. What do you make of it?"

"A catholic fixation? Talk to the police shrink. She's familiar with all the nuts in town and their methods. Maybe she can shed some light on why someone would go through all the trouble of laying out a homeless man in a fixed position. Myself, I wouldn't bother. You guys aren't good at deciphering vague hints."

Jim glared back and crossed his arms. "We're trying. Of course we'll talk to the shrink. You claim to be an expert on just about everything. Just thought you might have a theory."

"Sorry guys. It's late. I'll examine the body now and that way I can get home sooner and forget this ever happened." The doctor pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box in his bag.

He knelt and rolled the head toward him. Harry saw surprise in his face. "I'll make it up to you, Detective. See this interesting symbol on the head? Ever seen it before?" the doctor pointed to Freddie's forehead.

Jim shook his head. "No, not this week."

"Pentagram. Witchcraft."

Harry looked up. "Really? You know some witches in town we can arrest?"

"No, of course not, Detective. That's more in your line of work. Go to any scary movies? It's the devil's mark. If I'm not mistaken and I rarely am, the pentagram was drawn with human blood. Maybe he was a sacrifice."

Harry and Jim looked at each other with surprise. Jim squatted down next to the doctor. "Where did the blood come from on his collar? I didn't see an open wound at the neck."

The doctor pointed to Freddie's mouth. "Blood on the teeth. He bit someone during the struggle, and they used the blood to draw the symbol perhaps."

Harry smiled. "So you think the murderer's blood is on Freddie's teeth and head. That means we might be able to match the DNA."

"DNA is only useful if you have a match on file. Maybe they don't think you can put two and two together. Newlenberg isn't known for its DNA data bank. It's a new concept here."

Harry made a face behind the doctor and stuck out his tongue. Jim struggled not to laugh.

"What else can you tell us?" Jim asked, busy drawing an ugly face on his notepad and labeling it "Lorner."

"Man died maybe a few hours ago. He hasn't had a bath in a long time or seen a dentist in years. Approximately in his sixties. His windpipe appears crushed. Brute strength there. By the way, I guess you noticed right away that he seems to have lost his hand."

"Nothing gets by us," Jim told him, seething.

"Someone hacked it off with a saw blade. See the ragged edges?"

Harry nodded. "How does that fit in with your sacrifice theory, Dr. Lorner?"

"Don't have a clue. That's where you come in. Aren't you guys the ones who solve the cases? The only thing this murder proves to me is that Newlenberg is filled with serial killers and trigger-happy disgruntled factory workers. I spend too much time digging bullets out of bodies on Saturday night after someone complains about a bad hamburger. At least, this murder is different. You think the local police can handle this surprise or will you have call in the Feds?"

Jim balled his fist and then released it. One day he was going to lose it completely and punch the idiot in the mouth. "Don't think so. Last time I looked, I was still in charge. Sorry this town doesn't entertain you, Dr. Lorner. When should we drop by to see the final results of the autopsy?"

"See you tomorrow in the morgue at ten. Thanks for the fun evening. By the way, how is it you know Connie? Care to tell me what's so funny about my date?"

"I used to date her," Jim replied. "Let's just say it didn't work out. Maybe you'll have better luck. Just keep your manhood covered. She has long claws."

Dr. Lorner pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his bag. "She seems to be the only sophisticated woman in this whole town."

The detectives only nodded, giving the medical examiner sympathetic looks.

"Whatever you say, Doc," Harry muttered. Harry and Jim watched the doctor pack up his bag and head down the hill to his car.

"What an idiot. His higher-than-thou attitude doesn't score any points downtown. They're already asking how they can fire him. We can only hope he'll move on soon and take Connie with him," Jim told Harry. "Working with him is impossible."

Harry sighed. "I'm sure working in a town like this is a real blow to his inflated ego. I'm not sure why he ever left New York. He thinks he's Patricia Cornwell. Don't worry. After Connie gets through with him, we'll see how low he can go."

Jim laughed. He pointed to Freddie's corpse. "These wicked guys got nothing on Connie Shepard."

### Chapter Two

"I'll raise you two liters of Lanol-Tex fluid," Sam Goins said, taking the bottle off the shelf and placing it on the embalming table. Mary Shepard searched his face for weakness, but Sam was too good at poker. He sat quietly with no expression on his face. His black suit was perfectly pressed and his tie aligned with his neck for a change. The few brown hairs left on his white bald head were slicked down on the sides. His face was a stone, not a muscle twitching. Mary frowned.

"Okay. I'll see your two liters and raise you this latex glove," she said, rolling her chair over to the counter. She pulled out a set of gloves from a box and peeled one from its partner. The glove joined a scalpel, fine wire cutters, and a bottle of disinfectant already on the table. Mary looked at Sam, rolling one finger through her pearls. She was wearing her favorite dark blue dress. Sam often said it matched her eyes.

Sam smiled. "I'll call. Show me what you have."

Mary slowly laid her cards on the table. She only had a pair of sixes. Sam grinned and placed his cards on the table one by one: king, king, king, and a pair of fours.

"Oh, I don't believe it, Sam! You're playing me for a sucker!" Mary protested, scooping up her cards and replacing them in the deck. "I'm never going to get the hang of this game."

"You give yourself away, Mary. I can see it in your face. Every time you have a bad hand, your mouth droops and your eyes go down. You won't look me in the eye. I always know."

"Ah ha! The secret is finally revealed!"

"Hey Mom!" came from the hall and the door to the embalming room flew open. Joey Pruett, Mary's son, entered. He was dressed in a three-piece black suit, borrowed from Sam for the memorial service tonight. Joey, eighteen, was moonlighting at night for his mother to pay expenses of the community college he attended during the day. He planned to be a policeman soon.

Mary stood up. "Service breaking up?" she asked him.

Mary and Sam were the funeral directors of the Preston Smith Funeral Home and new partners since the owner had retired in May and moved to Florida. Sam was the business head and embalmer while Mary handled the paperwork, greeted customers, and planned services. They were sitting this service out after a long day at the office while Joey oversaw greeting people at the door.

Joey rubbed his eyes. "Mike's herding them out of the parking lot now. Man, it's ten o'clock already. I've got a test in social justice tomorrow."

Mike Tyrell, groundskeeper and general handy man, suddenly came up behind Joey at the door. He was also filling in as an usher for the overtime. "Want to give me a hand, Sam?" Mike was a black man in a black suit. As he wiped the beads of perspiration off his forehead with his handkerchief, he loosened his tie with his other hand. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "I shouldn't wear black at night. They can't see me in the parking lot. I'm afraid I'm going to get run over. Better send out Sam."

Sam got up from the embalming table and followed Joey, Mike, and Mary into the Blue Chapel, one of the two large rooms reserved for large memorial services.

"Let me grab my coat," Sam said pulling on his winter coat over his suit jacket from the coat rack. The air in Newlenberg, Virginia, was cool and brisk in late September. The sun had set hours ago, and now it was very dark. Newlenberg was only an hour from the West Virginia line, so winters could be harsh.

Mary paused by the flowers around the casket. "You know the drill, Joey. Flowers in cold storage for the burial tomorrow,"

"What about the flowers on the casket?" Joey asked his mother who was carefully shutting the lid on the top half of the casket and locking it shut.

"That'll be tricky. These are special." The deceased tonight, Mrs. Lorraine Robinson, had been the fifty-five-year-old wife of a prominent businessman in town. She went quickly with liver cancer, and her husband in his grief had asked for special features. Following his orders, Mary printed his wife's favorite poems and left them on display around the room. She mounted pictures of Lorraine and her family on easels where people could enjoy them as they waited to meet the family.

Lorraine herself was laid out in a fox hunting outfit since it had been her favorite sport. Most important of all to Lorraine's husband was his request for a large spray of blooming magnolias draped over the casket in honor of the Lorraine's birth state, Mississippi.

Magnolias were very delicate and in order to get them at their peak, Mary had called in some favors from the florist down the street. No one was sure they would last overnight, but tonight they had been glorious.

Mary returned to the embalming room and fetched a gurney. Rolling it beside the casket, she and Joey carefully removed the flowers.

"A brown spot will form everywhere you touch the magnolia blossom, so hang on to the leaves," she ordered. Together they managed to get the spray on the table with much of the arrangement hanging over both sides. Then they wheeled it into cold storage in the embalming room for the night. Joey would pile the rest of the flowers under the gurney.

Mary returned to her office. On her desk was the message to pick up a homeless man at the morgue. She'd leave all that for tomorrow when Mike could help her go over the plots in the potter's field. Although they had gone into the computer age, Mary still relied on Mike's memory to tell her where the graves actually were, especially in potter's field. Teens often stole the flimsy markers.

She ran a comb through her short brown hair and tried to hide a few grays that were popping out on the sides.

"Not getting any younger," she said to herself. "Cheer up. Forty-eight is not that bad. You still look good." She grabbed her purse and reached for her coat. She was looking forward to finally getting out of her blue dress and relaxing in her pajamas. Then she heard the front door open again as Sam and Mike came in, yelling her name.

"Something's going on in the cemetery! Call the cops! Mike heard a scream, and I saw some lights. Vandals! Damn teenagers!" Sam hollered. "Still got your gun?"

Mary poked her head out of her office and into the hall where Sam stood.

"Gun? Are you crazy? I gave it back to Preston after last year's nasty business. Remember, I killed a man with it. I have no intention of doing it again!" Mary's gun was actually in her desk drawer, but she wasn't going to hand it over to Sam and Mike. These guys were out of control.

Sam frowned. "Get a flashlight then. We should have a company gun, Mary. I'll put it in the budget."

"No, you won't, Sam!" Mary protested.

"Well, call the police then. I don't want to lose them!"

Sam and Mary hurried out the door and into the parking lot where Joey and Mike were waiting and armed with flashlights from Joey's truck. Mary dialed her cell phone and spoke to the operator.

"You got a gun, Joey?" Mary heard Sam ask her son.

Joey looked shocked. "No. Of course not! I don't have a concealed weapon permit, and I wouldn't keep it in my truck if I did. You're the great outdoors man, Sam. Where's your gun?" Sam owned a cabin at Hutchen Lake and was often there fishing and hunting. He was a true sportsman.

"My rifles are at home. I thought all policemen in training carried guns. In case they run across crooks."

"You watch too much TV, Sam," Mike said. "It's late. I got two graves to dig tomorrow so if you don't mind, let's get over there and kick some hoodlum butts."

"The police are on their way," Mary announced.

"I don't hear or see anything now," Joey said, looking across the street. The front of the cemetery was illuminated by the streetlights, but the rest of the grounds were covered in darkness.

"See, they got away! Wish I had a gun." Sam said. "Let's go see what they did this time."

"Shouldn't we wait on the cops?" Joey asked.

"Get your baseball bat," Sam ordered.

"Let's get them!" Mike chimed in, beating his fists together.

"Hey!" Mary stopped them. "Three guys in expensive suits, and I'm in heels. I won't be footing any cleaning bills for any ruckus you guys cause! You should wait for the police."

They paused for a moment. Then in unison yelled, "Let's pound the punks!"

Joey got his bat despite protests from his mother. "Men!" she moaned. Joey grabbed her arm, and they crossed the road. They stood at the cemetery gates, peering into the darkness.

"Now you go that way, and we'll go this way," Sam pointed down the path.

"No we won't!" Mary told him. "We don't split up for any reason. There's safety in numbers. They could gang up on you."

"Listen!" Joey whispered. They froze. After a moment, Joey whispered again. "They're at the fence." There was the sound of the wire fence shaking.

"Escaping!" Sam yelled. Off the men went, running down the paved path with flashlights bobbing. Mary was left alone in the dark at the gates. She decided to wait for the police. Someone had to keep their head.

Last year Mary had survived two attempts on her life and shot a deranged doctor in the funeral home's warehouse to end a body snatching ring that involved a cop's son and their former groundskeeper Carl. She had hoped this year would be quieter.

"See anything?" Mary called out toward the back of the cemetery.

"No!" she heard her son answer. "They got away again."

A blue siren made its way down Grubert Street toward her. The police car pulled into the gates. The officer rolled down his window, and Mary saw her old friend sitting in the passenger seat. Jim Benton had once dated her sister, Connie. Of all of Connie's boyfriends, Jim was Mary's favorite.

"Jim!" Mary shouted, smiling. "I'm so glad it's you. I heard you made detective after Dan left."

"Sure did. Great promotion for me, but I was sorry to see Dan leave. Too bad about his son going to jail."

"I wish it had never happened, believe me. Dan was my friend. But I'm glad to see you, Jim. We've had some trouble again. Let me see." Mary turned away, looking out into the darkness. "Sam, find anyone?"

"They got away!" came a distant reply. "We're too late."

She turned back to Jim. "I think our trouble has high-tailed it. Gone apparently. Sorry to call you out for nothing."

"We'd better have a look around anyway. Maybe we can find some evidence that will help catch these deviants. Mary, this is Harry Lincoln, my partner. I think you worked together last year on the organ-snatching case."

"Sure. You were Dan's old partner, weren't you?"

Jim and Harry got out of the police car. "Yeah. Dan was a good cop," Harry told her putting on his official police jacket. Jim turned on his flashlight.

"Why did you call, Mary? Tell us exactly what happened."

"Mike was directing the cars out of the lot after the Robinson service when he heard someone screaming in the cemetery. You know we've recently had some trouble with graffiti in the cemetery."

"Teenagers probably. They never seem to tire of vandalism, and they love the cemetery. It's a show of manhood, the police shrink says. A rite of passage." Jim said.

"Yes. We have the same trouble every year. Each generation rediscovers the fun of tearing up a graveyard. But I worry about the screaming. That's different. Usually, if they're up to mischief, they keep quiet. Anyway, Mike, Sam, and Joey are searching for them now, but I think they've already left by the back fence. We heard them rattling it when we walked over."

"Let's go see what's going on. Which way did they go?"

Mary led Jim and Harry down the paved road past the mausoleum. Lights flashed in the back of the cemetery.

"Joey? Where are you?" Mary called out.

"At the fence," Sam answered, highlighting his face with his flashlight. With his bald head glowing in the light, he looked like a pumpkin.

"Sam, stop that. You're scary," Mary warned him. He grinned back at her.

"Isn't that where Dan's son cut the fence last year to carry that girl's body in? Didn't you have that repaired?" Jim asked.

"Of course I did. Twice. Welded and everything," Mary said. "With the gas station going in, I figured that our troubles were over. The place will be lit up twenty-four hours a day."

They found Sam and Mike standing beside a large hole in the chain fence. Mike was pointing toward a holly bush where the red handles of a pair of wire cutters were protruding. Beyond the bush and fence lay the condemned Best Western Inn, slated for destruction next week. It would soon become a Sheetz gas station.

"Don't touch those handles," Jim warned. "There may be fingerprints. Be careful around the bush. Back up please. Don't want your footprints mixing with theirs."

Mike nodded. "We know all about it after last year. I think they parked at the hotel and then cut the hole. Just like last time."

Mary didn't see Joey. "Yep, but what for? Where's Joey?" Mary looked back toward the front of the cemetery. Then a flash of light caught her eye to the right. "Joey? What are you doing?" she called out.

Suddenly Joey appeared at her side, out of breath and panting. His flashlight and bat were gone.

"Don't be running around here in the dark, Joey. Some of the graves are sunken. What's the matter? Where's your bat? Your flashlight?"

For a moment Joey was unable to speak. He pointed to the shed. Then the words came. "Body on the shed! Horrible. Nailed. It's so gross! I dropped my light, I guess. Oh my God! Come on!"

Jim flipped open his cell phone and began dialing as they ran up the path to the right to the equipment shed. Sam shone his light on the side where Joey was pointing, and what they saw shocked them.

"Lordy!" Mike murmured to himself. He started to walk forward, but Jim grabbed his arm.

"Stay back on the pavement. Don't contaminate the scene. I'm calling for help."

Mary was staring at the body hanging upside down on the side of the shed **,** his arms outstretched and nailed to the wall of the shed. As an undertaker, Mary was used to a variety of corpses. She had dealt with suicides, the occasional drowned victim, burned bodies, and even stabbed individuals. But this was different. The man resembled a cross, only upside down with his face against the shed.

Harry looked at Jim. "You were absolutely right, Jim. They did it again."

"Did what?" Sam came up behind them. "You guys have seen this before? There are other guys hanging up on sheds in this town?"

"No, this is the first hanging on a shed. But we've seen the pentagram recently," Harry told him. He turned to Jim. "I'll go await the troops at the gate while you hold down the fort here. I bet he was another homeless man, Jim."

Jim nodded. "Get the photographer here pronto and call Dr. Lorner."

"Oh joy," Harry muttered as he walked away. "I'll look forward to his usual comments on our incompetence."

"He's hanging up by his clothes. Maybe some rope," Mary observed from the pavement. "Turn on the shed light, Mike. We don't know for sure that he's dead, do we? I'll check if it's alright with you, Jim? If he's still alive, he'll need help."

"If he were still alive, he wouldn't be hanging up there," Sam told her. "He'd be yelling his head off."

"Still, we should check. Maybe he's still breathing."

"Yeah, Mary's right," Jim said. "Here, put these on." He handed her a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Touch as little as possible. You know the drill. Here are the booties." Mary slipped them over her heels and waddled toward the shed. She paused for Mike to get the light on.

Mike unlocked the shed and slid the metal doors open. In a second, light flooded the ground and the cemetery became visible.

"What's that black stuff around him on the shed?" Sam asked Jim as Mary walked up to the corpse and reached inside the collar of the shirt that gathered in a pile at the man's neck. She felt for a pulse. Nothing.

"They spray-painted symbols beside the body," Jim told Sam. "Pentagrams. The mark of the devil. Satan's calling card, the shrink called them."

"Pentagrams, huh?" Joey moved closer. "I remember now. Witches use them. Satan-worshippers too. I learned about them in psychology 101." He picked up his flung flashlight, turned it off and went after his bat in the grass nearby. "But I never saw this in my social justice textbook. Hanging the body upside down on a shed," he said to Jim.

"Stick with us, rookie. We'll show you lots of things not in the book," Jim said. "I think I'll have to write my own book when I retire."

"Didn't the mayor say . . .?" Sam started.

Jim snorted. "Let's give him a call and see what he makes of all this in his so called crime-free town."

"Lordy, he was the one I heard screaming," Mike told them. "I knew I should have called in sick today. Bad horoscope. Witches here in Newlenberg! Stiffs hung up like a ham in the smokehouse. This place gets nuttier everyday."

Jim nodded. "You don't know the half of it, Mike. What's the verdict?" Jim called to Mary still looking at the body.

"He's dead," Mary told Jim. "And he's missing a foot. You can see the marks on the shed where they sawed it off. That's where the blood is coming from. He bled out on the grass."

"So he bled to death?" Sam asked.

"No, I don't think so. He was probably dead. I've seen him around this area from time to time. Do you know his name, Jim?"

"Yeah, I've seen him down at that station from time to time. Nasty fellow. Former mental case. George something."

As Mary drew back her hand from the dead man's neck, she felt a smooth rope. A yellowed cord uncurled itself and fell down to the ground. "And there's your murder weapon."

"It's going to be a long night," Jim muttered to himself.

### Chapter Three

Mary Shepard made her way through traffic to downtown. As she neared the Scotfellow Building where her sister Connie worked, she noticed the scaffolding surrounding many of the older buildings. Since the Historical Foundation of Newlenberg had offered federal grants, many businesses were getting facelifts. This effort had kept many people downtown rather than escaping to the malls and office complexes outside of town. Connie's business, Scotfellow's Interiors, was located in a former grain warehouse, gutted and then remodeled last year for offices.

One thing hadn't changed. Parking was still a problem. Mary didn't like to parallel park, and she looked for the parking garage a block down. The dollar an hour fee and walk was better than risking scraping the paint on her car. She accepted the parking receipt from the machine and slowly drove up the ramp to the third level where she spotted an empty spot.

As she was getting out of her car, she heard movement at the stairwell. A man in an oversized coat was coming out carrying sheets of cardboard under one arm and a ratty backpack in the other. She recognized him at once as the homeless man that camped out in front of Connie's building. He would beg for money while sitting on his mountain of cardboard. At the moment, he was talking to himself, sometimes shouting into the air. Although she felt sorry for him, Mary was afraid for him to see her. She sensed danger. It was obvious he was insane.

Mary quickly and quietly retreated back into her car. She locked herself in, feeling guilty about her reaction, but at the same time relieved that he couldn't open the door and reach her. He was unpredictable, and Connie's boss was always calling the police to get him away from the door. He bothered the customers, Connie said, and ought to be confined to the homeless shelter. Connie said shelters were made for people like that. The police couldn't legally make him stay there and after a short stay, they had to let him go.

The man shuffled by her without a glance, and Mary watched him head down the ramp, shaking his fist at cars that weaved around him. Mary thought about the tramp found last night in her cemetery and the other she read about in the paper last week. Someone was singling out homeless people for murder. You didn't have to be a detective to know that. Perhaps this man was on someone's hit list as well.

Now that the coast was clear, Mary walked to Connie's building up the street and entered through the large glass doors. Jerry, the security man, sat at his desk, dressed in his black uniform that resembled a policeman's outfit. He handed Mary a clipboard to sign in and looked at her ID, although they had met on many occasions.

"How's the family, Jerry?" Mary asked, handing the clipboard back.

"Just fine, Ms. Shepard. Things good down at the funeral home?"

"We're always busy," Mary chuckled. She had met Jerry last week when his grandmother had died at the nursing home. Mary went on to the elevator.

Connie had the phone stuck to her ear when Mary peeked into her office. She chatted with the secretary for a minute or two before Connie came out carrying her coat and purse.

"We're off to lunch, Susie. I'll drive, Mary. You're too pokey for me. And I can't be seen in such an old car. It's bad for my image."

Mary laughed. "Sure, I understand. I'm more than happy to let you drive in this traffic." They walked to the elevator. "I'm parked in the garage and as I got out of my car, I ran into your homeless mascot. Did you have him run off again?"

"The police were just here," Connie told her. "I swear, I have no idea why they can't do something about him. They tell him to go, he goes around the block, and by afternoon he's back. They told me he'd have to hurt somebody before they could lock him up. Can you believe that? They've got no cause to arrest him. Being crazy is not a crime. They said they have real work to do rather than rounding up all the smelly winos in town. They told me to stop bothering them."

"Has he ever hurt anyone that you know of?"

"Not in our building. But all homeless people are crazy, winos, or thieves. In his case, all three. They can't afford to keep him in the mental ward, so they just turn him loose to roam the streets and harass people. I bet he hasn't had a bath in ten years! That man is rank."

"It's such a shame he has to live like that. Does he have a name?"

"Tom, I think. Tom Powers, I heard the policeman say once. He has a sister over at the shelter, but he won't go there. He's schizophrenic so he thinks the shelter people are aliens. His cardboard protects him from evil spirits or something. He's always rooting around in the trash to get more."

Mary climbed into Connie's red convertible. The top was down, and the black interior freshly cleaned. Connie made lots of money, and she liked to flaunt it. Mary drove a used Volvo with four-wheel drive. Unlike Connie, she was expected to work even when it snowed, and so her transportation had to be practical. Still, Connie looked down on her poorer sister.

Mary fastened her seat belt. "Did you hear the news about what happened last night in Serenity Gardens? It wouldn't be in the papers yet."

"No. Some teenager push a stone over again?" Connie asked. "I may have done it in my younger, more rebellious years. Don't tell Preston."

Preston Smith had been their foster father after their parents died. Owner of the funeral home, Preston had trained Mary and raised the girls as his own. He was retired now and living in Florida.

"Shame on you, Connie. Anyway, we found a murdered tramp tacked up on our equipment barn."

"Yuck! How awful. How did he get up on your shed?"

"Some people strangled him and nailed him upside down to my shed. Probably the same people who killed that homeless man in the park last week. This man had pentagrams painted around his body on the shed. Jim told me it was the mark of the devil. I tell you, Connie, I'm used to seeing all kinds of dead bodies, but this was just plain scary. Deliberate and cruel."

Connie shrugged. "One less homeless man to deal with, I say. Oh, don't give me that face and speech, Mary. How would I feel if he were my brother? The homeless are people too. I've heard it before. Yeah. But if they all disappeared, I wouldn't shed a tear. They're such a nuisance. Maybe Tom Powers will be next. I sure wouldn't miss him!"

Mary frowned. "No, I don't think you'd miss him. But don't wish anyone dead, Connie. It's bad luck. How about the people doing this? Don't you think they should be stopped?"

"Of course, Mary. You just can't go around killing people willy-nilly. But maybe they're ridding the city of trash, and they don't think they are doing anything wrong. Like superheroes or something."

Mary stared at Connie. Was she really so superficial? Could anyone be that callous and unfeeling? "I can't believe you just called sadistic killers superheroes!"

"Oh Mary, you always have your heart on your sleeve. Come to work with me everyday and watch Tom Powers squat on his cardboard kingdom in front of my business, and you will have another opinion of the homeless altogether. They're worthless."

Mary shook her head at her sister's lack of compassion for Tom. She hoped she never got that cold and unfeeling about people.

They parked at the newest French restaurant in town, Burgogne. Connie knew and tried all the chic restaurants in town in order to wine and dine clients in style. Besides, she didn't eat fast food. That would mean she was lower class, like Mary or Sam.

They had a reservation and were taken to their table by a window and showered with attention. The waiter addressed Connie by name.

"Been here before?" Mary asked her.

"I was here last week, but my date got paged and that was the last I saw of him. I guess you met up with him last night at the cemetery. He said there'd been a murder. I was quite miffed because I really like this guy. But his work is all consuming since he's the medical examiner from the hospital. He's got to go when they page him. This is the second date the police have interrupted. That's another thing I blame the homeless for."

"I did meet the new medical examiner last night. He's quite cute, just your type. Did he tell you anything about the case?"

Connie shook her head. "He didn't say a word. He won't talk about his work. It isn't polite to discuss murders and bodies at a restaurant on a date. I wouldn't want to hear it anyway."

Mary nodded. "No, you wouldn't. I'm glad the city finally hired a new pathologist that knows his business. I still remember Dr. Jenkins who died this summer. I miss her. We were good friends."

"Friends with the medical examiner, Mary? Good heavens. I can only imagine what you must have talked about. Someone's liver. Someone's spleen. You're all about blood and guts, aren't you?"

"Maybe. I noticed the new doctor did seem a bit put out about being called in to examine the body. Jim said he's always upset, but that's his job and he has to come, regardless," Mary told her.

"Jim's just jealous because I dumped him. He can't stand the competition."

"Right," Mary said. The waiter returned and took their orders. Mary unfolded her napkin and sipped at her iced tea. "How are your therapy sessions going, Connie?"

"I'm somewhat angry at the psychologist. He says I'm incapable of dealing with my emotions. I won't allow myself to feel. I swallow it up. He's afraid that one day, I'll explode and shoot someone."

"Very astute of him," Mary commented too quickly. Connie's expression changed to surprise.

"You agree with him?"

"Absolutely. It's true no one whines quite like you. That's not exactly deep. When it comes to expressing real emotion,like how much you care about someone for example, you can't manage it. You'd rather tear them down."

Connie glared at her. "Why do you say that? No one dates more than I do. Yes, I can dish it out when someone deserves it, but I can be caring too."

Mary sipped her tea. "There's a pattern, Connie. You won't commit to anyone. The minute you think someone really cares, you run away and start some drama to end the relationship. That way you don't have to risk getting hurt. Or you hurt the man first, walls go up, and you move on. It's always the man's fault when it doesn't work out. But the truth is, you go out of your way to start something. You just don't want to feel. Being goofy over your cat doesn't count as emotional attachment, Connie. The cat can't talk back."

Connie threw her napkin in her lap angrily. "Well, how long have you felt like this, Mary? Like I'm torturing my boyfriends?"

"Connie, I love you. I can say it. You can't. That's the difference. Your doctor is right, honey. You're hiding your true feelings. It all goes back to what happened to you as a child and how you feel about men in general."

Connie emptied her diet sweetener into her tea and stirred it.

"I can't touch the rage I feel about being molested by my father, Mary. I just can't. If I let it out, my whole world will fall apart. I'll lose control and say things I can never take back."

"I understand that, Connie. You don't want to let go, but that's what the doctor is there for. He's impartial. You're afraid that you'll collapse from the pain. But until you look at your life and re-examine the past, you'll never recover from it. You have to deal with the pain."

A tear came to Connie's eye. "And the guilt, believing that somehow I caused everything to happen. Sometimes I think I asked for it."

"Guilt? Oh Connie, dear, what could you possibly feel guilty about? You were a little kid. Nothing was ever your fault. Our drunken father was to blame. Unfortunately, he's dead, and we can't confront him with all the terrible things he did to us. When he and mother died in that car crash, we were liberated to normalcy. Sometimes I think that deep inside you're still that five-year-old girl, helpless and hopelessly clinging to my skirt."

The waiter brought their food, and they stared at it, neither wanting to eat. The last thing Mary had wanted to do at lunch was rehash their unpleasant childhood. Mary picked up her fork and tried the chicken.

"It's delicious," Mary said trying to change the subject. "I should bring Sam here."

"Sam? I thought he preferred deer or moose or something he gutted in the woods," Connie told her. "Isn't hunting his thing?" She picked at her food with her fork.

"He's looking forward to deer and turkey season coming up, sure. But he can also appreciate a good wine and a superb meal. If I insist, that is. He won't necessarily come here without a lot of nudging from me because he would have to dress up. He's a McDonald's kind of guy."

Connie laughed. "Are you and Sam dating?"

"No, Connie, I've told you. We're good friends and business partners. I wouldn't want to mess that up."

"But Mary, don't you like him a little more than a friend? You talk about him all the time. I think he's hot for you. Besides, I don't see him running around town with any sexy blondes."

Mary shrugged. "I haven't seen any at the funeral home either asking about him. If I do care about Sam, no one needs to know, Connie. I don't intend to marry again. One disastrous marriage did me in. It wouldn't be fair to Sam to lead him on."

Connie picked at her food. "Why not get married again, Mary? You're older and wiser now. You and Sam have lots in common. How many people can stand to work with the dead all the time? That's just plain creepy. You'd just have to put up with the camping thing. Learn to fish."

"I'd have to care about someone a lot to put a worm on a hook, Connie. I'm just not a woodsy sort of person."

Connie grinned. "I think you can't face your own feelings, Mary. See, maybe my shrink could help you too. He'd say you're defensive against men, afraid of being wounded again. This is the kind of rubbish I hear all the time. Maybe you need to open up and let your emotions out, Mary. Under that boring undertaker exterior, there's a wild woman yearning for mad romance."

Mary laughed. "Sure, Connie. Somehow I just can't see Sam being the mad romantic type. It just wouldn't occur to him to sweep me off my feet."

Deep in thought, Mary took another bite of her food. Connie had a point. She too had been wounded by love. Her divorce has scarred her, and she had never considered that she might find love again. Sam certainly didn't strike her as a knight in shining armor.

The rest of the hour, they talked happily about Connie's favorite subject, Connie.

### Chapter Four

In many ways, Mary was relieved to get back to the funeral home and away from her sister. She loved Connie, but her problems were beyond Mary's help. Connie's constant complaints wore her out.

The new office manager, David Finley, was sitting at his desk, punching numbers into the new and faster computer Sam had purchased for him. He was a college student studying business at night but working as Mary's assistant during the day. Unlike most of her former receptionists, David was genuinely interested in the funeral business. She was hoping he was a keeper.

"Mapping out potter's field for Mike," he told her. "He and Bill told me what they think the coordinates are. I'll have them walk it later to be sure it all matches."

Mary pointed to his gray suit jacket that was looped around his chair. Then she pointed to his matching tie hung loosely around his neck. He was supposed to be in a suit and tie at all times to greet the public. Reluctantly he slipped on his jacket, smiling because he had been caught. Mary decided to remain silent on the matter. She hated pantyhose, but she thought that men had the worst of it. Even with air-conditioning, the suit had to be uncomfortable.

David adjusted his tie. "Just entering the cemetery plot file into the new data base, Mary. You're going to love how easy and more efficient this is than scribbling on a plot map."

Mary shrugged. "Somehow, I don't think the computer and I will ever get along, David. I was always happy with my maps. Scribbling, as you call it. I always memorized the new sections and knew them by heart. Of course, my memory isn't what it used to be."

David nodded. "These are new times, Mary. No need for memorization anymore. We got to get in on the new changes the other funeral homes are going to. You and Sam go to the conferences so you know that there are all kinds of new technologies available."

"Tell that to the bald man in the embalming room, David. He still thinks computers are a passing fad."

David laughed. "Sam will have to get over that. By the way, the limo is at the shop. Mike took it there this morning saying there was an oil leak. He's getting it inspected while he was at it."

Mary picked up her mail from his desk. "That's another thing, David. Limos in funerals. Who started this new fashion? I couldn't believe it when a family asked me where our limo was. They do it at all the other funeral homes, they told me. I checked around and sure enough limos to funerals are coming into vogue. Well, what should we use for this afternoon's funeral? Will our regular transportation be sufficient for the family?"

"We'll be fine, Mary. The widow is in her nineties. I doubt if she will notice whether she's in a limo or not. You need to decide who will be driving the siren car. The police won't be able to make it. Those murders, you know. They said they didn't have a policeman to spare and could we fake it with our own car?"

Mary turned to look at the cork board behind David's desk. "I'll have to check the schedule." She glanced at the week's schedule for Mike and Bill, her groundskeepers. They also doubled as ushers during services. Sam also had posted a list of retirees who occasionally filled in for large funerals.

She saw that Bill was on for usher duty today. She decided he would be driving the blue Pontiac equipped with an attached siren that flashed on top. Virginia law required cars to pull over to allow a funeral train to pass on route to the cemetery. A flashing light ensured that people kept the tradition.

Sam came around the corner. He was in his white overcoat with his glasses pushed up on his hairless forehead. "You finished so soon?" she asked him.

"No, just the arterial injection. I'll start the cavity fluid in a minute. How was your lunch with Connie?"

"The food was great, the company was depressed. Our little adventure last night didn't even register in her brain. She thinks all the homeless people should disappear."

"That's Connie for you. If it's not about her, then it's not worth talking about." Sam had met Connie on several occasions and decided she was self-absorbed. "I don't like how she acts like you're invisible, Mary. She ignores your feelings."

"So true, Sam, but you can't pick your relatives. She thinks she's the only one with problems in her little world. Speaking of problems, the limo is down. Bill will have to drive the siren car from the church."

"Okay. The flowers are loaded, suits are dry cleaned for the ushers, and the grave's ready with the canopy. David checked the computer, and rain is not expected. It's a beautiful fall day. I have to finish Mr. Hancock for Thursday. Ah, I almost forgot. There's a man coming in for an interview to replace Carl. David lined up the appointment for later in the day because he knew we would be very busy today. But it's something we need to get on with right away. Bill and Mike are overworked as it is."

Mary was suddenly sad. Carl had worked at Preston Smith Funeral Home for almost twenty years. He had died during the summer after being shot by a mad doctor from the hospital. He and his wife were resting under Mary's favorite dogwood trees in Serenity Gardens. Even now, she missed him and his devotion to her business.

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "No one can ever replace Carl, Sam. I don't really want to deal with this. I'll be at the church so you can interview the new guy when he shows up. You know what we're looking for. I'll leave it to you."

Sam nodded. "Okay, I can do this. We need someone who cuts grass, uses a weedeater, unloads trucks, and helps occasionally with funerals, right? David told me the man has worked at a funeral home before."

Mary walked toward her office, Sam at her heels. He paused at her door. "There's something else, Mary. Some college professor called."

Suddenly Mary's phone beeped. Sam waved goodbye. "There he is again. I told him you would be coming back about now," he said mysteriously. Mary punched her line frowning. She hated surprises.

"Hello, Ms. Shepard? This is Dr. Luther Grisman of Newlenberg University. Your embalmer, Sam, gave me your name. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

Sam quickly walked away as Mary gave him a harsh look. "Sam is co-owner, not just the embalmer. I have a funeral in an hour and an half so what can I do for you?" Mary asked, puzzled that Sam couldn't handle this crisis. "Has there been a death in the family?"

"Oh no! Nothing like that. I teach anthropology at the university, and we're currently discussing death and cultural burial rituals. I thought it would be very beneficial for the students to hear about American burial traditions from a real undertaker. Sam tells me you are a licensed mortician as well as a funeral director. Would you be willing to come and talk to my class? I asked Sam, but he turned me down."

Mary was speechless. Then, "You mean to teach a class? How many students?"

"We'll be in the lecture hall. Maybe two hundred."

Mary gulped. "That's a lot."

"Yes, you could talk for half an hour and then answer questions. Lecture on what Americans usually do when there's a death. Tell how bodies are treated in the morgue or how they come to you. Maybe some of your funeral stories. I imagine that you have encountered many strange things in your profession. Sam said you recently buried a woman in a hunting outfit."

Mary chuckled. "She liked to hunt foxes, Dr. Grisman. It was very appropriate if you knew her. How technical should I get?"

"How you embalm the body, how long it's supposed to last, perhaps some history of the industry. They have to figure out why we Americans as a culture choose to do these practices and rituals for the dead using historical research and psychology. You give them the facts and they have to put it together in an essay. You know, death is quite a taboo subject for college students. They all think they will live forever."

Mary laughed. "Mine certainly does. Why did Sam turn you down? He's very knowledgeable, probably more so than me. He even went to medical school for a short time."

"He said you could lecture with the best of them," the professor told her.

Mary looked up, but Sam had completely disappeared. "I have no idea what he meant by that. Well, I guess I could come. It depends on whether my partner can spare me. We're pretty busy."

Dr. Grisman wouldn't give up. "Sam said he would be happy to cover for you. It's a date then. Wednesday at eleven o'clock. I'll spring for lunch. You just bring the lecture notes."

Later Mary opened the door to the embalming room. Sam sat at the counter arranging his fluid bottles. The body of Mr. Hancock lay on the gurney, a tube attached to his abdomen. He was ready for cavity fluid. He looked up as Mary came in.

"Who is this Dr. Grisman and why did you drop my name?" Mary demanded. "I don't know anything about lecturing to a class."

"Well, I know less than you! Can you imagine me up on a stage staring out over that crowd? Right before lunch too. I'd have them throwing up in the aisle with my stories about reconstructing body parts and fluid mishaps. I thought you'd be better. More of an interesting lecturer!"

Mary glared at him. "How do you know whether I can lecture or not?"

"I've been on the receiving end of many of your lectures, Mary. You're perfect for the job."

Mary glared at him, hands on her hips. "I'm not happy, Sam!" and slammed the door. Back in her office she looked up Dr. Grisman on her computer and was surprised when his name came up quickly on the university site. She learned he was an author of many anthropology books on marriage and dating rituals in modern society. He collected myths on angels and demons, according to the article, and was considered an expert on witchcraft.

She made a mental note to remember to ask him about the pentagram she had seen on the murdered homeless man on the shed. Maybe he could explain the symbol and why it might be found on a dead man.

Mary combed her hair and made sure all the scuffs were off her shoes. David had gone to class so the reception desk was empty. She called Bill on her cell phone. He answered from the cemetery and said he was on his way in to change into a suit and bring the car around. He asked her if she had the bulletins ready. She explained that they were at the church where she would meet him in half an hour. Some of the part-time ushers were already there and in position to park cars.

As she hung up, she said to David's empty chair, "Do all that on your computer, David." Her ability to organize and arrange funerals had come from following in the footsteps of her mentor and foster father, Preston Smith. After taking her and Connie into his home after her father died, he had earned her respect and love by bringing her into the family business. She had been at the Preston Smith Funeral Home ever since.

"No one likes the dead better than you, Mary," Connie had complained more than once. "You spend way too much time in that embalming room and ignoring life. There is life, Mary, outside this place. Get out there and live!"

Connie had a point. Once again, Mary wondered about Connie's shrink and whether he was taking on new patients.

About four, the delivery man arrived with the bouquet of flowers, and Sam signed for them. They were peach-colored roses for Mary, her favorites. He had secretly ordered them from the florist after she had left for the funeral. It was a peace offering for taking on the anthropology class at the university in his place. He hadn't wanted to tell her he got stage fright and wouldn't be able to say a word to the audience. What would she think?

He was arranging the roses on her desk when he heard the bell announcing that the front door was open. He went back out to the desk and saw a young man standing in the hall. The man, in his twenties, was dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up. His blonde hair was closely cropped to his head and he carried a Redskins ball cap in his hand.

"You must be Gavin Fitzgerald," Sam said extending his hand. "You're here for the groundskeeper's job. Have a seat. Nice to meet you."

After shaking hands, they sat down at the desk. David had left Gavin's application on his desk, and Sam quickly read through the qualifications.

"So you worked at a funeral home before?" Sam asked seeing his last employer was listed as Simpson Funeral Home on the form. "You know Bill Jones? His brother works there. I've forgotten his brother's name, though."

Gavin shook his head. "Sorry, don't know Bill. Yes, I worked at Simpson for a time. Did general maintenance and handyman stuff. Simpson has two cemeteries around town, and I kept them up. Mowed. Watered. Reseeded. Used a weedeater."

"Ever do funerals? Help with the ushering? Pick up bodies?"

"No, I was responsible for the cemeteries and the grounds around the home. I did help the men set the tombstone on the grave after the funeral. Put up tents for services, that kind of thing. I didn't actually bury people."

Sam frowned. "Would you have a problem with that? Ever see a body?"

Gavin continued to smile, rolling fingers around his hat brim. "I saw plenty of them while I was at Simpson's. I'm not squeamish, if that's what you mean."

"Why did you quit? Were you fired?"

"No. You were offering more money in the ad so I thought it was time for a change. Everyone knows how good you guys are to your employees."

Sam looked up from the application. "Oh, where did you hear that?"

"It got around at Simpson's," Gavin told him.

"That's nice to hear. But we really aren't paying any higher than Simpson Funeral Home. We don't compete with them. There's plenty of work for us both. Sometimes we even work together. You got some kind of letter of reference you can show me? My partner is a stickler for details."

Gavin pulled out a piece of folded paper from his pocket.

"My last pay stub. To prove I worked there." He unfolded it and handed it to Sam. Sam noticed the date was July. It was now late September. There was no name on the stub.

"You quit in July?" Sam asked.

Gavin shook his head. "Just the last paycheck I could find."

"Okay then. I'll give this along with your application to my office manager for payroll. When can you start? We're pretty shorthanded. The sooner the better."

Gavin smiled. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow then. We start at seven. Donuts and coffee are served at this desk. You'll train with Mike and will be learning to use the dozer in case he's absent. He may want you to get certified in heavy equipment. It's to your advantage, and we pay for the training. It's a skill you can take with you to other jobs. Then Bill will go through all the steps to get ready for a funeral, and soon you'll be a pro."

"Sounds good," Gavin answered.

"Mary will be measuring you for a black suit. Got a tie? Blacks socks and shoes?"

Gavin sighed. "Somewhere."

"You don't say much, do you? I'll warn you, Mike and Bill spend most of their time chatting their day away. Hope you can keep up. See you tomorrow."

They stood and shook hands again. "Good to have you on board," Sam said. Sam walked him to the door. Gavin reached for the doorknob and as he opened the door, Sam noticed for the first time the bright red snake etched on Gavin's arm, complete with scales and fangs. It stretched from his shoulder down past his elbow, the outline clearly visible through the white shirt.

Sam stopped him. "Boy, that's some scary tattoo you have on your arm there. Were you in the Navy once?"

"Something like that," he heard Gavin mutter as he went out the door.

### Chapter Five

Connie's day began with a bad omen. She awoke to find her Persian cat, Sophia, ripping up her favorite satin chair. Stuffing and tatters of red material lay on the carpet when Connie shuffled into the room in her bathrobe to turn on the TV. She couldn't believe what she saw. That had been a six-hundred- dollar chair. Now it was ruined. Why hadn't she just had the cat declawed like Mary had suggested? Now she would have to replace the chair and waste a day getting the cat into its cage and to the vet. It would be traumatic for both of them.

The orange and white cat rubbed against her legs and begged for breakfast. "You're a dead cat!" Connie shouted, and the cat ran under her bed. Then Connie felt guilty. The cat was innocent and only doing what was natural. She dumped an extra helping of food in her bowl to make up for the shouting. Deep inside, though, Connie wished she had bought a goldfish.

The toast came out black, and Connie dumped it into the trash can on her way out the door. She was late to work, trying to vacuum up the pieces of her chair. When she got to her office building, the homeless man was sitting at the doors again. He was perched on his mound of cardboard, dirty overcoat wrapped around him like a tent. He held out a cup, and Connie ignored him. As she went through the door, she felt something wet on the back of her leg. She looked down as spittle ran down her leg.

"Ah, gross!" she shouted at him. "How dare you! I'll fix you, you bastard!"

"I'll fix you! I'll fix you!" Tom chanted behind her.

"Look, Jerry," she pounded on the security desk. "He spit on me! What are we paying you for? I could get AIDS or something. I don't dare wipe it off with my hand. Give me your handkerchief. Now get rid of him!"

Jerry, the security guard, picked up his police stick and headed out the door. A few seconds later, Connie saw the homeless man flying into a parked car and rolling to the ground in a broken heap. Jerry hauled him up to his feet and raised his stick. Connie could see the homeless man shielding his face from Jerry's onslaught, and it made Connie feel ashamed. She hadn't ordered him to kill the tramp. But now, perhaps, the crazy old man would leave the area for good. It was the only way to get through his demented skull.

She was relieved when she saw the homeless man squirm loose from Jerry's grip and dash down the sidewalk. Blood streaked down his face. Jerry returned carrying dirty sheets of cardboard and a half-full bottle of some liquor.

"I think that's the last we're going to see of him," Jerry announced. "I've destroyed his nest."

"What was the cardboard all about anyway?"

"He thought it protected him from the aliens. They can't shoot their rays through it to his brains. He says they're all controlled by the alien masters down at the shelter. What a loony!"

Connie was surprised. "He told you all that?"

"He tells everyone who comes by. He said the police work for the shelter, and you're their queen bee. You're the mistress of evil."

Connie sighed. "Great. I'm special."

"Now, you didn't see what I just did, Ms. Shepard. What I just did was assault, and I did it for you. I could lose my job and get jail time. My record ain't as clean as I claimed on my application. I've beat up people before. Are we both agreed that what we know just happened didn't really happen?"

Connie smiled. "Absolutely, Jerry. You're my hero. As far as I am concerned, you did what needed to be done months ago. You should get a raise!"

Connie got into the elevator. Feeling a headache coming on, she met her secretary Susie at the door of her office and asked for an aspirin.

As she handed Connie the bottle, Susie leaned over and whispered, "Mrs. Jackson's here. She's called in Sean and John, and they're going shouting rounds in your office." This was bad. Sean Scotfellow was Connie's supervisor, and John was his nephew and assistant. Both were her bosses, and they were the last ones Connie wanted to hear complaints from.

"Why are they in there? She's my client."

"You weren't here. She demanded to see someone in charge, and they were in the lounge and heard the shouting. I just wanted to warn you so you knew what you were walking into. World War Three."

Connie shook her head. "More crazy people. This can't be happening. My bad day has gone to the worst day of my life." Connie opened the door. First she apologized about being late and made up some quick story about car trouble. The lying was the easy part.

An old lady sat in a chair, her arms crossed in anger. She was wrapped in her mink coat, her cane on the floor. Immediately, Mrs. Jackson began launching accusations when Connie came in. Connie sat in her chair, pale and quiet while Mrs. Jackson yelled about the wrong drapes, the wrong color couch, and a thousand other details that Connie was responsible for. She wanted her money back, and Connie fired. Sean and John stood beside Connie listening politely to the old lady's rambling and shaking their heads.

John tried to stop the tirade. "Let's calm down, Mrs. Jackson and give Connie a chance to explain. I'm sure this has all been one big misunderstanding. Connie is our best decorator!"

"Then I don't want to ever come back to this place if she's the best you've got. This isn't what I ordered, and I won't stand for this!"

Connie finally opened her mouth, "Mrs. Jackson, we went over the plans. I showed you the material, and you agreed to the whole layout. I showed you the design plans, in color yet. I thought we were in complete agreement."

Mrs. Jackson stomped her foot. "You did no such thing. I never agreed to orange. I hate orange, and you know it. You did this to spite me."

"Spite you? I don't know you," Connie said glaring. "Look, I have a copy of the contract. You signed it. Everything single thing is listed there in great detail. Don't you remember?"

The old lady refused to talk. Connie was dumbfounded. She reached over and pulled the contract off the top of the pile in her out box. "That's your signature, isn't it, Mrs. Jackson?"

"Of course it isn't. You signed it yourself."

Connie's eyes grew large, and she realized Mrs. Jackson was senile or crazy or both. She looked at the faces of Sean and John who were just as confused as she was.

"Connie, why don't you step out into the hall? Let us see if we can reach a compromise with Mrs. Jackson. We're all reasonable people here," her boss offered, signaling her to escape. Connie leaped up, anxious to go.

"Sure." Connie raced out the door and into the lounge where she poured herself a strong cup of coffee. It was too early to drink scotch, but she was tempted. She knew where the secretary hid a bottle in the cabinet for special clients. No, she told herself, she was strong. She was a wall. Nothing could get through her defenses. The tears that were welling up in her eyes evaporated quickly, and she was calm again. The anger was somewhere else down deep inside with the lid screwed on tight. Connie was once again in control.

John and Sean came in and found Connie sitting at the table leafing through the newspaper. She was reading her ex-boyfriend's account of the discovery of the homeless man in Mary's cemetery. She wondered if the dead man and her homeless man Tom knew each other.

She looked up when they came in. "Well?"

"We managed to convince her that John here would draw up a new set of plans and you would arrange for the curtains and couch to find their way back to the store. This way we keep the money and the account."

Connie stared at them. "That couch was ordered special from the factory. It was non-returnable," Connie told them. "The material was exquisite."

"Then you lose some of your commission," Sean said.

"What! None of this was my fault. John was there when I showed her the plans. He knows I was telling the truth. He saw her sign that contract. No one told me she was mental! I don't think we should be doing business with a woman who belongs in a retirement home and doesn't remember things from one moment to the next."

Sean shrugged. "Of course she's mental, Connie. Next time you'd better make sure your clients have a full deck before they sign contracts. That doesn't mean we can't take her money, mental or not. Here's what we'll do. John will go to her son, bring him in, and show him your new plans tomorrow while he's in town. Get him to sign a final contract with no returns. That way, she thinks you're out of the picture, and we have someone competent to hold legally responsible if she's goes off again. We still get paid."

Connie stood up, angry. "Out of the picture? Isn't it still my account?"

John laughed. "Sean had to agree to fire you to get her to let us keep the account. I don't think she was going to leave until she knew she had your head on a platter."

"Great. I hope that was lie, at least."

Her boss Sean smiled. "Of course it was a lie, Connie. Whatever it takes to make the customer happy and us richer. That's our motto, you know."

Connie frowned. "But I eat the couch? Orange isn't my color either," Connie whined.

"You bought it. You knew the rules around here. Everything is returnable. You chose to break the rule, and now you know better. We can't be responsible for every screw-up of yours. Follow the rules."

"I didn't screw up," Connie grumbled, seething. "It was the couch Jackson picked out. She had to have that couch or else."

Sean stood at the door. "Plans by tomorrow, Connie. This time the color is mauve."

"Same plans in mauve?" Connie looked up. "I hate that color too."

"The old bat definitely said mauve. Not that that means anything since she's senile. And no, it's not going to be as easy as using the old plans, I'm afraid. She wants a whole new layout. John can fill you in on the details. I'm off to meet with another, more reasonable client. Good luck. On my desk by tomorrow, Connie."

John and Connie watched Sean leave. "I don't believe this," Connie moaned. "I'll be here all night. I had a date I was looking forward to. Now I'll have to cancel. This really sucks!"

"Nothing like burning the midnight oil for someone who doesn't appreciate it. Besides, you just got a new couch," John told her. "Shall we get started?"

### Chapter Six

It was almost midnight when an exhausted Connie finally passed the empty and dark security desk to head for home. The plans were sitting on Sean's desk, and John had left for his son's birthday party hours ago. Connie didn't bother signing out, but paused at the doors to look out upon the street.

It was very dark with the moon hidden behind the clouds. Connie had never left the office this late before and took a few minutes to remember where she had left her car. It was one block down on the left, but the streetlight was out. That only increased her desire to get home, take a hot bath, and put the bad events of the day behind her. She needed to wash this day off her and forget it ever happened. Tomorrow would be a new beginning. Like always, Connie knew she would overcome these tribulations and arise victorious.

She reached down in her pink designer purse and pulled out her keys. That's when she felt the roll of fifty dollar bills at the bottom of her purse. She realized she was carrying five hundred dollars that she forgot to drop off at the bank. It was company money from a client that had paid her in cash. Accounting already had the receipt and believed it was in the bank.

"I can't believe this. This day keeps getting better and better." She thought about going by the bank but didn't want to be standing out there at this time of night. "I'll do it first thing in the morning," she resolved, slipping on her gloves. Right now she had to get home. God, she prayed, let me get to my car safe. Jim had told her this was one of the worst neighborhoods for crime, and she had promised never to be out this late after dark while they were dating. But here she was in the dark at this hour, and Jim had stopped worrying about her several months ago. She was on her own tonight.

"Here goes!" She pushed open the door, and it clicked behind her. She couldn't go back inside without setting off the alarm.

Connie marched onward, clutching her purse to her chest. She had just crossed the alley when she heard a deep voice call out in the darkness.

"Hey! Hey, queen bee! Look at me. I'm looking at you,"

Connie turned and saw Tom, the homeless man, standing against the alley wall. His grubby hand grabbed the sleeve of her suit, forcing her to stop.

"Don't touch my suit. It's dry cleaning only!" she heard herself shouting. She imagined a grimy black handprint on her shoulder. She was already calculating the price to remove his filth.

"Got a dollar for the man you had beaten up? Don't you think you owe me a little something for that? Look at my face, bitch. I bet it needs stitches."

Dried blood still lined the man's face from the morning. There was a deep cut by his ear. "Get away from me! I don't owe you anything. You got exactly what you deserved. You should leave my business alone. You've got no right sitting out there scaring my customers away."

"That so? What did I ever do to you? I bet you've got a warm bed to go home to and gourmet food in the refrigerator. You wanna see what I got? I got this alley here. I eat from the trash."

Connie looked around for an escape, but the man was still hanging on to her jacket. "Go to the shelter! That's where you belong," she shouted.

He clung to her arm. "You go to the shelter. They eat men there, did you know that? Of course you do. You eat men too, don't you? What you got in that pretty purse of yours? Money, huh? Money to give to me?"

Now Connie was desperate. The street was still empty, and she saw no one that could help her. A dog ran out of the alley across the street knocking over a trash can, and Connie looked to see if someone was there. At that moment, he grabbed her other sleeve and threw her against the brick wall of the alley.

He yanked on her purse strap, but she clutched it to her chest and refused to turn loose. If she lost that money, she would have to empty her bank account to cover it and maybe lose her job for not following Sean's company rules. It would be another black spot on her record.

"I'll scream! Leave me alone!" she yelled in his face. Now she could smell the alcohol and sweat, and it made her

nauseous.

He smiled with rotted teeth. "Give me the purse and you won't get hurt," he told her, dragging her further into the alley. A rusty knife appeared from the pocket in his jacket. He waved it in her face, reached again for the purse strap to cut it in half.

Connie kicked him in the groin, and the man yelled out in pain. She caught his hand and pried the knife away as he doubled over. He backed away, his hands on his genitals.

He straightened up. "That's something else I owe you for." He lunged at her, his hands closing tightly around her neck. She recoiled from his foul breath and saw her silver locket fall into the dirt. Then an earring disappeared, ripped from her earlobe as they struggled. In her pain, she let the purse fall to the ground at her feet. At that moment, she knew she was going to die. What was she thinking, antagonizing an insane man?

Then she remembered the knife in her hand, and she struck with all her might. The knife plunged into his chest, spurting blood over her suit. He screamed and grasped the handle of the blade trying to pull it out.

He ceased to talk as blood bubbled out his mouth, and he sank to his knees, smearing blood down her skirt as he slid. Connie changed in that instant. She became someone else, and reality vanished. Reaching down and slipping her hand over his, she gripped the bloody knife and ripped it out of his chest. She knew he was dying, but she didn't care. Saving him was the last thing on her mind. Her wall of reasoning had crumbled, and she was out of control. The tears flowed down her cheeks. She stepped outside herself and everything became like a dream. She could watch herself move, but seemed to have no power to stop her swinging arm. She began to babble, entranced by the blood.

"Daddy, you hurt me!" She stabbed him in the neck until she heard the bones crunch, and then she jerked the knife back out in a rough motion. He crumpled into a bloody ball at her feet. "You hurt me! You hurt a little girl. I died when you did that. It's your turn."

The knife went in and out of the body several times, and each time Connie's anger poured out with the man's blood. She remembered being molested by her father first, then the day her college boyfriend dumped her after having sex with her. She remembered that professor who promised her an "A" if she came into his office after hours. Many men and many bad affairs. The hateful calls from the wives and tales of the lives she had ruined by taking their husbands. A five-year-old child in a woman's body stood in the darkness and cried for her lost innocence. She wanted her life back. She wanted to start over.

The man stopped moving, and Connie became aware again that she was standing in an alley in the dark. There was a bloody knife in her hand. She stepped back, picking up her purse with her soiled gloves. She felt control come back.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "What has happened here?" There was a man moaning on the ground, and she wasn't sure how he got there. She was numb, all feeling drained from her body.

Why was she holding a bloody knife? She knelt down a final time and slipped it into his hand. "This is yours, I believe."

He tried to speak, but blood came out of his mouth. She should call the police, she thought. Get some help. Was it a crime to stab a homeless man? Surely not. They would ask her to explain, and she would say it was self-defense, clear and simple. Clear? For some reason she couldn't remember what just happened. Who was this? What did he want? Why was she covered with blood? How dare he bleed on her designer clothes! She'd have to get the whole suit cleaned now, and it was very expensive.

Well, she had to get home. Let someone else clean up this mess. It wasn't her responsibility. She was just on her way home after a very bad day at work, none of which was her fault. She deserved some peace and quiet. If she called the police, she'd be down at the station all night.

In a daze, Connie stepped out of the alley. She heard a noise across the street and peered through the darkness. A cat meowed, but no one came out into the light. She walked the rest of the way to her car and wondered where her keys were. She must have left them on her desk in the office. She pulled out a spare set from her purse and slid carefully into her car seat. She didn't want the blood to get all over the seats. More expensive cleaning. Before touching the wheel, she peeled off her gloves and put them in her purse. Without another thought, she pulled out into the night and sped away. She hummed a happy song, hoping tomorrow would be a better day.

In the darkness of the alley, a man dressed in black with a red snake tattoo on both arms laughed as he watched her drive off. When her taillights glowed red in the distance, he motioned the others to join him in the alley. They had watched the killing from across the street in an abandoned warehouse.

"Hi, Tom," he whispered to the dying man. "Long time no see. You knew we would meet again. I hear you've been asking questions about me down at the shelter. Too bad you don't read the papers because you would know that your friends Freddie and George are dead. But I told you this is how it would end long ago if you opened your mouth. With you dead. It seems someone else had the honor, though. You never were good with women."

A youth appeared with a hacksaw in his hand. Another took a picture, and the flash lit up the alley. Tom pushed his feet together, trying to crawl away, but one of the boys grabbed his leg.

"Where you going, Tom? Don't you have an appointment?" the man in black asked. "In Hell?"

Tom stopped breathing, blood pooling around his head. The man in black signaled to the boy with the saw. "You have work to do." They worked quietly in the darkness while their leader looked out into the street. Out there was a woman who had killed Tom in an alley fight. He would have to deal with her later. They were busy tonight.

### Chapter Seven

The next morning when Mary drove into the parking lot, she noticed that Sam's new green Honda SUV was sitting in the same spot as yesterday. Mary always parked under a tree to avoid overheating the interior. Funny, she thought, that Sam should always park in the same spot every day. He was obsessive about a lot of things, she was learning.

When she reached the front door, it was locked. It was not like Sam to forget to unlock the doors when he came in. Clients came and went at all hours. It was an unspoken rule that when you came in, you unlocked the door. Sam was always there first.

She pulled out her large set of keys and opened the door. The lights were still off, and she flicked the switch. There was no sign of Sam. She opened the door to the embalming door and yelled, "Sam, you in there?" No answer. Where could he be?

She passed her office and saw a huge bouquet of peach roses arranged in one of her Chinese vases. She paused and came in to read to the card. They were from Sam, to make up for giving Dr. Grisman her name. Mary smiled. This was a side of Sam she hadn't seen before. "Sam?" she called out again.

She was about to go out the back door and cross the back alley to the warehouse where caskets and vaults were displayed. Sam also kept his extra chemicals in the back storeroom, and she expected to find him there. As she touched the doorknob to go outside, she heard a strange noise in the hall. "Sam?" she yelled again. It sounded like someone was knocking on the wall. She turned and went back to David's desk to listen. Suddenly the front door flew open, and Mike rushed in dressed in his blue overalls. His hand went for the phone on the corner of the desk.

Mary, who prided herself on staying cool under any circumstance, put her hand over Mike's and stopped him from dialing. "What's the matter, Mike? Who are you dialing?"

"The police, Mary! There's a body out of its grave and lying on top of the earth! In Section D. Oh Lordy! Oh Lordy! I've never seen such a sight."

Mary put the phone back down. "Calm down, Mike. Sit down. Take a deep breath. Tell me the story first. I need to know what's going on. What's got you all stirred up? You're not making any sense. A body's out of its grave?"

Mike collapsed into the chair. "I reckon it doesn't make any sense, but stranger things have happened around here and you know it." The door opened again and in came a man Mary didn't recognize. He was wearing a workman's hat.

"Who are you?" Mary asked quickly. "And where did you get those clothes? They belong to the home."

Mike held up his hand. "That's Gavin Fitzgerald, the new guy Sam hired last night," Mike told her. "Tell her Gavin! Tell her what we saw when we got to the cemetery. Oh, it was awful! She thinks I've lost it!"

Gavin was strangely unemotional, thought Mary, having just discovered a body. Mike was a mess in comparison. Gavin stood at the desk recounting matter-of-factly their morning discovery. "There's an old man lying on top of a grave out there. I thought he was sleeping, you know, a drunk who wandered in last night. I went to shake him, and then I realized he wasn't breathing. That's when Mike grabbed me, and we came back here to call the police."

Mary sighed. "That's all we need today. Funeral at one," Mary said, ever thinking about the business. "More out-of-place bodies in my cemetery. Where's Sam, Mike? Have you seen him this morning? There's no coffee or donuts, but his car's out front. He didn't even unlock the door. I can't handle this all by myself."

"Ain't seen him yet. I parked over at the shed. What should we do now, Mary? We were planning on weedeating the old section. Then Gavin and I were going to prepare a grave and set up the tent."

Mary nodded. "That still sounds like a good plan to me. It's probably just what Gavin thinks, a homeless man who wandered in last night and died of exposure or alcohol poisoning. It happens. The homeless like our benches. You guys go on about your business just as you planned. It'll keep your mind off the body until the police arrive. Weedeat on the other side of the cemetery from the body. Don't forget the mausoleum. The weeds have taken over there. I'll call the police. Before they can remove the body, they'll have to check to see if there's been a crime or not. So don't touch anything. Nice to meet you, Gavin. Sorry this was how your first day went."

Gavin nodded, but said nothing. Again, Mary was struck by how calm he was. The sudden appearance of a dead body hadn't rattled him at all. He followed Mike out. Mary began to dial 911. She was eventually connected to Jim Benton, the homicide detective.

"Mary, what has happened now? I'm up to my neck in murders in this little town."

"I know, Jim. But there's another body that's not ours in the cemetery. Mike and the new man found it this morning lying on top of a grave. They aren't sure whether it's foul play or a natural death. They thought he was a drunk."

"We're on our way."

Mary hung up. She was still sitting at the desk when she suddenly heard a bump. She paused and listened. Bump. Bump. It was coming from the closet. Mary whipped around and opened the closet door. Sam fell out, hands and feet tied, with a black hood over his head."

"Oh my God!" Mary gasped. She quickly pulled off the hood and saw tape across his mouth. "Forgive me, Sam," she said as she peeled it slowly off, trying not to hurt him. Sam's eyes reflected the pain, and he moaned when he could finally open his mouth.

"That really hurt. Oh God, I can't feel my hands or feet." Mary ran to her desk and got her pocketknife from her drawer. For several minutes, she hacked and sawed at Sam's ropes until he was finally free. He collapsed on the floor.

"What the hell happened to you, Sam?" Mary leaned over his body. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm not sure," he managed to say. "I seem to be in one piece. No broken bones. Just my pride. How dare they throw me in the closet! It wasn't a fair fight."

"Who did this? I suppose you didn't get in the closet by yourself!"

"You bet I didn't. I was locking up last night after you left when I heard a knock at the back door. I opened the door and the next thing I knew, there was a hood over my head. I was thrown like a sack of potatoes into the closet, head first."

"You didn't see them?"

"It all happened so fast and then, pow! A hood came over my eyes and tape over my mouth. Had to be more than one. I heard a lot of footsteps while I was in there. Many voices."

Mary helped Sam to his feet. "I wonder what they were after?" They walked around the office to restore the blood flow to his stiffened joints. "The police are on their way over. Mike found another body. Must be connected to this attack on you. Can you feel the blood coming back into your feet?"

"Yes, but it's painful. Let me sit for a minute."

Sam sat in the desk chair, stretching his arms and legs. "Need an ambulance?" Mary asked him. He shook his head.

"I'll be alright in a minute. I've got to get to the embalming room and see if they took anything. You'd better check the safe."

Mary nodded. "Did you recognize any of the voices?"

Sam was annoyed. "No, I don't travel in those kinds of circles, Mary. My friends don't attack people and truss them up like pigs."

Mary forced a smile. "That's good to know, Sam. I was only wondering if this might have been an inside job. This Gavin fellow, for example. Did you show him around yesterday after you hired him?"

"Some. Not the embalming room. Certainly didn't point out the safe. I've still got my keys in my pocket. They didn't even look for them."

"Must have broken in, then. Let me check the safe," Mary said and darted off to Sam's office. On the floor behind his desk sat the black safe. She tried the handle and saw that it was still locked.

"It's okay," she shouted to Sam. "Nothing out of place."

"Good, that's a relief," she heard him say.

Mary was coming back to Sam when the doorbell rang again, and she opened the door for Jim. He was in his black suit today, black tie cock-eyed around his neck. He was carrying a camera, and two other police officers accompanied him.

Jim glanced at Sam and then took another look. He examined the tape marks across this mouth. "What happened to you, Sam? Rough night?"

Mary handed the detective the tape strips. Sam rubbed his wrists. "You could say that."

Jim walked over. "Are those ropes on the floor?"

"Freshly sawed off by Mary a minute ago when she found me in the closet, tied up like a chicken for baking. I was attacked last night as I was closing up after a service. There was a knock on the back door but when I opened it, I didn't see anyone. Then a hood went over my head, my mouth got taped, and I was tossed into the closet where I remained until Mary rescued me just now."

"You said they. How many do you think there might have been?"

"I heard several voices so I think maybe three."

Jim shook his head. "This town is going to hell in a hurry. Did they take anything?"

"I haven't looked yet, but Mary tells me the safe was left untouched. The money's still there. I can't think what else they were after. The computer's here. I haven't looked in the embalming room yet to see if they took my chemicals."

"Would these chemicals be the kind you could sell on the street for huffing?" Jim asked while another officer took notes.

"Naw. Some are toxic. I doubt if teenagers have ever heard of them."

Jim shook his head. "You'd be surprised at what stupid teenagers will do. Sniff anything. Well, drop by the station today and file a report, Sam. Right now we have to sort out this new turn of events in the cemetery. It might explain why you were jumped last night. Show me which way to go, Mary."

Sam hobbled to his feet. Leaning on Mary, he followed them to the door. "I want to see this too. Maybe I can help."

Mary steadied him. Jim held the door open. "I can use all the help I can get. Only stick to the rules about not contaminating the crime scene. Mike may have already done that, so let's keep the damage to a minimum."

They crossed the street on foot and hailed Mike who was weedeating at the mausoleum where the ashes of the cremated were kept. When Mike saw them, he stopped his machine and pulled out his ear plugs. "I'm glad to see you," he said to Jim.

"Lead the way, my good man," Jim said.

Mike took them down the center path of the cemetery toward the shed. They passed Gavin who was leaf-blowing in preparation for the afternoon funeral. Jim gave Mary a puzzled look and pointed. "Hired yesterday," Mary explained. "I wonder about him. He's too quiet. When Mike came in all excited and jumping up and down, Gavin just ambled in. He was almost unemotional telling me the story. That's just not the way you would act if you'd stumbled upon a dead man first thing in the morning."

Jim locked eyes with the new employee. Gavin soon looked away. "Did you check his references?"

"Ask Sam. He did the interview and the hiring."

Sam shrugged. "All he had was a pay stub that proved he had worked for Simpson's." Sam limped along behind Jim. "He seemed to be telling the truth. I need help so I hired him, no questions asked."

"Always ask questions, Sam," Jim warned him.

They were almost to the back fence when Mike led them to an eight-foot marble angel with outstretched arms. "There he is, right at the angel's feet."

"Dramatic," Sam said, staring at the body of an older male in a dirty coat and ragged pants. The face was turned away from them and his arms were outstretched from his sides across the grave. The body mimicked the statue.

"Why do you say dramatic, Sam?" Mary asked him.

"Because this is the tallest monument in the cemetery. They weren't trying to hide him at all. They wanted to show off their murder."

Mary moved forward. "We don't know if it's murder, Sam. He could have crawled up here and died."

Mary made her way around the monument to look at the face. "I know him! He's that homeless man outside Connie's office. Tom somebody."

"Tom Powers," Jim said. "I thought he looked familiar. Connie was always having him hauled to the station for disturbing the peace and trespassing. The local crazy man. I wonder what made him come up here? It's quite a hike from downtown where he usually hangs out."

Mary crouched down to look at his face. "Tramps sleep here on the benches at night sometimes. It's quiet. The dead don't make much noise."

"Could have been dropped off here by the people I met last night," Sam ventured.

"Maybe. I'll call for an ambulance and the medical examiner," Jim told them, pushing numbers on his cell phone.

Mary continued to study the body.

"Stiff," she said to Sam. "Died during the night. And if I'm not mistaken, that's blood on his jacket." Taking a branch from the ground, she gently lifted his coat lining. "More blood inside. I think he was shot or stabbed. That's different from the man we found on the shed."

"No blood on the grave," Sam observed. "Where did it all go?"

"The blood is where they killed him," Jim offered. "I bet we can find it near Connie's building. I think he was brought here after he was killed by those intruders last night. Then they dumped him where they knew you would find him right away. I recognize the arms laid out like a cross. They do that every time. No pentagram drawn on the head, though and a different mode of murder."

Sam looked up. "Copycat?"

Jim frowned. "I hope not. I would hate to think there were two groups of murderous bastards roaming our good city."

Jim waited for the medical examiner. Mary and Sam looked at the body from different angles, being careful to step around the body.

"Where's his other hand?" Sam suddenly asked and pointed. Mary noticed that fingers extended from one sleeve but not the other. She had assumed his coat covered the other hand. Now she carefully crouched down and stretching way out, lifted the sleeve with her stick. It was empty.

"Sam's right. His hand's missing," Mary announced. "That's not so different, is it? The others were missing body parts too, weren't they?"

"Maybe," Jim remarked. "I don't want all the details leaking to the press so we don't tell them everything."

Sam stood up. "Why would they cut off his hand? What could they do with it?"

"Trophy," Jim said. "The real sick ones like to take a souvenir to remind them of their crimes. I read that in Murder 101 at the academy. Of course, I've never seen it in real life until now. So far they have collected two hands and a foot. But you didn't hear me say that. Keep that to yourselves."

"Right," Mary and Sam said together.

An officer came down the path carrying more specimen bags. "The embalming room is a mess," the officer told Jim. "I think they absconded with most of the supplies."

Sam nodded. "Now it finally all makes sense," he said.

Mary stared at him. "How does any of this make sense?"

"What do you do with a hand? A foot? They rot in a couple of days. How could you keep them forever?" he asked her.

She grinned, a strange light in her eyes. "You pickle them, of course!"

### Chapter Eight

Later that day Jim and his partner Harry paid a visit to the Scotfellow building to have a look around. While Harry interviewed the security guard inside, Jim walked around the front looking for clues to the murder of Tom Powers. The medical examiner had tentatively set the time of death for twelve midnight. The victim had been repeatedly stabbed, most of the wounds superficial, as though the assailant was weak or playing with him. The wound to the lung was the fatal stroke causing him to suffocate in his own blood.

Jim slipped into the alley next to the building, carefully looking for signs of a struggle. He smelled rotten garbage and urine, and he saw cardboard squares made from smashed grocery boxes heaped against the wall. Tom Powers had definitely been there. Jim pulled out latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.

Not far into the alley, he paused and noticed a large dark spot on the pavement.

"Hey, Jim. Find anything?" Harry yelled from the sidewalk.

Jim pointed to the floor of the alley. "I think there's blood here. Kill spot. Call for backup for crime scene processing. That may be Tom's cardboard over there. We'll need to check for fingerprints. Any luck inside?"

"Guard said he last saw Tom about ten o'clock yesterday morning when he chased him off. There's more to it, though, I'm sure. I could tell he was holding something back. He seemed pretty nervous. Claims he went home at five-thirty. He's rewinding the security tape now."

Jim continued to search the alley, his foot kicking at dirty food wrappers and cans in his way. He came to the cardboard stacked against the wall and gently shifted the pile to see what was underneath.

"Bingo!" he hollered to his partner.

Harry was on the cell phone to headquarters. Automatically, he took out a specimen bag and held it out to Jim. Jim returned shortly with a bagged bloody knife.

"Murder weapon, I bet," Jim said.

"Why move the body but leave the weapon behind? How smart is that?" Harry asked him, putting his cell phone back into his pocket. "Why not toss the weapon somewhere else? Up to now they haven't made any major mistakes. Why would they start now?"

"Because they wanted us to find it, Harry. It's going to tell us something they want us to know. Nothing these monsters have done has been random. They're telling us a story. Got another bag?"

Jim went back to the cardboard pile and bagged a small pink object he picked up from the alley. He held it up to Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Earring. Rose quartz. There seems to have been a woman here. Looks familiar to me. Like a pair I gave a certain woman who works here as a Christmas present one year."

"Connie? Why would Connie have anything to do with Tom Powers? She hated the guy."

Jim shrugged. "Maybe she dropped it another time. That's what I'm telling myself, anyway. Not necessarily last night when Tom Powers was killed," Jim told him. "We'll have to ask her. Won't that be fun?"

Harry looked around, smiling. "That's pretty interesting, Jim. Maybe Connie did see Tom Powers dead last night but refused to do anything about it. She isn't the Good Samaritan type. She would have let him die. I'd bet on it."

"I would too, Harry, but I can't believe she would step one foot in this dirty alley for any reason. She's too good for that. Look at this." Jim held up a silver locket, the chain broke and covered with dried blood. "I think I might recognize this too. We'll open it up at the station."

"Maybe Tom stole it," Harry offered.

Jim nodded. "I wouldn't put anything past him. Totally insane, that one. But even he didn't deserve this."

A police car pulled up to the curb. Jim paused to give some instructions and watched as police tape was stretched across the alley before he went into the building. Harry trailed along behind, notebook in hand.

The security guard met them at the door and handed them a video tape. While Harry took the tape, Jim shook hands with the guard.

"I'm Detective Jim Benton, and we're investigating the death of Tom Powers last night, your resident homeless man. I understand you've have had many run-ins with him these couple of weeks. We now believe he was killed in the alley outside this building and then transported to Serenity Gardens. We'd like you to come down to the station for routine questioning. For now, is there anything you want to tell me about what went on last night? Did you notice any strange people hanging around when you left? Different car parked out front?"

Jerry shook his head. He shifted from one foot to another. "No, like I told Mr. Lincoln, I ran Tom away from the door about ten yesterday morning when he spit on someone, and I ain't seen him since. When I left at five-thirty, there were several people still working in the building. They're supposed to sign out when they leave, and I gave Mr. Lincoln the roster sheet so he could check on that. I didn't notice anything odd, no strange people hanging around or nothing. Everything seemed normal."

Poor eye contact, Jim noted. Harry was right. This guard was hiding something. He'd have Harry run a background check on the man as soon as possible.

"Okay, thanks a lot," Jim told the guard and turned back to Harry. "Let's see how they're getting along outside, and then we'll go run this tape."

"You don't want to talk to the other people in the building, Jim?" Harry looked puzzled.

"Not yet. This tape will narrow it down. Besides, I'm thinking the murderers were outside and probably not connected to this building. But you never know. I've been wrong before. We could just be dealing with a guard who decided to deal permanently with a reoccurring problem."

Outside in the alley, Jim and Harry watched as the other officers examined the crime scene. The forensics team scraped a dried substance off the pavement, placing it in a specimen bottle for analysis in the lab. The camera man recorded the progress while officers carefully lifted fingerprints. Work in the alley was almost finished when Jim felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Sherry McCray of WSVP News standing next to him with her microphone.

"Care to comment on the activity, Detective Benton? A little bird told me you were busy here. Murder, again?"

"Yes, Sherry, as always you and your bird are right on the money. We're investigating a possible murder scene."

"Line up the camera, boys. Hair, okay? Great. Roll'em. Detective Benton, could this alley be connected to the discovery of a dead homeless man in Serenity Gardens this very morning?"

"I didn't release that information to the press yet, Sherry. Oh, I know, your little bird again. Someone in my office perhaps? I need to put that bird in a cage. Yes, to answer your question. We're working on a connection of this alley and the man found in the cemetery."

Sherry remained where she was, microphone extended. Jim was trapped. "How many dead homeless men does that make, Detective? Are we dealing with a serial killer right here in our small burg?"

"Three dead homeless men, but we are far from certain, Sherry, that all three are connected. There are some great differences in the cases. So no, I don't think we are dealing with a serial killer. Homeless men have a habit of dying violently. It's the nature of their lifestyle."

"Care to speculate on what happened in this alley?" she asked him, holding up the microphone.

"No, Sherry, I don't. We're just gathering the data today. We can't connect the dots until we have checked everything out," Jim told her. Harry smiled for the camera but said nothing.

"Another question, Detective Benton. Last summer you worked with Detective Owen to break up an organ-stealing ring. A body was found in Serenity Gardens then too. Could this be connected to that incidence?"

Jim smiled at the camera. "No, Sherry, we don't see any connection at this time. Serenity Gardens is just a prominent cemetery in the city and the perfect spot to dump a body if you want someone to find it. Or not find it."

"Are you saying these bodies are being displayed on purpose to shock the public?" she asked him.

Jim smiled. "I didn't exactly say that, did I, Sherry? Don't get carried away. In fact, let's end this interview now. You got your news clip for tonight. Harry and I have got work to do. We'll get back to you when we know something more definite." Jim grabbed Harry by the arm and led him to their car.

"I hate reporters," Jim grumbled as they drove back to the station.

Connie spread the newspaper out over her desk the next day and turned to the obituary. There she saw the picture of Tom Powers in his younger days dressed in a suit and tie. She hardly recognized him. While finishing her last bites of her bagel, she read the article. Then she read it again.

Ever since the night she had killed Tom, Connie had felt she was losing her mind. Now she followed the newspaper stories with disbelief. At first she had hoped it had all been a bad dream until the shock wore off. She went over the facts in her head again. She knew she had stabbed the homeless man. When she left, he was lying in the alley. He certainly couldn't have crawled to Serenity Cemetery in his condition. The police knew Tom had died in the alley too. That's where they found the blood.

Sean had told her the police were going to interview people in the building to see if they had noticed anything unusual that night. Jerry had warned her to keep her mouth shut about him beating Tom with a stick. He didn't want to lose his job. Connie warned him about being so paranoid, but secretly hoped the police would point a finger at him. That would draw them away from her.

But Connie was still nervous. "Someone saw me. They had to. They took him to the cemetery," she said aloud. Someone out there knew she was a murderer. Any moment they could call the police, and her life would be over. To make matters worse, she had never found her keys. They probably had those too, whoever they were. When she had bagged her bloody clothes and purse the next morning, had they watched her go to the dumpster seven miles out of town? Had they seen her clean her car seat and wipe the bloody handprint off her door before she took it to be professionally cleaned that afternoon? Fear gripped Connie. What were they planning? Why hadn't she been arrested already? Were they waiting for just the right time to harass her and ruin her life?

She felt her neck and wondered about the locket torn away during the struggle. A gift from Mary, everyone had seen her wear it. What if they found it? Thank God she hadn't returned the purse Mary had given her at Christmas. Jim had bought the same one and that was the one now in the city dump covered with blood.

She jumped when Sean Scotfellow opened her office door and walked in without knocking. She spilt her coffee on the paper.

"Gee, Connie. I didn't mean to scare you," Sean apologized. Connie mopped the mess with a paper towel from her desk.

"Knocking is the polite thing to do, Sean. What can I do for you?"

Sean didn't answer but saw the picture of Tom Powers spread across her desk. "That's really something, isn't it? Everyone in the office is talking about it. That dirty old tramp was once some hot shot professor. I never would have believed it."

"Yes," Connie said. "I would have never believed it, either." She struggled to keep her voice calm.

"To think that crazy man begging for money had written complicated books on economic policy. My son said he had to read one of his books in college. I wonder how it all went south so quickly?"

Connie shook her head. "Mental illness is a terrible thing, Sean. It just happens. It's nobody's fault." Tears suddenly came to her eyes, and she looked away so Sean wouldn't see.

"You going to talk to the police tomorrow?" he asked. "I hear you and I are on the list since we were working late that night. They looked at the video tape at the security desk."

"I've got better things to do tomorrow," she answered quickly. "I'll talk to them on my own time."

"You seem kinda down, Connie. Are you upset about all this? I thought you'd be throwing a party that this guy finally got taken care of. It's certainly what you wanted."

"Shut up, Sean," Connie told him harshly. "I never wanted him dead. That was just one part of a very bad day for me, and I don't like to be reminded of it."

"Bad for all of us, Connie, not just you. How can we forget Mrs. Jackson on the war path, yelling at everyone in the office? But we got it all taken care of, and you saved the day as always with your new designs. I just cashed her son's large check. Forget what I said about you not getting that bonus. I'm giving it to you anyway. You deserve it."

The tears returned. "I don't deserve anything," she whispered. She had to get rid of him before she completely broke down and confessed. "I've got a phone call to make, Sean. Let's get together at lunch and talk over the Clinton account. I won't be in the office tomorrow morning. Doctor's appointment."

"Sure, Connie. You feeling alright?"

"Headaches, that's all. Just a check-up."

"My mother had headaches. Migraines. She would lie in the dark for hours."

"Did the doctor help her?" Connie asked.

"No. After she told my father about her affair with his best friend, the headaches just went away. Then she had another set of problems. Got a secret, Connie?"

Connie shook her head, stunned at his insight. She pointed to the door. "Leave, Sean. I've got work to do. See you at lunch."

He finally shut the door, and Connie was alone again with her thoughts. She glanced again at the picture of Tom. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and wetted the paper. Guilt was a new feeling for Connie. The boiling rage that had consumed her for such a long time had flowed out with Tom's blood as she stabbed him over and over. When the sun came up the next day, she felt different. The coldness and anger were gone. She no longer had control over her emotions. The dam had finally broken.

"I killed you, Tom Powers," she admitted to herself, "And you set me free." She only wondered if the police would let her remain free.

### Chapter Nine

Mary and Sam enjoyed their pancake breakfast at the Waffle Inn before coming to work. It was a standing date on Thursdays. When the waitress came with their food, Mary discovered that Sam loved blueberry pancakes almost as much as hunting and fishing up at his cabin at Hutchen Lake.

"I can't believe that a skinny man like you can eat like that. What would your doctor say?"

"What would he would say?" Sam put his fork in a pancake. "That I can indulge every once and in awhile. My cholesterol is fine. My blood sugar is normal. I don't smoke. I have a beer now and then. So blueberry pancakes are part of my overall health plan."

Mary pointed to his neck. "You have syrup on your tie."

He shrugged. "I have a spare one in my drawer. No worries."

"I wanted to thank you for those roses you left on my desk. I didn't have a chance to talk to you when all that was happening. You in the closet. A body in the cemetery. I really did appreciate the gesture. How did you know that peach roses where my favorites?"

Sam smiled. "Mary, I notice everything when it concerns you." They looked at each for a moment. Mary didn't know what to say.

Suddenly her cell phone rang. Bill told her flowers had arrived, and he had placed them in the cooler.

Sam looked up from his pancakes. "Why do we have flowers?" he asked. "Are we having a service today? There's no one on the schedule."

Mary frowned. "What does the tag say, Bill? Who are they for? You're right, Sam. No one's scheduled for today. We'll be setting up for tomorrow night. I think the flowers may have arrived too soon."

Bill came back on. "The tag says in memory of Thomas Powers. Oops. They were supposed to be delivered to Simpson Funeral Home. Mystery solved. Wasn't that funeral being held this morning? I read about it in the paper," Bill said.

Mary looked at her watch. "Yes, it just started. I'll be there in a minute." She turned to Sam. "Finish your breakfast, Sam. I've got to deliver some flowers over to the Miller Cemetery. Have my pancakes put in a box. This call just saved my waistline. You're determined to give me middle-age spread."

Sam laughed. "I do what I can."

Mary hurried out of the restaurant and drove her car back to the funeral home a few blocks away. She pulled up to the back where bodies were unloaded and entered the embalming room. She went around the tables to the cooler and looked at the beautiful spray of flowers sitting on the floor. She was always amazed at the spring flowers that were available in autumn.

She carried them out to her car and braced them for the trip across town. She could just make it. She raced through the lights and across town to the Miller Cemetery, a cemetery operated by the city. It was picturesque, Mary thought, next to the Hutchen River. She pulled in the gate and drove around the large grounds until she popped over the hill and spotted the Simpson hearse. She pulled up beside it, buttoned her coat against the October wind, and dragged out the spray of flowers from the back seat. An usher standing by the hearse recognized her.

"Ah, Ms. Shepard. Did we forget something?"

"Not you," she told the elderly man in a black suit. "The flowers were delivered to us by mistake. Am I too late?"

"No, ma'am. The funeral is just starting. Let me have those. I'll take care of them for you."

She handed the flowers over and peeked around the hearse to see a small crowd gathered at the newly dug grave of Tom Powers. A redhead stood out. Mary stood there for a minute watching her sister who was in the back of the crowd. She also recognized Sam's sister Linda sitting in a folding chair next to a woman holding cardboard in her lap. Mary presumed it was Tom's sister, Janet Powers Haverty. She decided to stay awhile and watch. First, she wanted to know why Connie was here. Then she wanted to see what Janet was going to do with the cardboard. This funeral was one for the books.

Quietly she followed the usher over to the crowd and walked over to Connie.

"Hello," she whispered to her sister who jumped back, startled. When Connie turned to look at her, Mary saw her cheeks were wet.

"What are you doing here?" Mary whispered. Connie quickly lifted her finger to her lips and shook her head. Mary remained quiet, straining to hear the minister up front. She was dying of curiosity, but forced herself to keep quiet.

"Although Tom lost his way in this difficult world, he now rests in the arms of Jesus. Through his suffering, he touched so many lives and called attention to the sad plight of the homeless in our town. He is at peace at last. May we always remember him as that kind brother, that devoted son, and that wonderful man we know he was deep inside."

Mary handed Connie her handkerchief as the tears began to flow more heavily. Mary stared in amazement at her sister. She had never seen her cry.

Tom's sister was now standing and throwing the cardboard into the grave as a final gesture. The crowd began to break up. Connie finally looked up at her sister.

Mary hugged her shoulders. "What's going on, Connie? You're the last person I expected to see here. You hated this guy. Does Sean know you're here?"

"Of course, not. I wouldn't tell him anything about real feelings. He wouldn't understand. You don't understand, either. I'm responsible for this."

Mary stared at Connie's tear-stained face. "Of course you're not responsible for this. Tom was murdered. How can you be responsible for that? What are you saying?"

"I kept having him arrested. I drove him into that alley. If he'd gotten help, none of this would have happened."

Mary shook her head. "He was crazy and dangerous. You were only protecting your building. You didn't kill him," Mary told her. Connie began to cry harder. Mary tried to change the subject.

"A strange assortment of people are here, don't you think? I suppose most of them are here to support Janet. Who's that guy over there? He's tossing something into the grave."

Connie shook her head. "I wasn't in Tom's social club, Mary. I don't know any of the freaks who knew him. Oh no, look who's here. This is the last thing I need." Connie quickly wiped her tears away. Mary turned and saw Detective Jim Benton and his partner Harry making their way from the police car parked next to Mary.

"Ms. Connie Shepard, we've been looking for you. Your boss told us you were at the doctor's so we decided ride over to the funeral until you returned. Quite a coincidence we found you here. Seems you must have missed your doctor's appointment. We want you to ride downtown with us for questioning since we can't seem to catch you at the office. Just routine, you understand."

Mary felt Connie go stiff. "You're just being spiteful," she muttered. "I'll have to call the office first to let them know I'm going to be late. Excuse me for a second." Connie moved off to make her call.

"What brings you out here, Mary?" Jim asked her. "That's a Simpson hearse."

Mary nodded. "I brought over flowers delivered by accident to me. I'm as surprised as you are to find Connie here. Is something going on?" Mary leaned forward and talked softly. "Connie doesn't seem quite herself today. She's the last person I expected to see here."

Jim was watching Connie talk on her cell phone. "We just need to ask her some questions. She was in the building the night Powers was murdered. So far she has been avoiding me. There was also some evidence that places her in the alley."

Mary glanced back at Connie talking on her cell phone. "It was next to the building, Jim. A lot of people stand in that alley and smoke. I've seen them myself."

"I'm sure," Jim agreed. "We just need to clear up a few things. She seems to be avoiding us altogether."

"Connie can be like that. She doesn't deal with reality all that well."

"Don't I know it, Mary. Harry can talk to her if that would make her happy. God knows, little else makes her happy."

"She seems to be going through some rough soul searching, Jim. Did you know she was seeing a psychologist?" Mary asked him.

"No, I didn't. Say, Mary, do you recognize the people here? Anyone out of place? Any particular weirdos?"

Mary glanced around. "Besides Connie, you mean? I see Sam's sister Linda, but she works as a volunteer down at the shelter with Tom's sister. The others I've seen down at the shelter on occasion. How about that guy over there? Standing at the grave? Why is he still here? Everyone else is leaving. Perhaps a relative?"

Jim looked at the man dressed in a black overcoat standing at the edge of the grave. He had a flower in his gloved hand. His hair was disheveled, sticking up in odd places. He was mumbling to himself.

"I'll have to check with the sister, but he looks and acts like he had a close relationship with Tom. Tom was always mumbling to himself too. Maybe he's another homeless man with better taste. Isn't that a suit he's wearing?"

"Not necessarily his. Does look a little strange," Mary pointed out.

Jim laughed. "If being strange made you a killer, I'd have to lock up the whole town."

Connie returned to Mary's side. "Okay, let's get this over with, Jim. I've got my own car so I'll meet you there." She walked off without another word.

"Connie seems perfectly normal to me," Jim told Mary. "Hateful as ever."

"No, you're wrong, Jim. Something else is going on. I know my sister. She was actually crying during the funeral."

Jim shrugged. "She usually makes other people cry. I'd better get going. See you later, Mary."

Mary watched the police and her sister drive off. As she walked back to her car, she noticed the strange man at Tom's grave was now leaning over the mound of flowers. He was talking to the grave, his lips moving in a chant. How odd, Mary thought. What would he need to tell a dead man?

At the police station downtown, Connie complained about the lack of parking. "I have an expensive car. You can't expect me to expose it to the trash down here. I'll probably get keyed."

Harry ignored her. They were sitting in the interrogation room, and he had offered her coffee. She frowned at him.

"You've got to be kidding. Like I'd drink anything in this place," she snarled and crossed her arms. "Get on with it. Where's Jim? I don't have all day to waste on you."

Harry slid a tape into the VCR on wheels and punched the buttons. The picture was grainy and dark, but Connie could clearly see herself walking past the security desk and standing at the main doors. Connie watched herself go out the door and disappear. She fought to keep herself still in her seat.

"We see you leaving the building on the night of October 25th. You didn't sign out. What time would you guess this was? The timer said 11:45 p.m. Would you say that was accurate?"

"Probably. What of it?"

"Tom Powers was being murdered around that time in the alley next to the front door. Did you see or hear anything?" he asked her.

"I didn't. I walked the opposite way to my car."

"Shall I play the tape again, Ms. Shepard? It shows you clearly heading in the direction of the alley. You must have walked right by it. Want to try again?"

"I don't remember. I park in different places. I would have noticed a man being murdered, don't you think? I'm telling you I didn't. Can I go now?"

"Not yet." He threw the specimen bag with the earring and locket in it on the table. "Recognize these? Jim found them in the alley."

"I don't wear such cheap junk!" Connie protested.

"You were wearing pink that day."

"So? I'm telling you that's not my earring. You can't prove it is."

"Jim thought he recognized them as yours," Harry said, keeping his tone even.

"Jim's an expert on my wardrobe now? I think not."

Harry was quiet for a minute, looking down at Connie who was sitting at the table. Her hands were pulling on her handbag's straps. She was clearly upset and nervous. All his senses told him she was lying.

"Listen, Ms. Shepard. We already know that you and the security guard had a run-in with Tom on the day he was murdered. He spit on you. Jerry denied it at first, but I sensed Jerry was lying to me, maybe to protect you. When I ran a background check on him, I learned why. He was protecting himself. Priors for assault. He confessed he'd beaten Tom severely with his stick that day. That gives Tom a motive to attack him later or maybe you when you left the building. Jerry has an air tight alibi for the time of the killing. What did you do after you left the building?"

"I went home. End of story," Connie answered curtly.

Harry shook his head. "Why were you at Tom's funeral this morning? You told your boss you were going to the doctor's."

"I thought Tom wouldn't have anyone at the funeral so I came to support his sister. I never wanted him dead. I just wanted him to move on."

"You want to know what I think?" Harry leaned forward.

"Not particularly," Connie said and looked away. "Is Jim listening to all this behind that mirror?" Connie stuck out her tongue.

"Ms. Shepard," Harry pushed on, "I think you did meet Tom Powers in that alley that night. He came after you, and you fought back. You wrestled over the knife, and Tom was stabbed. Maybe you didn't even wait to see if you hurt him. You fled the scene. I think he was still breathing when you left."

"That's ridiculous," she snorted.

"I do believe you went home. It's what happened to Tom after that that's unclear. Somehow he was repeatedly stabbed and then the body taken to a cemetery. They cut off his hand and left him there."

Connie's face registered shock. "Cut off his hand? Why would anyone do that? You can't possibly think I would do something that insane!"

"No, we don't think you would, Connie. But we do wonder if you know more than you're saying."

"Again, that's ridiculous," Connie slammed her fist on the table. "Are my fingerprints on the knife?"

"You were wearing gloves. The tape shows that. Care to bring in those gloves for examination?"

"No, I don't care to. Get a search warrant. This is what happened, Officer Lincoln."

"It's Detective Lincoln."

"Whatever. I worked late, I went home, and I didn't see anything. I didn't kill Tom, and I don't know who did. I didn't drag his body to my sister's cemetery. The last time I saw him, he had his hand. What would I want with his dirty old hand? I don't go around killing homeless people, but obviously you are looking for someone in this town who does. Doesn't Tom bring your count up to three now?"

"Tom's death isn't similar to the other two," Harry told her.

"In what way? He was homeless, and he was murdered. I see a match. Why pin it on me?"

"Most of the stab wounds were superficial. A man would make them count."

Connie stood up, clutching her handbag. "And that's your whole case, Officer Lincoln? Do you have anything, anything at all, besides the tape of me leaving the building that links me to Tom Powers in that alley?"

"Not at this time," he answered. "We'll be in touch."

"I don't think so." Connie marched out of the room, and headed for her car. Once safely behind the wheel, she collapsed in her seat. Tears flowed.

"What will I do? I'll lose everything." She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out the piece of paper she found on her windshield after the funeral.

"We watched you in the alley. We'll stop by soon to discuss terms. Have plenty of cash. Don't worry, we'll let ourselves in." It was signed "Devils."

Now Connie was scared. She had already lied to the police, and they knew it. Harry had made it clear he suspected her. Maybe he thought she was some part of this gang of murderers who killed homeless men. She had certainly run her mouth enough to make everyone think so. Now the real killers were after her.

She started her car, anxious to get back to the office. She had to call a locksmith right away.

### Chapter Ten

The invitations arrived the next Wednesday as Mary was preparing to leave for the lecture hall at Newlenberg University. As David was sorting the mail, he noticed the hand-drawn pumpkins on the envelopes. Cautiously, he opened the one addressed to him and slid the black card out. The white lettering announced the upcoming Halloween party and social event of the year. He was invited, he read, to the apartment of Miss Connie Shepard for the annual pumpkin bash and costume party to celebrate the full moon, witches, and black cats.

"We always go as undertakers," Sam told him, noticing the envelope.

"Well, of course," Mary added, coming to the desk to get her mail. "We are undertakers, Sam. It's expected. Sam won't wear a real costume. I hope this year Sam will be more flexible, and perhaps we can expand ourselves a little."

Sam frowned. "You mean explore our inner wants and desires and all that mumbo jumbo?"

"Exactly, Sam. You could be, for example, Daniel Boone. Wild man of the wilderness. David here could be a business tycoon," Mary told them.

Sam was laughing now. "I'll have to go skin something to wear. What would you be, Mary?"

"A policeman. Jim already said I could borrow his old badge and hat. I can borrow a fake gun. I know how to shoot."

"Don't remind me. You almost shot me last year right here in this very office," Sam said.

Mary looked away. "Didn't come close. It was just a misunderstanding, that's all. I thought you were a murderer. You got over it, didn't you? Anyway, David, we hope that you and your girlfriend will come with us. It won't be the same without our old boss, Preston, this year. He always came as a corpse. There'll be spooky movies, games, food, and lots of drink."

"Watch that drink. Her sister Connie got drunk last year and danced on the table," Sam warned him.

Mary frowned at him. "That only happened once. You seemed to enjoy it." Mary turned and went back to her office, carrying her invitation. Sam whispered to David.

"Find something else to do that night is my advice," Sam told him. David nodded.

"Got you," David agreed. "I'll make something up."

Sam stopped by Mary's office and stood in the doorway.

"Are you ready to go to college this morning?"

Mary nodded, showing Sam her pile of note cards that she was putting in her purse. "I'm pretty nervous about it, but I have all my notes and thoughts together. I had to do some research at the local library to make sure of my historical facts. The librarian found some really neat old advertisements in the old papers. Also, Preston had a whole archive in a box in the closet on his own family business."

Sam smiled. "Interesting. You'll be in great demand as a speaker after this. You'll be hitting the road to make speeches."

"I hope not. It isn't something you talk about at the garden club luncheon. I intend to make this my last speaking engagement. Next time, it's your turn."

Sam shook his head. "I freak in front of crowds. It's embarrassing to see a grown man shrink into the floor. When are you leaving?'

"Ten-thirty. I won't be back until after lunch. The professor promised me a meal."

"Well, now, he never offered me lunch."

Mary chuckled. "I'm better looking."

"No argument there. Say, did you ever get anything out of Connie as to why she was at Tom Powers' funeral?"

"No, not really. She mumbled something about him not having any family or friends and that she should represent the building."

Sam scoffed out loud. "She hated him, didn't she?"

"I always had that impression. The security guard got fired over the whole thing. He lied about having an arrest record for assault, and Jim informed the owner of the business. They have someone else now. Connie says he's gay."

"Why would she say that?"

"He doesn't react to her charms, evidently."

"Oh, I see. How like Connie. If someone doesn't fawn over her, then he must be gay. Hey, I almost forgot. You wanted me to ask Linda who that weird guy was at the funeral. He wasn't a relative after all. She told me he introduced himself as an old friend of Tom's."

Mary was surprised. "Really. Tom had a friend? Since he was talking to himself, I can only wonder where they met. A mental hospital comes to mind. He certainly cleaned up well, suit and all. He wasn't toting any cardboard."

"That's all I could find out," Sam said.

"Well, it's time for me to go. Wish me luck."

Mary had trouble finding a parking spot for visitors. There were signs everywhere warning of a ticket if she pulled into a spot illegally. Finally she found an empty spot, pulled in, and asked a passing student where the building was. She arrived only five minutes early, and the auditorium was packed with noisy students. She was out of breath as she made her way to the podium.

"Dr. Grisman? Parking was murder," she muttered to the professor standing at the podium. He was a young man with wavy black hair and a beard. He was dressed casually in a white shirt and black Dockers pants. Mary paused for a minute. This was the strange man she had seen at Tom's funeral. Today his hair was slicked down, and he wasn't talking to himself.

He adjusted her microphone. "Yes, the parking is awful," he agreed. "I should have warned you about that. The meter cops are ferocious." He looked at his watch. "I was beginning to think you had stood me up."

Mary smiled. "No, I'm here but shaking in my boots. This is a bigger crowd than I expected."

"Just remember to speak into the microphone at all times. I'll introduce you," he told her. He began talking, and the noise immediately stopped as students sat down and turned their attention to the professor. Then came the moment when Mary was ushered up to the microphone, and she began to talk, nervously shuffling her note cards.

An hour later, Mary was still talking to the crowd. The class was over, but questions had kept them glued to their seats. Other students from the next class were pouring in and forcing Dr. Grisman's class to leave.

Dr. Grisman finally pulled Mary away from the microphone, signaling the end of the class. "You were quite a hit," he told her as they walked out of the auditorium. "Everyone is curious how people are embalmed and what really goes on in a funeral home. It's just human nature. I certainly learned a lot."

"Thanks. Death is a subject that never grows old. Some people think we have all the answers because we deal with death every day. The truth is we are in the dark like everyone else when it comes to God and heaven and what follows death. The event just forces people to face their own mortality. Your students seem very interested in all aspects of death."

The professor nodded. "I noticed that embalming is especially fascinating to them. You try to preserve what is gone."

"Only for a couple of days, maybe a week," Mary explained. "The body starts to break down shortly after burial. Although, once when I exhumed a body, it was perfectly preserved. The conditions have to be just right for that to happen."

Dr. Grisman led her off the stage. "Since death is something everyone must face, we examine it in great detail in this American customs class. Every semester, there's always a waiting list to get into this class. I sometimes put them to sleep, but I didn't see anyone nodding off today. Mary, you should teach. You're a natural."

"No thanks, Dr. Grisman. I'll leave that to you."

Dr. Grisman and Mary walked outside where they agreed to meet at the local restaurant called Turtles off campus. Mary went back to her car and was relieved not to find a parking ticket stuck on her windshield. Ten minutes later, she arrived at Turtles, a hamburger place popular with both students and professors. The professor had already secured them a table and waved her over.

"I don't think we have properly met," he said hanging his large black coat over his chair. "I'm Luke Grisman, professor of anthropology. I really appreciate you coming out today to help me out. I try to have guest speakers off and on to liven things up. They get tired of hearing me all the time. They think death is so far off. They never think about it."

"Yes. I have a teenage son just starting college, and I know exactly what you mean. Reckless. By the way, didn't I see you yesterday at the funeral for Tom Powers, the murdered homeless man?"

He looked at her, surprise on his face. "Why yes, I was there. I know his sister." He motioned the waitress over, and they ordered hamburgers, fries, and Cokes.

"You didn't know Tom? Someone told me you were his friend."

"No, not personally. I don't hang out with crazy homeless people. It wouldn't be good for my career. Is the funeral business quite profitable?" he asked, changing the subject.

"For the most part. We have better years than others. There's a lot of overhead with casket costs always rising. Real wood is outrageous. We try to cut costs wherever we can as long as we can provide the type of service our clients deserve. My embalmer, for example, is also my business partner. That eliminates a double salary."

"I understand that one of my students just got on at your funeral home. Gavin Fitzgerald. Have you met him?"

"I met him the other morning, but I didn't know he was attending the university. It must be really hard for him to attend classes and work full-time at the funeral home. What degree is he pursuing?"

"Anthropology. He suggested I ask Sam, his boss, to speak today. That's how you came to be here. I think Sam was too nervous."

"Only in front of a crowd. Believe me, he can talk up a blue streak." Their order arrived. Mary sipped at her Coke. "There was a question, Dr. Grisman, that I wanted to ask you. You seem to be an authority on the subject and may I say, to be so young, you are quite accomplished in the literary field."

"Thank you. Yes?"

"We recently had some misfortune strike our cemetery. You probably read about it in the paper. We found a dead homeless man hanging on our shed with a pentagram painted on his head."

"Yes, I did read about that. That other man too. You know the one found in the park? He had a pentagram on his forehead," he told her. "It was in the paper."

"It was? I missed that. Wow! I was wondering what you thought the significance of the pentagram might be?"

"The police already asked me the very same thing. It's the symbol for the devil. If you wish to summon Satan, you must draw a pentagram on the ground and cast your spell. The devil comes through the opening of the pentagram," the professor explained.

"But what about placing the symbol on the forehead of a dead man?"

"A sacrifice. Satan will come through the pentagram and take the soul of the corpse because it was given to him by the killers. This is all witchcraft 101, of course."

Mary was impressed. "Really? This all sounds like late night TV to me. Do you think these killers also might have a reason to say, remove body parts as part of a sacrifice?" Mary asked.

"The capturing of the soul is the main objective for Satan worshippers. Mutilation of the body is sometimes done to pay homage to Lucifer. Some years ago, I published a book on the subject of witchcraft, _The Cult of Simon._ Perhaps you have heard of it?"

Mary shook her head. "Sorry. I never had a reason to read a book on witchcraft until now. With the corpses piling up in my cemetery, though, I've suddenly become interested. Who was this Simon?"

Dr. Grisman leaned back in his chair. "He believed he was a warlock, and he practiced black magic for many years before he was arrested in Norfolk for murder. I interviewed him at's Mental Asylum where he had been imprisoned for killing several people. Simon believed Satan was giving him direct commands to kill these individuals in ritualistic ways. He hung them upside down in a church, for example, to mock the cross."

Mary shuddered. "How did he hear these commands?"

"Voices in his head. He was schizophrenic, of course, so he thought Lucifer was talking directly to him. The voices told him to kill people. He murdered three women before he was caught in the act of strangling the fourth."

"Is strangling important in witchcraft?" Mary asked, thinking of the first two victims.

"No. A murder is a murder. It's the giving of a life that Satan craves."

"Whatever happened to this Simon?" Mary asked.

"He's still locked up in some mental hospital, I suppose. He was far too crazy to ever get out."

They ate their meal, and Dr. Grisman paid at the counter. As he handed the waitress change, Mary noticed a red marking on his arm where his shirt sleeve ended. A tattoo, she thought, bright red. It wasn't the kind of thing one expected to see on a professor. She tried to see the outline of his tattoo through his shirt, but he put his overcoat back on.

They said their goodbyes, and Mary departed for the funeral home. She turned off at Baker Street on her way and stopped by the Newlenberg Public Library. She found the reference librarian and asked about _The Cult of Simon_ book. She was surprised to learn that it was out of print. The librarian offered to request it from another library through inter-library loan. Mary filled out the paperwork and then headed back to work.

Sam met her at the door. "How did it go? Did you make a lot fans today?"

"Dr. Grisman said I was a hit. He's awfully young to be a professor. I thought they were all old and gray."

"That would be us you're talking about, Mary."

"Everyone asked so many questions that I ran out of time. I didn't know the funeral home business was so cool." Mary laughed.

"That would make us hip," Sam agreed.

"I've never thought of us that way," Mary told him, heading to her office. "I thought we were old fuddy-duddies."

"Only to those who know us," Sam answered and winked.

### Chapter Eleven

Outside it was spitting rain. A white mist floated through the street, blinding Connie to her surroundings. She knew she was back in the alley, pinned up against the grimy wall. She could smell the sour trash and urine. Somewhere she heard rats scouring around her feet. Although it was dark, she knew she was facing Tom Powers who was ranting and raving about the money in her purse. He wavered like a white balloon in front of her face.

"You rich girl! Never had to eat out of a trash can, did you? Wipe your ass with dollar bills!" She reached down to throw her purse at him and discovered that her purse was gone. She had nothing but her fists to defend herself.

"You're already dead!" Connie screamed back into his face. What seemed to be Tom Powers dissolved in front of her, pieces of him blowing away in the alley wind. Then she was alone in the darkness.

She looked down the alley where the mist had parted, and saw that her car was parked at the curb. Here was her chance to escape. But as she started to move, another dirty hand clamped down on her jacket. She turned and began to scream again. A hand was coming out of the trash can and clutching at her nice, clean suit jacket. Black handprints soiled the pink cloth.

"Let go!" she yelled and watched in horror as trash bags in the can began to shift. Someone was trying to get out. Connie tugged against the hand which had now become a whole arm, but her leg was held fast in its tight grip.

"What do you want of me?" she whimpered as the bags began to roll out of the trash. To her surprise, Ben Lorner stood up inside the trash can and grabbed her suit with his other hand. She couldn't move. Tom's knife protruded from Ben's bloody eye.

"Save me, Connie," he moaned. "I'm dying."

"Leave me alone," she yelled and twisted free. She ran up the alley, heading for the street. Behind her she heard laughter. Shadows darted along the wall.

"We know what you did! We know it all!" voices mocked her. Footsteps came up behind her, and she felt more tugging at her feet. Blindly, she kicked out at the shadows.

"You're all dead to me! Leave me alone! I didn't kill Tom on purpose! This has all been a mistake. You can't prove anything. You don't exist!"

Connie got to her car and threw open the door. Tom sat in the driver's seat, his chest a dark red. His bloody hands gripped her steering wheel.

"Get in, Connie. Let me take you to Hell!" he laughed.

Connie screamed and sat up in bed gasping for breath. For a second she was disoriented. It was dark, but the smell of the alley was gone. Slowly she realized it had all been a nightmare.

Then she heard footsteps dashing through the apartment, and she clutched her blanket to her chest.

"Sophia?" she called, hoping that her bad dream might have scared the cat out of the room. There was more noise in the kitchen, and Connie reached for her reading light on her bed stand. Light flooded the room. No one was there, but her door was closed, she noticed. She always left it open at night so the cat could go in and out. There, in the center of the back of the door facing her was a red handprint. Red paint dribbled down her door from the wet edges.

Now Connie wanted to scream for real. They were here, in her apartment. How, she didn't know. The locksmith had just changed the locks that afternoon. They had picked the locks anyway.

"This can't be happening," she rationalized. She couldn't call the police because she would have to explain why these animals were harassing her. She wished she had a gun like her sister because it was apparent the only way to end this ordeal was to kill them. Like Tom.

"No, I won't be like them," she said to herself. "I'm better than them. It was self-defense. I didn't mean to kill Tom." Although she said it, she wasn't sure she meant it.

Gathering all her courage, Connie got out of her bed and reached for her robe on the chair. Wrapping it around her tightly, she edged her way to the door. When she got to the door, she touched the paint. Looking at the red stain on her finger, she realized they had just been there, while she was sleeping.

She quietly turned the knob. She cracked the door and peered into the hall of her apartment. The light was on in the kitchen and living room.

Now she had a choice to make. She could either go and see what horrible things they had done in her apartment or block her bedroom door and stay there until it was time to go to work. Surely they would have left by then.

She listened. Nothing. The footsteps had disappeared. She wondered if they were hiding and waiting for her. Connie began to cry quietly, wishing desperately that she wasn't trapped in this situation. There was no one who could help her. No one could know she had killed Tom Powers.

Connie opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Slowly, her hand on the wall, she moved down the hall to peer into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open. Looking around the room, she saw no one so she went to the refrigerator and looked inside. Nothing. She had expected to see Tom's missing hand in there. Since she ate out a lot, there wasn't much in the refrigerator. As far as she could tell, nothing had been removed.

She shut the door. That's when she saw pictures taped to the door under her work appointment schedule. Gasping, Connie peeled the first picture off and stared at it. It was a dead Tom Powers, covered in blood, lying in the alley. Beside him were her missing earring and locket that she had lost in the struggle.

"They do know everything," she moaned, more tears coming to her eyes. Then she pulled off the second picture. It was a picture of her license plate as she drove away. Connie could make out the back of her head in the driver's seat.

"They've got me. I'll have to pay them," she said to the empty kitchen. Now she went to the kitchen door and lightly pushed it open enough that she could see into the living room. She saw that the door to her apartment was ajar. Satisfied that they had left, she came into the living room and examined her surroundings.

Everything was in its place. Connie breathed a sigh of relief and quickly shut the door. She bolted it, realizing it wouldn't really protect her from them. They knew how to get in.

Now she remembered her cat and called "Sophia?" in a weak voice. Again, nothing. Thinking about the open door, she wondered if the cat had gone out. She unbolted the door and looked into the hall. There was no sign of her cat. The thought occurred to her that they had taken the cat.

"If they wanted money for the cat, they would have left me a note," she reasoned out loud, looking around for a scrap of paper. Finding no demands, she sat on the edge of her couch for awhile and tried to calm down. She was so tired, and soon it would be time to get up. She was having a Halloween Party tomorrow night, and she would need all her strength to pull it off.

Pulling a chair from her desk, she braced the door knob with the back of the chair. At least, if they came again, she would hear them messing with the chair. Perhaps then, she would call the police. They could have killed her tonight while she slept. She had been so naïve! They could get to her any time.

Connie went back to her bedroom and into her bathroom. That's when she did scream, slamming herself back against the door. Her mirror was covered with red paint. A note sat on the top of her commode.

Connie grabbed the paper. "Next time it's your life. We want the money tomorrow at midnight. Office. We have more pictures. We have your cat." She reached for a towel off her rack and smeared the red print into a large blurry mess in the middle of her mirror. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her towel was red, and her mirror was clear.

Tomorrow, she'd call the locksmith again and get a better deadbolt. She took the pictures off the refrigerator and tossed them into her shredder.

As she watched them disappear from her sight, she again tried to relax. She thought about her bank account and knew she didn't have the amount they would want. Then she thought about stealing the petty cash in the office. Finally she imagined herself in jail for the killing of Tom Powers. She couldn't see her way out of this. The tears flowed. Anyway she looked at her situation, she saw her life, the fancy cars, and nice clothes evaporating. What would she had left when these monsters were done with her? The real Connie. She didn't want to be the real Connie. She didn't know the real Connie.

She went back to bed, although she was certain that she would remain awake the rest of the night.

### Chapter Twelve

Detectives Jim Benton and Harry Lincoln sat at their adjoining desks going over the facts. The pressure was mounting from above to solve the homeless men murders. They had to admit, they had nothing concrete. Now they were getting ready to arrest Jim's old girlfriend for obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, destruction of evidence, and lying to the police.

Jim was frowning. "I don't want to do this, Harry. If we don't find anything, Connie will sue the department for sure. Besides, she's had plenty of time to destroy any evidence. We're likely to come up empty. The D. A. already says we have no case. We can't get her on murder, and she knows it. Being stupid and mean isn't a crime. What we got won't even put her in jail unless the judge is cranky."

Harry nodded. "We have to try, Jim. It's the principle of the thing. She looked me right in the eye and lied through her teeth. She didn't even try to save Jerry from getting fired. She let him go down for her. Nuts. The commissioner is on our backs. Right now, she's our only lead. She knows more than she's saying, and we've got to make her talk. If being arrested will do it, then let's throw everything we have at her," Harry told him. He checked his handcuffs.

Jim handed Harry the arrest warrant. "She didn't kill those other homeless men, Harry. She may be a bitch, but she's not a serial killer. All those men had one thing in common. They were all patients at one time in St. Catherine Mental Asylum, according to their rap sheets. I think we're really looking for a crazy man who has a grudge against his former friends. Maybe he was in that alley too. Maybe Connie's too scared to talk because she's afraid she'll end up minus her head in Serenity Gardens."

Harry shrugged. "Scared or not, she should have come clean. I gave her every opportunity, Jim. Regardless of what we're really looking for, we can place Connie at the scene of one killing. She should have confessed when she had the chance. Pleaded self-defense for God's sake. Why is it so hard for her to tell the truth? For all we know, she could be in cahoots with the killers. That's the way it looks to the commissioner," Harry said, strapping on his gun and reaching for his jacket on the back of his chair.

Jim also slipped on his jacket. "I don't think Connie knows the truth. The truth has always been her enemy. She prefers to make up her own reality. It's the only way she holds her world together. One day she's an angel and the next, a raving lunatic. Who knows who the real Connie is? Ready to go?"

"Yep. I sent two officers over already to help with the arrest. They're waiting for us at the apartment. I'm expecting trouble. I doubt if she'll come in peacefully. There'll be a lot of screaming and punching involved. They said she has a party going on. Hate to break that up."

Jim laughed. "We'll be doing them a favor. Her Halloween parties are the worst. Believe me, these guys will beat a path to the door to escape. Got the house search warrant?"

"Check," Harry answered.

"Car search warrant?"

Harry again nodded, placing papers in his briefcase. "Let's go, Jim, before you lose your nerve. Connie won't know what hit her. This is one time she won't get her way."

The Halloween party had just begun. Connie, dressed as a belly dancer, welcomed her guests at the door by handing them a plastic spider. Dr. Benjamin Lorner, Connie's date, hung by the door dressed in a tuxedo and cape. When he smiled, plastic fangs poked out of his lips. Connie told him he was in charge of pouring the Bloody Marys. He moved back behind the bar because he didn't know anyone. The alcohol was flowing, however, and several people were weaving across the room. Sean and John were all ready laughing too loudly and telling lewd jokes to anyone who would listen.

Mary and Sam arrived exactly at seven. Mary was wearing an old and baggy uniform of Jim's. Her police hat kept sliding over her eyes. Sam was wearing a coon skin hat and buckskin outfit that he had borrowed from the local high school theater closet. A large bowie knife hung on his hip. Connie asked him why he had the knife.

"To kill vampires with," he snarled at Lorner whose eyes went wide. Sam laughed as the doctor retreated further behind the bar.

"He's such a wuss," Sam whispered to Mary. "What does Connie see in him?"

"Connie sees money and a fancy car in the future. She thinks she would be at the top of the social circle in this town if she landed a doctor," Mary whispered back.

Sam munched on corn chips. "Let's not stay long, Mary. I've got a busy day tomorrow. Her parties are always lousy. I can only put up with so much because she's your sister."

Mary handed him a beer. "Sure, Sam," Mary agreed. "Two hours, tops. We have to make Connie think we are having a great time. It's my duty as her sister. By the way, have you seen the cat? I brought some catnip in my purse."

"She probably locked her in the bedroom to keep her from getting stepped on," Sam said, looking around the room.

More guests arrived, and soon the apartment was packed with adults in bright costumes. Sam opened a few windows to circulate more air. Mary kept the dip bowl full and poured more ice in the beer cooler.

Connie danced into the kitchen and bumped into Mary at the refrigerator.

"Where's the cat, Connie? I have a present for her."

"Sophia's visiting the neighborhood, evidently. She was gone when I got home. I found the door open. I must have forgotten to close it all the way," Connie lied. "When she gets hungry, she'll wander back."

"Have you looked for her? You want me to go outside and call for her? It's not like her to stay out this long. It's dark outside."

Connie frowned. "No, I don't want you to worry about the cat. I need you to help with refreshments. I'll search later. Besides, she knows I'm sore at her. She ripped up my favorite Italian chair the other day, and I was thinking of dropping her in the river."

"Now Connie, it's only natural for cats to shred furniture if they're not declawed."

"Save the speech Mary. I'm not in the mood!"

Connie jingled the bells on her hips. "This costume is great, don't you think? I fill it out nicely. Did you borrow that disgusting outfit from Jim?"

"Yes, I did. What's wrong with it?"

"It does nothing for your figure, Mary."

Mary glared at her swaying sister. "Connie. Lay off the wine. You're getting nasty," Mary told her.

"Nonsense! It's a party. You're supposed to drink. It's called having fun. You and Sam wouldn't know anything about that. You spend all your time with dead people."

"How does that make us different from your Dr. Lorner?

Doesn't he spend a lot of time with dead people as the medical examiner?"

"I guess so. He doesn't talk about his job. He thinks everyone in this town but me is a hillbilly. No culture whatsoever."

"It's a wonder he stays here, then," Mary countered. "He should go to a larger town where they have those art galleries and classical music concerts."

"He will and when he goes, he'll take me with him."

"Have that in writing, Connie? You've been burned before."

Connie stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Mary with a bowl of dip in her hands. Sam came in.

"Connie's drunk, isn't she? You guys have words?"

"We always have words. She's full of words. Put this out on the table, will you? Who's out there?"

"Her friends from work. People she's done work for. The rich and famous from Newlenberg. It's a Connie fan club. Are my two hours up yet? If she starts to dance on the coffee table, I'm leaving anyway."

Laughter came from the living room. When Mary and Sam popped their heads out of the kitchen, they saw Connie belly dancing, surrounded in a circle by the men.

"I knew it!" Sam shouted.

Dr. Lorner's face was red with anger as Connie turned in circles on the carpet, ignoring him. She didn't hear the knock on the door so Mary fought her way through the crowd and opened it. To her surprise, the doorway was empty. Instead, she saw a white shoe box on the floor. There was no sign of the delivery man.

"How mysterious," she said. She picked up the box and brought it over to Connie.

"I found this outside the door," she explained. "Were you expecting a package?"

Connie had stopped dancing to stare at the box. She seemed afraid to touch it. Finally she took it from Mary.

"Who sends a package on Halloween night?" Sam asked, looking over Mary's shoulder.

Connie slowly slid the lid off the box. When she screamed, Mary reached out to take the box as it fell from her hands. Inside was the bloody cat, Sophia. People gasped. One ran gagging from the room.

"What the hell?" Sam took the box from a frozen Mary. He opened the lid and studied the corpse. He poked and prodded at the dead animal.

"You might want to consult the medical examiner over there, but I believe the cat's throat has been cut," he announced. "There's a note." He handed the paper to Mary who read the message to Connie who had collapsed on the couch.

"This will be you next time if the money is not delivered." Mary stared at Connie. "What in the world, Connie? What sort of a mess are you in now?"

People began to leave, and Dr. Lorner helped them with their coats. Connie, sobbing on the couch, didn't notice. She refused to talk to anyone or answer Sam's questions. He stood there holding the dead cat in the box, unsure of where to deposit it. Mary sat beside Connie, her arm around her shoulders.

"Shouldn't we call the police?" Mary asked Sam who had moved to the window to get some fresh air.

Sam pointed into the darkness. "Say no more. They've just arrived. Who called them?" Everyone shook their heads. "There's two squad cars. Hi, Jim!" Sam waved from above, holding the mysterious box in his other hand.

Connie suddenly came to her senses. She jumped up and grabbed the box from Sam and the note from Mary's hand.

"Get out! Everyone get out!" she yelled, shooing people toward the door. The few who were left grabbed a last chip, and made a beeline for the door.

"Calm down, pumpkin." Dr. Lorner tried to grab her arm. "I'm sure this was just some Halloween prank. The police will handle it. We'll get you another cat."

She pulled roughly away from him. "This isn't about the cat, you idiot! You have no idea. Go home, Ben. This is the worst day of my life. I don't want you to see me like this," she spat, tears going down her cheeks. Sam and Mary looked at each other in wonder. Then the door opened and Detectives Benton and Lincoln stood in the doorway.

Jim handed the papers to Connie. "I have a search warrant, Connie. Your guests will have to leave the apartment immediately, and you will accompany the officer downtown for more questioning concerning the death of Tom Powers. Keys to your car, please?" Connie sat back down on the sofa, head in her hands.

Sam reached over the box with the dead cat to Harry. "This just arrived with a note. You're going to want to examine it. Both Mary and I touched the box and note, as well as Connie." Harry made a face when he saw the dead cat. Mary pried the note out of Connie's hand and gave it to Harry.

Connie looked up and suddenly became calm. "There's another one in my purse, which I found on my windshield at Powers' funeral. Never mind the notes. They were here last night. They wrote all over my bathroom mirror and left my front door open. I knew all along they had my cat. I just didn't want to tell Mary."

"Maybe I could have helped, Connie. Did you ever think of that?" Mary said tensely.

Connie didn't hear her. "They hound me wherever I go, Jim. I can't get away from the bastards. They always seem to know where I am. I even changed the locks, and they still got in. They really are demons, aren't they?"

Mary looked at Jim. "What in the world is she talking about?" she asked. "What's this all about?"

Jim sighed. "You don't want to know, Mary."

"Look at this, Jim." Harry handed the note to Jim by the corner. After he read it, Jim slipped it into a specimen bag.

"Blackmail, huh? This your cat, Connie? Sophia, wasn't it?"

Connie had stopped crying now and rose slowly to her feet. She held out her wrists to Jim.

"Yes, it's my cat, Sophia. You win. I did it. Arrest me. You, them, what difference does it make? I can't get away from what I've done. I'd feel safer with you than them."

Mary's mouth hung open. "Did what, Connie? What are you saying?"

"How can you be so naïve, Mary? I killed Tom Powers. Isn't it obvious?"

"No, it isn't," Mary protested. Harry began reading her rights. "Don't say another word until you call your lawyer," Mary advised her. "That wasn't a confession, Jim."

"Sounded like one to me. Connie, listen to Mary. She's trying to help you," Jim told her. He got out his handcuffs.

Connie stood up. "But it was self-defense, Jim. You can't charge me with murder. He came after me with that knife. You were right, Harry, when you said he was waiting for me. When I wouldn't give him my purse, he tried to strangle me. That's when I grabbed the knife away from him. I'm not sure about what happened after that. It's all too horrible!"

Mary put her arm around her sister. "Oh Connie!"

"I couldn't let them think I was a murderer, Mary. Lose my job. Go to jail. What would you have thought about me then?"

"I'll always love you, Connie," Mary said. "No matter what you've done. But the important thing now is that you get a lawyer. You covered up a crime, and there will be consequences. You need to tell Jim everything you know about this so they can stop them from doing this to someone else."

"Definitely," Jim agreed. "Again, listen to Mary's good advice. Detective Lincoln, escort Connie down to the squad car and take her down to the station. Can you find her keys for me, Mary?"

"I'll tell you, Jim," Connie said. "They're in the bedroom. I already dumped the bloody purse and my clothes in a dumpster out of town so you aren't going to find them. I had my car professionally cleaned the very next day. My current purse is an exact copy of the purse I had that night. Mary unknowingly gave me the same one you gave me for Christmas, and I was too lazy to return it. I never told you. Smart, huh? That puzzled you to no end, didn't it, Harry? Why didn't my purse have blood on it? I saw you staring at it. By the way, the keys are all copies. My real keys are missing," Connie told them.

"What happened to your keys, Connie?" Jim asked her.

"I dropped them in the alley, and they found them. I changed the locks, but they got in anyway. The ones that wrote on my mirror last night. The ones who killed my cat. The ones that dragged Tom to the cemetery and cut off his hand. You'd better find them, Jim. I think I'm next."

### Chapter Thirteen

Sam led Mary out of the apartment as more police entered. As yellow police tape was attached to the door, Mary became tearful. She clutched Sam's hand for support.

"Whatever will I do?" she murmured.

"You mean, what will the lawyer do? This is Connie's mess, Mary. You can't save her from herself. She'll have to be a big girl and own up to her actions. You can't kill someone and hide it. What was she thinking?"

"Oh Sam, Connie doesn't think. She just reacts. Do you think she'll go to prison for this?"

"I'm no lawyer, Mary, but she deliberately lied to the police. You get jail time for that. Then she destroyed the evidence of a crime. That's more time. None of this makes her look like a law-abiding citizen."

"It was self-defense. They will have to take that into account."

Sam looked sad. "Do they? Don't you remember the newspaper article? Tom was repeatedly stabbed. Not once or twice, but over and over again. That's not really self-defense, is it? I mean, a jury could look at that differently. It may have been self- defense when she stabbed him the first time. After that, it becomes murder," Sam said. "She already said in front of all of us that she killed Tom Powers."

Mary's eyes were filled with fear. She continued to cry until Sam put her in his car.

An officer was examining Connie's car behind them with a flashlight. Soon a forensics squad would arrive to check for blood. Mary caught a glimpse of Connie leaving the building with Harry, her hands locked in handcuffs. Her head was down and her eyes focused on the pavement. When Mary glanced up, she saw all the neighbors at their windows watching the commotion.

"This will give everyone something to talk about for awhile. She sure throws a hell of a party," Sam grumbled.

"Her life is ruined."

"It was her choice, Mary. This is not your fault so stop blaming yourself. I know you pretty well, and I can guess that you're thinking somehow you failed your sister. You didn't. She failed herself."

Dr. Lorner came up to the car. He looked comical in his vampire outfit. He started to speak, then stopped and spit out his plastic fangs. Mary rolled down the window.

"Should I go to the police station to support her?" he asked Mary. "She's upset. She doesn't know what she's saying."

"Ben, go home. There's nothing you can do at this moment. As Sam has explained to me, it's time that Connie faced her own problems head on. There's nothing any of us can do. She has a lawyer, and she will call him. None of us had anything to do with this so we can't help."

"Okay," Ben said weakly. "I'm so confused and shocked. I'm beginning to think I didn't know her at all."

"Ben, you truly didn't," Mary said.

The next morning, Mary came to work an hour late. Before she left, she telephoned the jail to learn what had happened overnight. She found out from Jim that Connie was being released this morning, having arranged bail with her lawyer, Mr. Koble. She was being charged with covering up a crime. To Mary's relief, it was not murder. There just wasn't enough evidence for that. Her lawyer was pleading temporary insanity as to why Connie had failed to call the police that night. Connie agreed to cooperate with the authorities in exchange for lesser charges.

Mary felt the weight of the world was pressing down on her as she walked to the front door of the funeral home. Bill was sweeping the dead leaves off the sidewalk as she passed. She paused to speak to him.

"Are you holding down the fort?" she asked him.

"Sure am. Mike is setting up for the ten o'clock viewing. The grave is ready and covered. We're expecting Mr. Johnson's stone to arrive this afternoon by truck. I'll pick up a few bags of cement at lunch. There's only one problem."

"No more problems, Bill. I had a dreadful night," Mary moaned.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mary, but I feel I should tell you that Gavin has not showed up this morning."

"I see. Did he tell you he had an appointment this morning?"

"No. Don't recall that. He's a strange one, Mary, with those snake tattoos on his arms. Not very talkative. But my main concern is that he's a liar. Sam said he worked at the Simpson Funeral Home before coming here. You know my brother also works for Simpson's and when I asked him about Gavin yesterday, he said he'd never heard of him. I think he made it up to get this job."

"But how did he get that pay stub he showed Sam?"

"Forged. David said there is no record of that Social Security number there. So he went online and found that those numbers belonged to a man that died in 1970. He's buried over at Miller Cemetery."

Mary scratched her head. "I never had a good feeling about him, Bill. I will certainly give Betty over at Simpson's a call and get to the bottom of this right away! Is there anything else that he's done that has made you suspicious? The police have yet to figure out who broke into Sam's embalming room two weeks ago. Could Gavin have been a part of that?"

"Can't be sure, of course, but I did find him one day messing around in Sam's storeroom in the warehouse. He told me some tale about looking for a part for the lawnmower, but I could tell he was making it up. You don't look for parts in a stack of embalming fluids. He just gave me that smile of his and got out of there fast."

"Was anything missing, Bill?"

"Not that I could tell. You'd have to ask Sam."

Mary went inside, passing Mike in the hall carrying flowers into the Blue Chapel room. She knocked on the embalming room door and heard Sam grumble something. She found him struggling with some hoses from the fluid barrel.

"Got a clog, Mary. Let me know when I succeed in getting the fluid up."

Mary leaned over the body of man covered with a sheet, about sixty, and checked the hose inserted into the carotid artery in his neck. Another hose, attached to the vein, lay beside the sheet waiting to drain the blood from the body.

"Nothing so far," Mary observed.

"Air pressure is off or there's a blockage somewhere," Sam complained and jiggled the hose to the motorized injection machine. "I'm going to turn it on again, and you holler if it's working."

The motor hummed, and Mary kept her finger on the hose in the artery.

"You got it," Mary announced as she saw fluid coming through the hose. "It's alright now. Old fluid?"

"Not really, according to the labels. You always hope the company is telling you the truth and not going to the back of the warehouse to use up what's been sitting around for awhile when you place an order. Occasionally, I have this trouble. Sometimes it's clots. Sometimes it's the equipment. Thanks for helping out."

"You're welcome, of course. I wanted to talk to you about a problem Bill feels we need to address."

Sam slid his glasses from the top of his head and back onto this nose. He wiped his hands on his white jacket.

"Let's go into my office," he suggested, and they left the embalming room. In his office Sam poured Mary a cup of coffee and handed her a sugar packet.

"What's up? Bill need time off?"

"No, nothing that simple. He says Gavin didn't show up for work today. More importantly, he checked with his brother Larry over at Simpson's, and he claims Gavin never worked for him. Did you actually call Simpson to check his credentials?"

Sam was quiet for a moment, and then shook his head.

"I actually didn't. Who would make up such a thing? We needed help right away, and I thought this would solve the problem. Besides, if he needed the job, why not give him a chance, whether his references checked out or not?"

"Well, I think you may have hired a thief as well as a liar. Bill said he caught him one day in your storage room in the warehouse. Is anything missing?"

"I haven't taken inventory lately. I'm not sure that I would know. Um, this sounds bad. You think he had something to do with the closet episode a couple of weeks ago, don't you? I never heard his voice."

Mary gripped her coffee. "Was it just a coincidence that you hired him and someone breaks in the same night? I know the police investigated him as a suspect, but Jim said he had an alibi. Dr. Grisman himself vouched that he was in class that night. Dr. Grisman thinks the world of him and gave a glowing account of his abilities to me when I went out to lunch with him. So, at this point, I don't know what to think. His Social Security number was stolen too, according to David."

"Gee. You'd better call Jim and let him know. Should we advertise the job again?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Probably. Even if Gavin shows up, he lied on his application. That's automatic dismissal. We can't take a chance of having someone dishonest around here. Carl. Lisa. I think we have learned this lesson before."

Sam sat down at his desk. "Shouldn't we give him a chance to explain? It's so hard finding good help these days."

Mary shook her head. "You're too soft, Sam. He may have been the one who clonked you on the head. Evidently, gutting fish doesn't qualify you to judge character."

"I can make a tasty dinner, though," Sam laughed.

"No doubt your catfish is the finest. I'll hire the help from now on."

"Okay. That's one job I don't have time for. By the way, have you heard from Connie?"

Mary's face fell. "She has a lawyer now, and he's arranging bail. She's probably at home by now. They're charging her with lying to the police and destroying evidence in a crime for now. I was relieved he didn't say murder. Connie thinks she can get most of the charges dropped by bargaining with the judge, but I don't know. It depends on what evidence Jim found last night. If she'd only gone to the police when it happened, she wouldn't be facing this ordeal. Why didn't she think?"

Sam shrugged. "Connie first thoughts were about her. She wanted it all to go away. They'll come down hard on her now. What about her boss? He was there and heard the whole thing."

"Well, they don't want to lose her as an employee, but at the same time, they don't need the bad publicity. She took a leave of absence until she makes a final decision. Reputation is everything in her business."

Sam hugged Mary. "Mary, don't go getting yourself worked up about Connie's mess, now. You have a funeral home to run, and Connie's a big girl. She and her lawyer will handle it. Right now you have a groundskeeper to check on, and I have a body to finish. Let's stick with our priorities."

Mary stood up. "Keep my mind off it, right? Good advice, Sam. What would I do without you? You're the only good thing in my life right now. "

Sam smiled. "That's nice to hear, Mary. Remember that the next time you're yelling at me. Now get to work."

Mary saluted and walked out to David's desk. David was typing information into the computer.

"Any phone calls from Gavin?"

"No. Bill told me he didn't show up for work this morning. I called and left a message. No one home. Up until now, he was right on time every day. But that Social Security number worries me. Should I report it to the government? Stealing numbers is a crime."

"Don't bother. I'll check in with the police first. We want you to call the paper and place another ad, just like the one you placed before. We don't want to be short-handed for long."

"Sure, Mary."

Mary returned to her office and called Simpson Funeral Home. Betty, the secretary, confirmed her fears.

"Never heard of him. Perhaps he stole someone's pay stub from the trash," Betty told her. "I wonder why he would go through so much trouble to make it up? Working at a cemetery isn't exactly glamorous."

"I think he needed to be here for some reason. Eventually, I'll discover why. Thanks, Betty."

Mary sat quietly at her desk for a moment. Too many things were happening at the funeral home and in the city to be a strange coincidence. In the middle of the chaos was her sister, Connie who had killed a homeless man in an alley in self-defense. Mary wondered if she could put the pieces together to this puzzle before anyone else got hurt.

### Chapter Fourteen

The sun was setting, casting shadows in the killing field. Gavin taped the mouths of the two youths tied to a post in the circle in the woods and wiped the blood from their eyes. The Master had carved a rough pentagram into their foreheads using a small penknife. They pleaded with him with their eyes, but he shook his head. Mercy was out of the question. The Master had spoken.

Until now, Gavin had only sacrificed small animals on the rock altar to the Dark Lord. Now he grinned in anticipation of this turn of events, having never liked his comrades anyway. They had never devoted their lives to the truth. They chose to rob people, gathering material goods and drawing attention to themselves. It had to end. By killing them, Gavin would be a full-fledged apostle of Satan, just as the Master had told him in the hospital. All his dreams were coming true. He alone was faithful to the Master and was to be rewarded.

The Master stood outside the circle watching Gavin work, dressed in his black cape. He searched the boy's face, looking for any sign of weakness. But Gavin was a stone. He was proud, knowing that Gavin could pass any test. He was a true believer.

Gavin moved to light the candles scattered around the radius of the circle.

The Master moved into the circle. He pointed his finger at the traitors tied to the pole. "Satan's heart is set. You disobeyed Satan's will and for that, you must pay. You swore a blood oath, but greed took your hearts. Satan stopped you before you led the police to us and disaster. Satan protects those who love him. But you have failed him, and he must be avenged."

Gavin moved into the circle while the hooded figure in black moved out and back into the shadows to watch his apprentice. As the boys squirmed against the post, Gavin raised a large knife to the night sky.

"Accept our sacrifice, Lord Lucifer. We are your humble servants, tracking down and eliminating your enemies wherever we find them. George was against us, and he was crucified for his failings. Freddie taunted our Lord and so received his just reward. Tom was the biggest traitor of all, pointing at us and threatening to expose us. All are in Hell now in your hands. But the work is not finished. More traitors abound, and we will loose your fury upon them. Accept these cowards and their blood to appease your thirst. Eat their hearts. Devour their souls!"

The Master spoke from the shadows. "It is time, Gavin. Execute the traitors."

Gavin had killed before, in his life before he met the Master. Only woman, never men. They had put him in prison for that but the charges were overturned. When the judge had pronounced him mad, he had met the Master at the mental hospital. Together they were invincible as gods on this earth.

Gavin sprang into action. Swiftly he stabbed the boys, aiming for the heart. In seconds it was over, and blood poured out on the ground in puddles at the boys' feet.

"This will always be a hallowed spot, Gavin. Remove the corpses and delivered them to their final resting spots. I will follow in the Impala. Then we have other work to do, other gifts to collect. Satan sends his orders, and we obey. That is our purpose in this life."

"Yes, Master." Gavin watched as the figure in black melted into the woods. He cut down the bodies of his former comrades and prepared to drag them down the hill. They would vanish forever beneath the lake.

### Chapter Fifteen

"Where are you going tonight, Joey?" Mary asked her son as he slipped on his jacket. Dinner was over, and Chinese take-out boxes littered the table. She could see he wasn't going to do the dishes tonight.

"Lecture tonight on forensics over at the college that Debbie and I have to hear for credit. Should be interesting. The new medical examiner, Dr. Lorner, is speaking. He's on the cutting edge, so to speak."

Mary grinned at the joke. "Connie's latest dumped boyfriend? I heard he hasn't talked to Connie since the party. And I've never noticed that he's all that interesting. Arrogant, yes. Interesting, no. He thinks too much of himself. But I guess credit is credit. You be careful. It might snow tonight."

"I'm always careful."

Mary watched her son walk out the front door. She was still getting used to all the room they now had. This was their first real house, given to them by Preston Smith, the former owner of the funeral home and Mary's foster father. When he retired to Florida, he signed the funeral home over to Mary and Sam. He sold the house to Mary.

Mary now owned a brick ranch with three bedrooms and a deck. For the first time in her life she was going to have to buy a lawn mower in the spring and hoped Sam could show her how to start it. Because she was always at the funeral home, she worried that she couldn't keep up with the housecleaning. If Joey moved out, she'd have to hire a maid.

The phone rang, and Mary recognized the depressed voice of her sister Connie.

"Mary, I can't live here anymore," Connie moaned.

"Why not? What's happened?"

"Everyone is in the building is talking about me. When I walk by, all their heads turn. I can't stand their eyes on me! I feel like I'm wearing a sign around my neck saying I killed someone. I've had enough of all the whispering and pointing. I need to move."

"Where would you go?"

"Your place," Connie announced and then waited for the reaction.

"What? Why?" Mary was shocked.

"You've got that spare bedroom and plenty of space. Please, Mary, only until the trial is over. Then I can decide what to do with my life. Right now, everything is up in the air. It's awful."

Mary sighed. "Okay," she answered. "But you'll have to put your furniture in storage. My basement gets damp. Pack your things and come over tonight, if you like. Oh, hold on, Connie, I've got another call."

Mary punched her phone and heard her son's voice. "There's a light on in the funeral home. Didn't you say Sam was going up to the cabin tonight?"

"Yeah, he left this afternoon after finishing up. Turkey season or something, and he wanted a few days away. There shouldn't be anyone there, Joey, especially at this time of night. It's almost eleven. Which light is on? Maybe Bill forgot to shut it off."

"The hall light, I think. Didn't Bill leave early too?" he asked.

"Yes, you're right. Had that root canal," Mary remembered.

"Then I think I'd better check on it, right? I'm stopping to investigate, pulling in right now to the parking lot."

Mary yelled into the phone. "No, Joey! Just sit there and call the police. The real police. That's not you yet. You could get hurt. These guys are killers."

"Don't worry, Mom. I've got my spare key Sam gave me. I'm just going to sneak a peek. If someone's there, maybe we can get an arrest. I can be a witness. My future job is stopping this stuff."

Mary stood up, phone in her hand. "Joey, Joey, don't!" and the line went dead. Mary punched back to Connie. "I'll leave the door open. Right now, I've got to get down to the funeral home. Joey's spotted the lights on, and he's going in to see what's up. I've got to dial 911. He thinks he's super cop."

Mary threw on her coat and dialed her phone again as she backed her car out of the driveway. She left a message with the dispatcher and sped down the road, fearful of what Joey might have gotten himself into.

Joey looked in the window and determined that the light wasn't actually coming from the hall. Joey tiptoed around the building until he came to the back door that led into the embalming room with his faithful baseball bat in his hand. He stopped for a moment and checked out the old red Impala parked next to the door. It appeared empty. He tried to memorize the license plate number for the police as he silently turned the door knob of the back door of the funeral home. The door was unlocked, and he slipped inside quietly, looking around the room.

No one was there. Then he noticed the door to the cold storage room was open. He could hear someone moving about and some hard metal tool crashing to the ground.

"Damn!" he heard someone yell.

Then he heard the sound of the car outside spinning gravel in the driveway as it backed up. Joey watched the car disappear down the alley, silently cursing as he saw it go. He hadn't seen another person in the car. That meant he had just missed an opportunity to nab the other criminal. Whoever it was had been there the whole time and watching him go in. But that still left one criminal inside, deserted by his buddy. Joey could still come through as a hero by nailing the one inside.

A young man in a black jacket suddenly ran out of the storage room and stopped, a hacksaw in one hand and a crowbar in the other. Joey recognized Gavin, the new employee. He had seen him once or twice around the funeral home before he disappeared for good.

"Gavin, isn't it? What are doing with that saw? I'm calling the cops," Joey yelled. His courage had disappeared at the sight of the tools. He pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket and began dialing. Suddenly it went flying as Gavin rushed him with the crowbar, letting the saw fall to the floor. Joey's hand felt the savage blow of the metal. His cell phone crunched under Gavin's heel. Joey screamed from the pain of a now broken wrist.

"You son of a bitch!" Joey swung his baseball bat at Gavin's back as he tried to dart by. The blow sent Gavin swerving into the wall. Then he scrambled to his feet. Joey blocked the door with his body with the bat his in good hand.

Gavin hook the crowbar at him. "Get out of my way, Joey, or I'll have to kill you! Stay out of things that don't concern you or the Master will take revenge on your family. You're nothing to him!"

Joey laughed. "Your ride's already left, Gavin. Looks like you're out of friends. How far do you think you'd get on foot before the police find you?"

"They'll find you first, Joey boy. Dead. You want a little more of this?" He swung the crowbar at Joey's head, but Joey ducked to the side. Gavin reached the door as Joey stuck his foot out in his path. Gavin fell headlong through the open space to the sidewalk outside. Joey grabbed a leg as Gavin struggled to get on his feet. Again the crowbar came near his head, but Joey pulled back and let go. Gavin jerked a knife from his jacket pocket as he stood up.

"Okay, Joey, you want to play. Just like those homeless men. I played with all of them. Anyone that crosses me dies by Satan's hand and finds a watery grave. Master's going to like another body to cut up. If I can't have the leg in there, I guess I'll just cut off yours."

Joey's eyes went wild. "You're crazy!" he yelled. His mother's advice to call the police echoed through his head, and he knew he had made a mistake that might cost him his life. All he had was a baseball bat against a mad man with a knife.

A police siren sounded in the distance. Joey hoped they were on their way to the home. It was his only chance.

Gavin heard the siren too. He lunged at Joey, trying to stab at his heart. Joey pushed him back with his bat, turned, and tried to pin Gavin against the wall. Gavin continued to push back until his hand was again free. Joey felt the knife whiz by, ripping a large hole in his shirt. The pain in his wrist brought tears to his eyes, but he fought on. It was now a matter of life or death.

Joey pinned Gavin again against the wall, the baseball bat at his throat. Gavin growled like an animal, and Joey saw pure hate in his eyes. Then a kick came to Joey's groin, and he fell sideways into the wet cold grass. In a second, Gavin was on top of him, and their hands locked in a struggle over the knife. Back and forth they shoved the knife at each other in a tug-of-war. Joey knew his strength was failing. Close to fainting from the pain in his wrist, he forced himself to focus and shoved Gavin with all the power he had left.

Bright lights suddenly illuminated them rolling on the lawn as Joey saw his mother drive up. Flashing blue lights were behind her.

Gavin looked too, and Joey saw his chance. Gavin screamed as Joey brought the knife down on his chest and buried the blade to the hilt. Blood spurted out, drenching Joey's shirt and jacket.

Gavin went still, and Joey rolled off the body. His mother appeared at his side.

"Are you hurt, Joey?" she asked. He sat up, looking at his bloody shirt. "Where are you hurt, son?" Mary continued to ask him. Then she looked at Gavin. Her face went white when she saw her missing employee was dead.

"You've killed him," she muttered.

"It was him or me, Mom. He made that very clear. He broke my wrist," Joey said through gritted teeth. "The bastard hit me with a crowbar." At that moment, Detective Jim Benton and his partner Harry Lincoln rushed from their squad car to Joey's side.

"Mary, how come trouble is always where you're at?" Jim asked, reaching down to search for a pulse in Gavin's neck.

"It runs in the family," she replied, looking at Joey's swollen wrist. "It's definitely broken, Joey."

"Who was he?" Jim pointed at Gavin. "He's looks familiar."

"Our new employee who hasn't showed up for awhile. He's the one who found Tom Powers in the cemetery. Turns out he lied about working for Simpson's and was using a fake Social Security number. I was going to call you."

Joey got to his feet. "He was behind a lot of things. He said lots of crazy stuff. Something about a master. Satan. Watery graves. Yikes, I bet he was on drugs."

Harry called for an ambulance while Mary wrapped Joey's wrist in her sweater."

Jim faced him. "What was this Gavin doing here?"

"They, you mean. There was a red Impala parked here when I came around. I tried to memorize the license plate but after all this, I don't recall anything."

"It'll come back when you settle down. You saw this other person in the car?"

"No, I didn't. I'd already gone inside after Gavin when I heard the car pull off. Gavin did too because he came running out of the storage room like a mad man. That's when he hit me with the crowbar."

"We'd better see what he was after. Follow me, Mary. Put on these gloves."

"Jim, wait!" Joey grabbed his arm. "He told me he would kill me like those other homeless men. He was collecting parts for the Master."

Mary and Jim looked at each other. "Maybe there's something to this Satan stuff after all," Jim said.

Jim and Mary walked through the open door of the embalming room. Mary reached down to pick up the bottle of fluid lying on the floor, but Jim stopped her.

"Let the photographer take pictures of the scene first, Mary. What's in the storage room?"

"It's a refrigerator. Sam finished a body this afternoon, and he put the corpse in there until the service tomorrow." They stepped over a hacksaw on the floor. "I have a feeling he was defiling the body," Mary told the detective.

Mary and Jim stood at the doorway of the cold room and took in the scene. The sheet encircling the body had been pulled off and dropped to the floor. Mr. Bobbit lay exposed on the gurney, a large gash on the right leg. Embalming fluid was leaking from the artery, and Mary stepped in a puddle beside the gurney.

Jim gasped. "This is sick. He was trying to saw off his leg. Why would he want a corpse's leg?"

"For the Master?" Mary ventured. "Someone is gathering body parts. Hands first, now a leg. It sounds like he's assembling a body out of murdered victims."

"Why would anyone do that? What kind of twisted mind would think of such a thing?"

"You said it, twisted," Mary answered. "Now you have a dead man's confession. He and his friends killed those homeless men. They must have been in the alley watching Connie. If Tom hadn't attacked Connie that night, he would have still been killed. They were waiting for him. Connie just got in the way."

Jim shrugged. "We never believed for a minute that Connie was responsible for killing any of those men, Mary. She shouldn't have lied to us. She should have helped us right away. Maybe this wouldn't have happened. Now, at least, we have a good lead. Connie didn't have a clue as to who these guys are. At last we have something to go on."

The ambulance came, but Joey declined to get in. Instead, Mary led Joey off to her car to get help at the hospital while the ambulance waited for the medical examiner. Jim and Harry checked Gavin's pockets and found a wallet.

"Gavin Lafontaine," Harry read to Jim. "I thought his last name was Fitzgerald. That's what he said at the cemetery when Tom Powers showed up. Alias names. Interesting. Every one of these credit cards has a different name."

Jim pulled out a parking ticket. "Look, a college parking ticket. He must have frequented the campus."

Harry nodded. "Didn't Mary mention that he was student there? Wasn't that his alibi on the night that Tom Powers was killed?"

"Perhaps." When they looked up, they saw the medical examiner walking across the parking lot.

"Ah, Dr. Lorner. Good to see you. A pleasure as always."

Dr. Lorner, dressed in an expensive black suit, frowned at the officers. He set his bag down in the grass and began putting on his gloves.

"Date again?" Harry asked.

Lorner's frown turned to a scowl. Harry knew Connie was a sore subject with the doctor. He couldn't help rubbing it in. The guy deserved it.

"For your information, scumbag, I was lecturing at the community college on forensics. It's what I do. There's not one decent girl in this town that's worth dating."

"There's always mail-order," Harry whispered, and Jim stifled a laugh by turning away.

"Shut up and let me do my job. My personal life is off limits, you hear!"

"Ignore us, esteemed doctor," Jim said. "My partner has been working late hours with all the murders. You'll have to forgive him."

"Idiots," Dr. Lorner grumbled. He knelt down and stared at the lifeless man. "Knife wound near heart. Seems to have hit an artery. Quite a struggle. Where's the other guy?"

"Hospital. Self-defense it appears. The deceased was sawing a leg off a corpse in the funeral home when Joey Pruett jumped him. They wrestled around, and Joey managed to stab him with his own knife."

"Joey Pruett? Connie's nephew? I should have known. How much trouble can one family get into in this town? Every time I turn around, I'm mopping up some mess of theirs. So boys, what am I doing here? Why did I have to come down here? You said it was self-defense. Couldn't the technicians pronounce this guy dead? My time is valuable!"

"Yes, we know that. You've told us that before. Listen, this bad boy was up to other things. We need you to gather the evidence to connect this guy to the homeless men murders in this town. He confessed to Joey during the fight. You said you needed DNA. He's waiting. We're betting you'll find a match here."

"Look at that," Harry pointed to Gavin's arm. He had rolled back the sleeve of his shirt to expose a red snake tattoo. "That's something you don't see every day."

"There you go, morons. There's only one tattoo parlor in Newlenberg. You don't have to be a genius to figure that out. You won't even need DNA."

Harry and Jim glared at him. "Get the DNA, Doc. It's what will stand up in court," Jim told him sternly. "I shouldn't have to tell you how to do your job."

Dr. Lorner opened his medical bag. "Stealing legs. Cutting off hands. Snake tattoos. This is a town of lunatics. I'm putting in for a transfer!"

### Chapter Sixteen

Sam Goins saw his cell phone lying on the car seat and at the last moment decided to take it with him out on the lake. If there was an emergency, the funeral home would need him to come in to work on the corpse. He wished Mary would need him in other ways. He would love to hold her hand, protect her from the bad guys, and perhaps be a whole lot more than a business partner. "She likes her freedom," he muttered as he picked up his cell phone. "I won't wait forever." But he knew he would. He was totally goofy over her.

He hated cell phones. He preferred the peace and quiet of a man and his fishing rod out in the quiet morning. Just him and the fish. No phones. No TV. No place to go. No deadlines.

"Mary, you don't know what you're missing," he said to his boat as he pushed it back away from the shore. Laying his tackle and bait in the usual place, Sam took up the oars and headed out to his favorite spot. He enjoyed rowing the boat himself and would never use a motor. There was a place near the shore where the trees grew out over the water. Here the fish gathered in the early morning, and Sam never failed to catch a trout if he was diligent.

As Sam rowed through the water, he noticed car tracks in the field above the bank. That was odd. It was as though someone had driven through the grass, down the hill, and right into the water. He maneuvered the row boat closer to the bank. As he came to the trees, he was shocked by what he saw. The brush lining the bank was flattened where the car went over.

"Oh my God," Sam whispered, thinking there'd been an accident. He looked over the side and made out the top of a car only a few feet under his boat. He couldn't tell what color it was or what type. He poked at it with his fishing rod and felt a hard surface.

All thoughts of fishing went out of Sam's head. He began to row back to the landing. He had to get help, though he believed anyone inside was beyond help at this point.

"Sam! Sam!" On the landing he saw a person in a black coat and white toboggan. His heart fluttered as he recognized Mary waving at him. Joey was walking up behind her as she stood on the pier.

Sam brought his boat around and made for the landing. He tied it up with his rope. Mary and Joey met him on the wooden landing. "What are you doing here, Mary? What's happened? Decided to try the outdoors, after all?"

"It's too cold out here, Sam. We're freezing. We knocked at the cabin, but you weren't there. Your neighbor said you'd gone fishing. I thought you were going turkey hunting."

"A man can do anything he wants on his day off. I take it my vacation has just ended?"

"Sorry," Mary told him. "I was trying to get you on your cell phone. When you didn't answer, we decided to drive out."

"But I had my cell phone with me the whole time. See?" Sam pulled out the cell phone and showed it to her. She opened it and pointed to the bars.

"Dead, Sam. Carrying it around will not keep it charged. You have to plug it in every week. Never mind that. We've had trouble. Last night, Gavin broke into the embalming room and almost succeeded in sawing off Mr. Bobbit's leg. I need your help to get the room back together and Mr. Bobbit ready for tonight. I can't it do all by myself."

Sam was shocked. "What? That's madness. Why would Gavin do such a thing?"

"We aren't sure. Now we'll never know."

"Why not? Isn't he in jail?" Sam said.

Joey held out his wrist now fixed in a cast. "I killed him."

Sam stared the pair. "Wow. I sure missed a good fight, then. Sorry you had to go through that, Joey. Going to make a good cop some day."

"We'd better get going," Mary told them.

Sam shook his head. "I can't come back to Newlenberg right now, Mary. I just discovered a car submerged over there. We'd better call the police first."

Joey grabbed his mother's arm. "I don't believe this. It's just like he said. It didn't make any sense then."

"Who said what?" Mary looked at Joey.

"Gavin said anyone who crossed him died by Satan's hand and found a watery grave. I wonder if he meant the lake? Is it a red car? There was one at the home last night that took off when I showed up."

"I couldn't tell. It's too far down. This time of the year, the water is murky. But there's a car down there all right."

Mary gave Sam her cell phone, and he dialed the state police. Then he dialed the ranger.

Sam left Joey at Mary's Volvo station wagon and led Mary along the shore to the spot where he had discovered the car. He pointed up toward the field.

"See the tracks? Someone drove through this field recently. Then they pushed the car or let it roll in about here where the brush is crushed. It filled up with water and sank, but it's not far off the bank here. I could see the top from my boat."

Mary looked at the crushed foliage. "I wonder what happened? Could it be just a bunch of drunken teenagers fooling around?"

"Sinking a car in the lake is serious business. It takes skill. From the tracks, I would say it was deliberate. A sunken car is usually a sign of foul play. Not a bunch of kids fooling around. Don't you watch TV?"

Mary laughed. "No, I don't because I work at the funeral home. Obviously you need to work more hours."

The ranger's truck came over the hill and met Sam and Mary at the bank. An older man in a brown uniform climbed out and greeted Sam.

"Hi, Glenn," Sam said. "I think we've got some trouble here. I saw a car submerged when I was out fishing. It's out about there," Sam pointed beyond the brush. "I could tap the top with my fishing pole. Wasn't there last week when I went fishing. Tracks look fresh."

"Yes, they do. Goodness. I've radioed the police, but they said they were already on their way. They're picking up a scuba man on the way to connect the tow. They want everyone out of the area so they can determine whose tracks are whose, so I'm going to have to ask your friends to go. They're going to want to talk to you. Where can they reach you?"

"Smith Funeral Home, Newlenberg. We're heading back there now."

Sam left with Mary and returned to a cold Joey sitting in the car.

Mary was still talking. "And to top everything off last night, Connie has moved into the back bedroom. She says she can't take all the talk around town about her. So she's hiding out at my place. I don't think I can take all the criticism about my lack of style. I might have to go to trial myself for murder."

"I'd say it was a justified homicide," Sam told her.

"She told me to clean up my room," Joey said. "Can't she see that my wrist is broken? I can't even drive. He crushed my cell phone so I can't call my girlfriend. My life is ruined."

Sam patted him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. This is the time to let your girlfriend drive you around, Joey. They love to be in control. Use it to your advantage."

Joey smiled. "I never thought of it that way, Sam. That's a good idea. I'd like this idea of everyone waiting on me."

Sam turned to Mary. "If it gets to be too much, there's a cozy cabin here at the lake. I've got plenty of room. Connie wouldn't dare come out here. There's spiders."

Mary made a face. "Spiders!"

"Cobwebs and creepy things!" Sam boasted.

"Yuck! That would keep me home too, Sam. Get rid of them!" Mary ordered.

"Women," Sam commented, shaking his head. He would never understand them.

Detectives Jim Benton and Harry Lincoln stood beside the state trooper in their long coats and boots at the bank of Hutchen Lake as the ranger motioned the tow truck to back up. Pictures of the scene had been taken, and the diver had confirmed that there was no one in the front or back seats of the vehicle that he could see. Nor were there license plates on the car to identify it.

Harry was disappointed. "No license plates? That spells trouble."

Jim squatted, looking at the car tracks. "Yep, unscrewed the plates according to the diver. Definitely suspicious. That's why the state police called us. They want to share information. With all the strange things going on in Newlenberg, they think there might be a connection. And there's that comment by Joey Pruett. Gavin said "watery graves." He may have been involved."

"And you say Sam Goins spotted the car fishing?" Harry said. "Imagine that. Even on vacation, he finds himself in the middle of mystery. He's got to get away from that family."

"Some coincidence, huh? Even the people who know Connie are cursed. You just have to be in the same room with her, and bad luck follows you."

Harry agreed. "I think that's true, Jim."

The tow truck lowered the wench cable into the water where a diver took it and disappeared again under the water. A few minutes later, the diver emerged and waved to the driver.

Jim and Harry stood out of the way with the other state trooper as the tow truck geared up, and the wench slowly inched the heavy object through the water. Jim stood ready to photograph the car as soon as it surfaced.

The green top came out of the water first. Then the chassis appeared covered with mud.

"Old car. A Galaxy, I think," Harry said. "Someone's old wreck. Maybe this was just some insurance thing. A waste of our time."

Jim rubbed his chin. "Hiding a car in a lake smacks of more than dishonesty. If I'm not mistaken, the car that Joey saw the night he killed Gavin Fitzgerald was an Impala. Red too, so it's not the one we're looking for. Maybe they had more than one. Go get a crowbar. We'll check the trunk before we go. We'll be going over it with a fine tooth comb in Newlenberg."

Slowly the tow truck pulled the old car onto the bank and a little ways into the field. Water poured out of it, and they let it settle. The diver came out onto the shore and raced to the police car to change into warmer clothes.

The state trooper pulled open a door and stood back as muddy water gushed out of the driver's seat. "No one here or in the back seat. You can go through the glove compartment once you get it back to the station and dried out. See if you can find a clue to whose car this is," the officer told Jim. "I hope I didn't bring you all the way out here for nothing."

Jim looked at Harry. He walked off to get a crowbar. "No, I think this may be the break we've been looking for, Officer Smith. You never know. Let's open the trunk and see what's there."

Harry returned with a crowbar. When the trunk wouldn't open on its own, Harry began prying with the bar. They heard a snap, and the lid flew open. For a minute, all were speechless at the sight of the open trunk. Then the ranger ran off to throw up in the field.

"Well, this is interesting after all," Jim said. They gazed down at two bodies, males, with hands and feet tied together. They were shirtless, and big gaping wounds, now bloodless, were visible on their bare chests. Their faces, swollen up and distorted from the water, gave them an inhuman appearance. Harry pointed to the arm of one victim.

Jim nodded. "Bingo," he said to his partner.

The state trooper edged closer to see what Harry was pointing at. He stared at the red tattoos on victims' arms.

"What does it mean?" he asked the detectives.

"The red snake tattoo? We haven't quite worked that out yet. Evidently it means death," Jim answered.

### Chapter Seventeen

Connie drove downtown and left her car in the parking deck where she used to park when she worked for Scotfellow Interiors. She sighed. Although Sean had agreed to a leave of absence, she sensed she would be permanently replaced as soon as he could contact the design department at the university. There was always an eager graduate student ready to start a new career. Everything she had held on to so tightly had finally unraveled.

Sean had also made it clear she was hard to work with, always late, and very rude to customers. She had to agree with him. The psychologist, shocked at Connie's confession, told her it was time to shed the old skin and become a new person. She should forgive herself and move on. It wasn't her fault she was attacked that night. She had only protected herself. The extra stab wounds, well, they were overkill. They were the desperate acts of an overloaded mind seized with fear. "You weren't rational," the psychologist explained. "When you repress emotions for years, they come out in times of stress. You were killing your father because you hated him. Tom Powers took his place. The guilt will slowly fade when you realize that Tom intended to kill you. You fought back the only way you could."

Connie looked in the mirror above the for-sale sign on her dash. She checked her lipstick and made sure her hair was in place, held back in a ponytail.

"Sorry, Doc. I know you wanted a new me. I look the same on the outside," she said to her empty car. Dressed in jeans and a plain white blouse, she buttoned up her old wool coat and stepped out of the car. Her expensive leather jacket hung in Mary's closet, a gift. Connie wasn't into clothes anymore. Today, she had an appointment with Janet Haverty, Tom Powers' sister, at the Newlenberg Family Shelter and Mission.

Connie walked down the street several blocks and turned left. The downtown buildings became more dilapidated the further she went and more homeless watched her from dirty doorways. She was glad she had locked her pocketbook in the car. No point in giving them an excuse to attack her.

The shelter was a brick building on Lewis Avenue. A white sign proclaiming "Jesus Saves" hung over the door. A list of service times was posted on the door Connie opened. Several women and a few men were sitting in the waiting room, staring at her as she entered. A child wailed in a woman's arms. All turned to glare at Connie who was definitely out of place, despite her goal to dress down today. Her attempt to fit in was lost on them. They knew who was who.

"Yes, ma'am? Can I help you?" the receptionist at the window asked her.

"I have an appointment with Janet Haverty. Name's Connie."

"Okay. Have a seat."

Connie looked around the room and saw there were no available seats. These people are tired, she thought, looking at their drooping eyes. A little boy darted past her legs, and she smiled weakly at him. How awful, she thought, to have to provide for a child when you couldn't even feed yourself. Connie leaned against the wall and observed the crowd. Two men, about middle- aged, were leering at her. One winked. Connie forced herself to smile back. After all, the idea she might be interested in him was ludicrous. He had to be insane. Still, she had to admire his audacity.

The woman with the child sat slumped in her seat, clothes hanging loosely on her slim frame. Connie judged her to be in her twenties. Usually, she would have ignored this girl. Today, she was overwhelmed with the emotions that flowed from her heart. This was a world she had wanted no part of most of her life. But Tom's death had changed all that. She owed them.

"Connie?" Connie recognized Jane Haverty as the same woman she had seen at Tom's funeral. They shook hands. Connie could see a resemblance to her brother Tom in her eyes and chin. "I'm glad to see you, Connie. Let's go back to my office where it's more private."

Connie followed Janet, also dressed in jeans and a white shirt, through a door that led back to some storage rooms. Boxes of cleaning supplies and toilet paper surrounded Janet's desk.

"Space is a problem. We often get donations by the case and so my office gets the overload. Also, the local churches have a habit of dumping on us, and we just can't use the junk they give us. I have to be nice about it or the donations will stop." Janet reached down and removed a box from a plastic chair. "Have a seat."

Facing her at last, Connie felt her throat go dry. Although she had rehearsed her words, she still forced herself to speak.

"My name is Connie Shepard. I killed your brother. I wanted to see you," she stammered on, "to say I'm sorry for what happened that night."

"You didn't have to come, you poor thing. I certainly don't blame you for anything. I read about your dilemma in the newspaper. Please, don't be burdened by what happened. The Tom I knew died years ago. You were fighting off a very deranged man. He would have killed you that night, if you hadn't turned the knife on him. In a way, you ended his misery. In heaven, he is thanking you for freeing his soul."

Connie was again speechless. She hadn't expected Janet to be so kind and understanding. "I never looked at it like that. I've been blaming myself because I knew it was dangerous in that part of town at night. I could have called a cab. But I was stupid and proud. Now I'm the woman who killed Tom Powers."

"Ah, Connie," Janet took Connie's hand into her own and squeezed. "Please, don't blame yourself. I know more than anyone how Tom really was. I'm glad he didn't kill you that night. I have a feeling he's killed other people before and not been caught. You put an end to a lifetime of hardship for him. God can't hold this against you. I don't. Please, consider yourself forgiven for any guilt you have suffered."

Connie looked up and smiled for the first time in weeks. "This has forever changed my life," Connie told Janet. "I came here to make amends. To understand people like Tom. To get something I've never had, compassion for others. You see, I have been the most conceited, selfish person alive. Until that night, I thought the world revolved around me. Now I stand here, humbled. I want to help, not hurt people. Can you help me?"

Janet gave her a puzzled look. "What can I do for you, Connie?"

"Can you tell me what Tom was like, before he became that homeless man plaguing my office building?"

Janet opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a picture frame. She handed it to Connie.

"Here is Tom with me when we graduated from college. Did you know we were twins? Fraternal of course. He would go on to be an economics professor, write books, and travel abroad while I raised my children in good old Newlenberg. When my husband died, I raised the money for the shelter, and they voted me director. Everything seemed great for both of us until about ten years ago."

"No sign of insanity up to then?" Connie asked.

"It was the first time I was told that Tom had a mental problem. Evidently, Tom had been fired, then rehired, then fired again from various universities. He always blamed them, the administration. But one night, I got a call from St. Catherine Mental Asylum outside of Richmond saying that my brother had been brought in for treatment. Seems he ran through a Savemart yelling about aliens. I went down to visit him, although they weren't keen on me talking to him. He was locked in a padded room. I'd never seen one of those before, you know, with just a plain mattress on the floor. He looked so pitiful."

"Did the doctors tell you what was wrong?" Connie asked.

"Diagnosis was easy. Schizophrenia. The voices in his head were giving him orders. The doctors started him on medication and for awhile, it seemed like he might get his life back. He made friends with the other patients and was a role model in the ward. Then judge decided to let him go home, only he didn't have a home anymore. I'd been forced to sell it for pay off his creditors. So the judge let him come here, to work around the shelter. I promised I would make sure he took his medicine."

Connie stared at the picture. She didn't know this Tom. The eyes were the only thing that resembled the homeless man she remembered.

Janet continued. "But I didn't know how bad Tom's illness really was. He refused to take his medication or stay here. He disappeared for weeks at a time. Then I would drive by and see him sitting outside your building with that damn cardboard. He got it from my dumpster. The best I could do was offer him a meal if he wandered in. I couldn't keep track of how many times he was arrested. The voices turned him against me and told him I was an alien. Finally, he was too dangerous to let in the shelter. He would attack our people. I had him arrested myself several times."

"How awful," Connie told her. "What you must have gone through."

"Even if he was locked up, he'd just walk out. No funds for the mentally ill, you know. A lot of them end up here, asking for food. We do what we can."

"That's another reason I'm here," said Connie. "I want to help you here at the Mission. There must be something I can do around here. I could do anything."

"Volunteers are always welcome, Connie. What is it you feel you'd like to do? We need people to cook, clean, and do general maintenance work. Didn't I read in the papers that you're an interior decorator? We don't need much of that here."

"Of course you don't," Connie laughed. "No, I think I won't be doing much decorating of anything for awhile. At least until all this police stuff is sorted out. Right now, my life is in limbo. I need to keep my mind off my legal worries. Cooking and cleaning sounds good to me. It's time I learned how the other people live. You see, I've been pampered. I hired someone to clean once a week, and I ate out most of the time. With my income gone, I'll have to live like everyone else."

Now Janet laughed. "No pampering here. Follow me. It's almost time for lunch. I'll let you serve the hash."

Connie followed Janet to the kitchen where men, women, and children were already lining up at the counter, eager for their free lunch.

"That's the lady in the papers," Connie heard a man whisper to another, his finger pointing. She looked up, but didn't recognize the men in ragged coats. Had they been friends of Tom?

"She killed Tom Powers," the other whispered back.

"He was an old mean bastard, wasn't he?" the other said, and they laughed.

Janet steered her into the kitchen where she gave her a pair of latex gloves and put her to work. For the next hour, Connie spooned out hash and gave out a cornbread muffin. Then she sat down with Janet and ate the same meal. And liked it.

### Chapter Eighteen

"You did what?" Mary was shocked later that night. "Let me get this straight. You went down to the shelter, talked to Tom Powers' sister, and served lunch to the homeless? You even ate the hash?"

"Yes, I did," Connie said proudly.

Joey was dubious. "I don't believe it," he said as Mary helped him cut his salad into edible portions. Any movement of his broken wrist was painful. "Just this morning you were yelling at me about my room. Now you're the hero of the homeless? The champion of the down and out?"

Connie shrugged. "I'm over that now, Joey. The attitude is gone. You can keep your room any way you want. The way I see it, we're even, you and me. We both killed someone. We have nothing to be high and mighty about."

"Speak for yourself," Joey grumbled.

"By the way, I took the liberty of making your bed and putting your dirty clothes in the hamper. I hope you don't mind. Since everyone is working but me, I should pitch in and help. It's only right." Connie stood up. "I'm going to check on the laundry I left in the dryer."

"Help, my aunt is an alien," Joey said to his mother.

Mary laughed. There was a knock on the door, and Joey got up to let in Sam, now out of his suit and tie. He was sporting jeans and a flannel shirt.

"Hi, Joey. Is your mom here?"

"Come on in," Mary called from the kitchen. "I'll put on some coffee. I hope there wasn't a problem tonight at the funeral home."

"No, it went smoothly. Bill is still there cleaning up. I had a call from Jim to meet him here to go over the details of this morning. He wanted you there too."

"That's odd, isn't it? Jim making house calls? Have you eaten? Connie cooked us a nice spaghetti dinner, and there's plenty."

"I didn't know Connie cooked," Sam remarked with surprise.

Joey nodded. "It was a surprise to us, too. Seems she's taking on a new personality and volunteering down at the homeless shelter," Joey told him. "Guilt is a wonderful thing."

Mary placed a hot plate at the table, and Sam pulled up a chair. "So you think it's all about the guilt? That's all that's going on?" Sam asked her.

Mary poured Sam a glass of tea. "Guilt? I would have said she was incapable of feeling anything a couple of weeks ago. But now, I think she has undergone some soul-searching. She was due, don't you think?"

"It can't hurt. It will certainly look good for the judge, won't it? Maybe her lawyer suggested this new change of heart."

"I prefer to believe it's a permanent change," Mary said. "Like you, though, I'll need some proof."

Connie came back into the kitchen carrying the wash. She sat down beside Mary and began folding clothes. "Well, here's Sam. Don't you two get enough of each other at work?"

"Jim told me to meet him here," Sam explained, shoveling spaghetti into his mouth. Mary tucked a napkin under his chin.

"Sam found a car in the lake while fishing this morning," Mary explained. "He reported it to the police, but I had to drag him back to the funeral home before Jim got there because of what happened last night with Mr. Bobbit. We're kind of anxious to see what happened after we left the lake. Maybe it had something to do with your intruders."

Sam nodded. "I had to put a leg back together for Mary so I didn't get to see what the police dragged out of the lake."

"Oh, for heaven sakes. I don't want to know!" Connie got up and gathered the laundry. "I'll be in my room where I don't have to listen to funeral home shop talk."

"Huh." Sam looked at Mary. "Same old Connie."

Sam was starting on some chocolate cake when Detectives Jim Benton and Harry Lincoln pulled up into the driveway. Joey let the officers in and led them into the kitchen. Mary cut more pieces of cake and poured the coffee.

"Good to see you again, Mary," Jim said. "Unfortunately, it's always under sad circumstances. Good cake. Thanks for the coffee. Tell Joey we need to see him too."

Mary gave a yell, and Joey came out of his room carrying a textbook in his good hand.

Harry opened his briefcase and took out some photographs. "We found two boys in your car, Sam. Murdered, of course. I wanted to know if you recognized them. Mug shots or the real thing? We have both. Being funeral directors, we knew you wouldn't be squeamish."

"Real pictures!" Sam insisted.

"Yes, please," Mary agreed.

"I'm on the fence," pleaded Joey.

Harry laid the pictures out across the table. "Have they ever worked at the funeral home or perhaps visited Gavin at work?"

Mary and Sam leaned over the pictures showing the tied corpses in the trunk of the car.

"I recommend closed casket," Sam commented.

"Yuck," Joey moaned.

"Get used to it, Joey. This is what you see in police work. You can't be always saving kittens in trees," Mary told him. "I've never seen them before, Harry. Show us the mug shots too. What do you think, Joey? Ever see them around the funeral home or around town?"

Joey shook his head. "Sorry, Jim, I don't recognize them. They don't look like the types I would hang with. Pretty rough."

"Believe it or not, they were enrolled as students at Newlenberg University along with Gavin Fitzgerald. We matched their prints to some prints and mug shots on file. Their prints were also on Connie's box. But she never saw them."

"You got the kids that killed my cat?" Connie was suddenly behind Joey. "Did you put the punks in jail? I want to prosecute. You can't go around killing cats."

"Sorry, Connie, too late for that. The punks are dead," Harry explained.

"Did you know these guys?" Joey handed her a picture off the table. Connie screamed and dropped the picture on the floor.

"I'm going to be sick. How dare you show me something like that!" Connie ran for her room.

"The mug shot would have been better, Joey. You did that on purpose," Mary scolded.

"It was fun too," Joey laughed.

Harry gave Mary the mug shots, and Mary took them to Connie. They could hear yelling from the back of the house.

"This goes on all the time," Joey explained to the detectives.

Jim nodded. "Living with Connie can't be easy."

Sam looked up. "Why were they in the trunk of that car?" Sam asked Jim.

"We're not sure. I suspect their criminal activities in the neighborhood were drawing too much attention, and their "Master" decided to get rid of them. If they had been caught and arrested, they would have led us right to him. Maybe he couldn't take that chance."

Joey put the pictures down. "I see. Liabilities. Any luck on finding an address? Were they local boys?"

Harry frowned. "Again, we're not sure. They seem to have been transient, turning up here and there on occasion. Sometimes in jails. Other times in mental hospitals. We have some leads we're following. The way they died, well, it's new territory for us."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam.

"There's a lot of evidence of torture. Pentagrams etched on their foreheads with a knife. They were killed execution style."

"Strangled or stabbed?" Sam asked.

"Stabbed to death," Jim answered. "Why?"

"Satanic ritual perhaps. Any blood in the trunk?"

"No, the medical examiner said they were killed somewhere else and dumped afterwards in the trunk. Not that we would find any, being in the lake overnight. Look again at these photos. Do you notice anything else similar to your former employee?"

Sam pointed to the tattoos on the arms. "Snakes. Is this some kind of a gang? A cult?"

Jim nodded. "Definitely some kind of identification. What, we don't know yet."

Mary came back. "Connie says she did see them once, standing outside of her office building. They were throwing gravel at Tom Powers. The security guard ran them off."

Sam put the picture back on the table. "Interesting. So they knew Tom Powers. There's a connection."

Jim agreed. "Oh, we have a connection. Prints from all the murder scenes. Gavin's DNA was found on the teeth of one victim. We know all three were present each time. But we're missing something in our scenario."

Mary sat back down at the table. "The man who was giving them orders."

Harry licked his fork. "Exactly. He drove off abandoning Gavin to the police last night. He's still out there, covering his tracks. Keep an eye on Joey. He doesn't know that Joey didn't see him. He might think Joey could identify him."

Joey was alarmed. "How would he find out where I live?"

"Your name was in the paper, son. I saw it there this morning. He knows you are connected to the funeral home. Why else would you have been there? This murderer is a smart one. It wouldn't take much to put you and Mary together, now would it? Your address is in the phone book."

Suddenly Harry's cell phone rang. He walked into the living room to answer it. He quickly came back.

"We got to go, folks. Thanks for your help. We've got a medical examiner tied up in the closet at the hospital and a missing Gavin."

Sam's eyes widened. "Connie's boyfriend was attacked? Was he hurt? I know what it's like to be thrown into a closet by these guys."

A door opened. "He's not my boyfriend! We broke up!" Connie yelled from the hall. "I'm not responsible for this."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Someone is tying up loose ends, Joey. You could be next. Watch yourself." Jim got up, swigging the remains of his coffee. He and Harry disappeared out the door.

"He forgot his pictures," Joey said. Mary looked down at the dead boys in the trunk.

"That's funny," she said, holding the picture up to the light.

"What?" Sam asked.

"That snake tattoo. Bright red. I've seen it before. On someone else recently. I only wish I could remember where."

"Gavin?" Joey suggested.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's where I first saw that thing."

Mary shook her head. "No, not him. I know I've seen it somewhere else. I guess it'll come to me later. Go home, Sam, and get some rest. You've had quite an exciting day."

"One I hope not to repeat. I'll see you tomorrow."

After everyone was gone and she had cleaned up, Mary went to her bedroom. She fished around under her bed until she found the shoe box. Lifting the lid, she gazed down on the gun Preston Smith had given her last year. She had lied to Sam about giving it back last summer. She had kept it in the office, but for some reason she had brought it home this afternoon. Now she was glad she had. With all the craziness going on with Connie and the murders, she might have to call on it again. This gun had killed a man last year. She wondered if it would have to kill again.

### Chapter Nineteen

His basement resembled a morgue. Dressed in a black tee shirt and black pants, he stretched Gavin out on the old wooden table. A single bulb overhead lit the area with a dingy yellow glow.

In his head a battle raged. Here was Gavin, his beloved assistant in the work of Satan, dead by the hand of the undertaker's son. This shouldn't have happened. The other boy should be dead. Karma dictated a life for a life.

The Master shook his head. Gavin had been trained to perfection. Loyal and eager to please, he had sat at the Master's feet in the mental hospital soaking in every word of the truth. He had been a true believer and a friend. Now the Master had no one to trust. The other two disciples had betrayed him, going out on their own without permission. Gavin had been his only true disciple, incapable of treachery.

He thought back to the recent past and tears came to his eyes. When the Master had led the way to freedom, overpowering the guards and clearing the path, Gavin was right behind him. He had brought other converts to the cause with him and introduced them to the ways of the Master. Inside the hospital they were called insane. But on the outside, they were free to roam as they pleased. Free to make the necessary sacrifices to the Dark Lord that ruled the Master's life. Free to kill whom they chose. They were the kings of Newlenberg.

He wiped his tears on his shirt. There was no time for weeping or reliving the past. The Master was clever after all. He knew how to change his identity, steal credit card numbers, and create a new life. With just the click on the computer, Gavin had instantly gained a new name and became a college student. The Master gave Gavin access to a campus where he could steal wallets full of credit cards. The town was plentiful in both money and victims. Nothing was forbidden to those who followed darkness.

The Master had visions. He saw himself as the leader of a new world that would begin when Satan came to earth to rule in the year 2013. He had to prepare his companions. The voices explained how. First he would destroy all the enemies of Satan. He had seen them downtown, the dirty men who hung out on corners begging for money. They had no insight. No vision like the Master. In his previous life, they had known him as one of their own. Some had even called him friend. No matter. They stood between him and the ultimate plan. A tip from them could lead the law to his cabin. Nothing must prevent the Master from carrying out Satan's plans for the new world. Friendship was something he couldn't afford. Satan must come to earth.

Although he hadn't foreseen the death of Gavin, he could still feel the power of Satan in the wind. Couldn't they see that Satan was in control of this flimsy world? The police were powerless against him. The people of Newlenberg wouldn't be a part of the new earth. Only the Master and others like him.

That's why the homeless men had to die. They knew the true identity of the Master. One by one, they had all succumbed to death except for Tom Powers. The undertaker's silly sister had done the job for him. With any luck, she would go to jail in his place.

The Master reached for his hacksaw. Although Gavin had lost his life, he would gain it again. Satan needed a body and what greater honor than to be part of that? So far the Master had gotten two hands and a foot. Gavin's foot would complete the extremities. It would join the others waiting in the old refrigerator in the corner, pickled in pans of formaldehyde.

On the door of the refrigerator were all the photos of the men they had killed before. There was Freddie with whom he had hitched rides in the old days. There was George, his former roommate at the asylum. Lastly, there was Tom laying the alley. Tom had told him of aliens and devils at the Mission. Still, Satan was not his god so he had to die.

Now, it was time for his life's work, the Master thought. He was so close! Gavin had been extraordinary so his gift to Lucifer was special. He would provide the torso to resurrect the devil. The Master poured a large container of embalming fluid into the galvanized tub he had recently purchased at a farm store. As the liquid sloshed against the sides of the tub, the Master's mind wandered. Voices whispered to him. Devil. Father. Devil. Father. Who actually would come alive again? He returned to Gavin and set the hacksaw against the corpse's neck. He began to cut through the tissue.

When the deed was done, the Master tenderly carried the remaining pieces of Gavin out the basement door wrapped in newspaper to the freshly dug grave in the garden. Living in isolation at the lake, the Master had no fear of being seen. In fact, he thought his neighbors were afraid of him. They cowered in the corners at the store when he walked in. They sensed his great power, staring at him from behind the counter. Mortals were so easily frightened, he thought.

As he buried Gavin's remains and placed a pentagram on the head for the next life, the Master turned his attention to his next task. Satan still needed a head. Whose? The answer was obvious. He would avenge Gavin by taking the life of his murderer. What delight he would experience in torturing the boy very slowly until he begged for death. Gavin would like that too.

Indeed, this would take planning. The Master would take his time to set the stage. He wanted everything to be just right for the Dark Lord. In a month, there would be a full moon, perfect timing for the ultimate sacrifice. Details? He would let the voices in his head guide him. He no longer needed his human helpers. Satan himself would lead the assault against Joey Pruett.

Mary and Sam stood at the front door of the Asbury Presbyterian Church waiting for Bill, the usher today, to come out and signal the end of the funeral. They could hear music through the crack in the door. It was sunny but cold. Both Mary and Sam sported heavy overcoats, gloves, and hats over their dress clothes.

"You say Connie is cooking? Cleaning? Working at the shelter? Connie should kill people more often," Sam told Mary. "It so becomes her."

Mary frowned at him. "That's not very nice, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "You think I haven't heard all her snide comments about me in the past? All the bald jokes? It's my turn now. Am I just supposed to forget all the bad words she's slung in my direction and forgive everything? Do I look ready for sainthood to you?"

"Of course not, Sam. She's recovering from a great shock. She's honestly trying to make up for past slights so I think you should come to dinner because she asked you and try to forget her lack of tact."

"Can I bring a date for dinner?" Sam suddenly asked.

Mary's hands flew to her hips. "Who?" she almost yelled, glaring at her partner.

"That cute blonde down at the Seven Eleven. Phyllis, isn't it? Some former schoolmate of yours. Why, Mary, I do believe I detect jealousy in your tone of voice."

Mary frowned. "Jealousy? Never. You can date whomever you want. It's just that Connie isn't expecting you to bring someone else. She thinks we're a couple."

"That's just it, Mary. Are we a couple or not? Being together at work is different than really being together as a couple. So which is it, Mary? You set me straight."

Mary rolled her eyes. "You're part of the family, Sam. You always have been."

"That's not romantic, Mary. You're saying I'm like a brother to you. I don't want to be a brother, and I think you've realized that by now. You and I click, and it's high time you took me seriously."

Mary crossed her arms. "I've already explained this, Sam. We're business partners. A relationship outside of work would be awkward. If it didn't work out, we'd be miserable. The business would suffer."

Sam leaned against the door, straightening his tie. "Mary, we're not getting any younger. I lost the girl I was engaged to decades ago and thought I would never find love again. Then I met you. I know you had a bad experience when you were married to Joey's father, but I'm different. Lots of couples own funeral homes. A family business is the best kind to have. So, I'm going to lay it all out for you. Either you take my devotion seriously or I go look somewhere else. I'm lonely and I'm only going to wait so long. You have till the end of the day to decide. Are we an item or not? Everyone already thinks we're a couple. You just won't make it official."

"Oh Sam," Mary started, but the church door opened. Sam propped open the door. Mary headed to the van to unlock the door. They would be transporting the flowers to the grave where they wouldn't last very long in the cold.

The ushers were coming now with the casket. Sam had hired a crew of retired seniors to help with funerals. Four plus Bill and Mike helped load the casket into the hearse.

People lingered in the hallway, greeting relatives. Mary moved past them to start moving flower sprays with Sam. Once back in the van and heading back to Serenity Gardens, Mary turned to Sam.

"Would you really ask Phyllis out on a date?"

Sam laughed. "Of course not. I made that up to make you mad. I only have eyes for you."

Mary smiled. "Then you're coming to dinner?"

"I guess. But I'm serious. You must make a commitment or I'm calling Phyllis. This game of yours can't go on forever. I hear Phyllis has the hots for me. She always gives me extra sugar in my coffee at the Seven Eleven. There's a girl that knows how to treat her man!"

Mary glared at him. "I don't call being careful a game, Sam. I just don't want to mess things up."

"I'm a sure thing, Mary," Sam told her. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. They both smiled.

"See, you know you love me," Sam said.

"Maybe."

"Close enough. We are here by dating. I consider you my girlfriend. Tell Connie no more bald jokes or undertaker walks into a bar jokes. I like respect."

Mary gave up. "Alright, Sam. We're dating. That will shock Connie enough. Now, back to business. We have a funeral to finish. Your love life will have to wait."

At the cemetery, arriving only shortly before the people behind them, Sam pulled up next to the hearse. The casket lay beside the grave with one spray of flowers covering the top. Mary and Sam quickly unloaded the flowers and stood discreetly behind the group of gathering mourners.

The service at the grave was short, and soon people departed. While Mike and Bill changed out of their suits and into their overalls to lower the casket into the vault and fill in the grave, Sam and Mary piled the flowers off to one side so they could be replaced on the grave later. In the cold, they wouldn't last the night. In the morning they would be black.

They gathered up the flowers that couldn't go back on the grave and took them a short distance to the dumpster behind the cemetery shed. As they chucked them over the side of the dumpster, Sam grabbed Mary's arm.

"Mary, look at that." Mary turned and saw red paint sprawled across the side of the shed. The message read "Joey belongs to Satan."

"Oh my God," was all that Mary was able to say.

"I'm calling the police. This has gotten out of hand. Let's get back to the funeral home," Sam ordered. He carefully looked around to make sure they weren't being spied on.

They returned to the flower van and drove across the street. Mary noticed Joey's truck parked out front as they drove around to the back where they usually parked the van.

"He's supposed to be in class," Mary told Sam. "His girlfriend's been driving him back and forth until his wrist heals. She said she feels like a cowboy driving his truck. I hope everything is alright."

"I think nothing is going to be the same ever again," Sam mumbled to himself. "Sickos."

They went through the back door, through the embalming room and came into the hall where Joey was talking to David, the business manager.

"What's going on?" Mary asked him. "Aren't you supposed to be in class? Who drove you here?"

"Debbie dropped me and the truck off after class. She got a ride home with her sister. I wanted to show you something, both of you."

Sam paused at David's desk. "Call the police," Sam told David. "I want to report vandalism in the cemetery."

Joey turned. "So do I. Come look at my truck." Mary and Sam hurried after Joey into the parking lot. The word "Satan" was painted on the tailgate in bright red paint.

Sam shook his head. "This is not good. They know all about us. They're following you. They want you to know they could get to you at any time they choose."

David handed the phone to Sam. "There's another message for you painted on the shed in Serenity Gardens, Joey. You belong to Satan. Same color," Mary told her son.

"Same paint, I bet," Sam said, hanging up. "Same group. Snake tattoo boys. You're their next target."

"Be quiet, Sam. You're scaring me," Mary told him.

"You'd better be scared, Mary. This is no prank. These guys seem to know all about us. They know where Joey lives, where he goes, and what he does. They know he's connected to the funeral home and thus to you, Mary. They've already attacked me inside the funeral home. They tried to blackmail Connie. Your whole family is being watched by a bunch of Satan worshippers that kill whoever gets in their way. Joey, you had the misfortune to kill one of their members. Therefore, you are next on their list for elimination. I think the red paint makes it all abundantly clear."

At that moment a police car turned into the parking lot. They walked over to the officer who was getting out of his car to explain their call. The officer took pictures and plenty of notes.

By the time the policeman left, it was late afternoon, and Sam and Mary were wrapping up their day. Mary met with one elderly couple to sign papers for a funeral package. This included two lots in Serenity Gardens. Meanwhile, Sam ran the crematory, burning the body of a woman who had died of cancer and looked too ravaged for viewing. They had also donated her eyes to science. Sam agreed it was best all around.

"Did they decide on an urn?" Sam asked Mary, sitting down in front of her desk. Mary was shuffling papers into files.

"The blue oriental, I believe. Hold on, I have it somewhere on this desk."

Mary dug through a pile of papers. "Yep, blue Ming. We have two in storage. It's very popular. I'll have to order a few more."

Sam, standing by the window, peeked out the Venetian blinds. "While you're ordering, order me some more stitching thread. I can't find mine anywhere. It seems to have disappeared into thin air. By the way, how did Joey get home? I see the truck is still in the parking lot."

"I called Connie, and she came and picked him up. I told her to lock all the doors. Jim said they were coming by later to run a paint analysis to see if they can trace the brand, then the store, then the creeps."

"Well, let's finish up and head over to your place. I don't think Connie could fight her way out of a paper bag, much less stop Joey from being attacked by devils."

Mary laughed. "A riled Connie is an awful thing, Sam."

Sam nodded. "I stand corrected. Just ask Tom Powers."

### Chapter Twenty

Jim and Harry stood at the doorway of the shop, Tattoo Creations. Inside were two teenage girls getting their noses pierced. Harry watched as blood trickled down one girl's chin.

Harry, hard-core cop, turned his head. "That's got to hurt," he grimaced.

"Hurt? What's the point? I just don't get it, period," Jim said. "Her nose was beautiful. Now, she resembles my grandfather's prize hog. I'll never understand kids today. Maybe it's a good thing I never had any."

"May I help you?" asked the thin Asian woman at the counter with long black hair. She was dressed in a bright flowered gown that reached to her ankles. Necklaces of quartz crystals dangled around her throat. She wore a sleeveless shirt, exposing the tattoos covering her arms.

"You the owner?" asked Jim, pulling out his badge. "Lucy Gillums?"

"Yes. Is something wrong, officers?"

"We're tracking a special tattoo that we think may have been done here. Do you sell a bright red snake tattoo?"

She led them over to her book and thumbed to a page. "Any of these?" she asked. They leafed through the book looking closely at the pictures.

"That's it." Jim pointed to a picture in the book. "I bet you don't get too many people asking for that one."

"Occasionally. What's so special about this tattoo?"

Harry brought out mug shots of the two boys found in the trunk of the car. "You ever see these boys before?"

She swallowed hard, then looked away. "I read about them in the paper. That was messed up, locking them in the trunk to drown. But I don't think they ever came in here. We see many boys everyday, and my memory is pretty bad."

Harry pointed again to the mug shots on the counter. "Oh come on, Ms. Gilliums. I can see that you know these boys in your face. Not a good liar, are you?"

Jim stared at her. His voice suddenly became cold. "How many boys would come in here and all get the same bright red snake tattoo? I think you would remember that. By the way, I checked on your prison record before I left the office. We know all about you and your stint in prison. You should have more respect for the law."

Harry nodded. "You keep a record of tattoos?" he asked. "Perhaps for legal reasons. In case of a lawsuit? I'm pretty sure you do because you wouldn't want any legal problems. I bet you're very careful to record everything, bad memory or not."

The lady frowned. "Yes, I keep records, in case of allergic reaction to the dye. It happens, and we have to protect ourselves. They all have to sign permission so we're not liable if the tattoo gets infected. But it's confidential. Privacy Act. We can't release that information. I could get sued for that too. You understand my situation. I have to be careful who I give that information to."

Jim leaned closer. "I beg to differ, Miss Gillums. A tattoo isn't a medical procedure. Besides, this is a homicide investigation. The Privacy Act does not apply to us or you in this situation. However, if you don't tell us what you know, we can take you downtown and do the official questioning there. Impeding an investigation is a serious charge. We could get a search warrant, and God knows what we might find. Tattoos and drugs, now there's winning combination. I find that one always follows the other. We would be happy to shut you down for awhile. What do you say? Shall I call in the dogs?"

Ms Gillums didn't answer. She reached under the counter and pulled out her ledger book. She slammed it hard on the counter. "Harassment," she mumbled under her breath as she flipped through the pages.

"There were four of them that day," she told them. "Three were younger men, maybe twenties. The other was an older man with a pony tail and ball cap. They all wanted the same tattoo in red. I asked why, but they never said a word. I got the impression the older man was controlling them, you know, keeping them from saying anything. Bad vibes. I wanted them gone as soon as possible. They were creepy."

"Was that so hard to say, Ms. Gillums? You think you could describe this older man to our artist?" Jim asked. "I see you have a video camera. Would you have the tape from back then?"

"No, we use the same tape every week. It's cheaper." She continued to flip through the book. "Back in September. Here it is. I don't think you're going to find it helpful." She turned the book around so they could look at the entry.

Jim and Harry read the fictitious names of Satan, Lucifer, Demon, and Seth. The home address was listed as Hell, Virginia. Jim scooped up the book and placed it in his briefcase.

"This is now evidence," Jim explained.

Harry frowned. "You knew these weren't their names. Didn't you ask for their driver licenses?"

Lucy glared at him. "I wasn't going to ask them anything. I could see these were guys you didn't want to mess with. They didn't say why they wanted the tattoo, and that was fine with me. I took their money and breathed a sigh of relief when they left."

Harry jotted down some notes. "Did you see their car?"

"Yeah, I watched them leave. A Galaxy. Sad and old looking"

"Green?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

Jim reached into his pocket. "Pulled it out of the lake two days ago. I want you to look at this other mug shot and tell me whether you saw him with the other boys on that day." He showed her a school picture of Gavin Fitzgerald.

"I saw him. Did you fish him out of the lake too?"

"No," Harry said. "Separate homicide."

Ms. Gillums shook her head. "I knew they were bad news from the second they walked in. I can sense these things. I didn't want anything to do with them."

Jim signaled Harry it was time to go. "We'll call about an appointment with the artist. Anything you can remember about the older man would be helpful. If you should see him again, give us a ring."

"I hope I don't," she told him.

They went back to their police car. "So what do you think?" Harry asked Jim as he pitched his notepad into the back seat.

Jim slipped the key into the ignition and started the car. "This is what we know so far. Three patients escaped last August from St. Catharine Mental Asylum. The director believed they had help. This person knew the institution and the ins and outs. Maybe he posed as a doctor. This is the older man Ms Gillums saw and the driver of the Impala Joey saw the night Gavin died. They have killed three homeless men, all former patients of St. Catherine's whom they tracked to Newlenburg. Now, the question you have to ask yourself is what did these three homeless men know that got them killed?"

"They could identify the escapees?" Harry ventured.

"Probably. But they weren't exactly law-friendly, you know. What would they have cared if a few of their comrades were loose on the street? Who would have believed them?"

"They would have kept quiet," Harry agreed.

"But there's the mutilations of the bodies. Why take parts off dead people? Why go so far as to break into a funeral home to saw off an old man's leg? Are we talking scientific experiments here?"

Harry shook his head. "The leg had been embalmed. That would defy logic."

"Crazy people aren't logical, Harry. Frankenstein was put together from dead corpses dug from a cemetery. A jolt of electricity, and he came to life."

"That was just a movie, Jim. You think these guys were fans of the cinema? Got their weird ideas from the TV?"

"Just a guess. Suppose, just for a second, they wanted to build a Frankenstein. They took a leg and two hands. Then he or they took Gavin's body for salvage. Sounds like someone is putting together a body."

"What does the police shrink say about that?" Harry asked.

"She told me that it was called the "Frankenstein Syndrome." When someone tries to assemble a body, it means they are trying to bring back to life someone dear to them or make amends to someone they killed. I think this is what the last member of the gang is trying to do. We checked Gavin's and the others' backgrounds. Only Gavin had done time for murder, overturned by insanity plea. The others were schizophrenics committed by relatives."

Harry nodded. "Oh, that may be, but I think they had plenty of practice at killing before they got to town. I think the leader trained them."

"I agree, Harry. It's this older man who wants to resurrect the dead. He's the one we have to catch. It's not clear if he has more helpers in the wings. You can get tattoos in other towns too."

"He could be anywhere," Harry said. "Watching. Waiting. Stalking victims."

"Yes, and that's why we are assigning Officer Bertram to watch the Shepard house this week. The Master has already picked out his next victim and told us ahead of time in bright red paint in the cemetery."

"Joey Pruett"

Jim nodded. "The boy who killed Gavin Fitzgerald. The boy who he thinks saw him in that car that night. He has to get rid of all the trails leading to him. He doesn't know that Joey didn't see him."

Connie finished making up the last bed of the day on the top floor of the Mission. She was in the women's wing, checking that everything was in order before she went home. The decorator in her noted that the curtains needed to be replaced. She made size calculations in her head and thought about going by Savemart on her way home.

"You done up here?" Janet was suddenly behind her.

Connie jumped. "You scared me, Janet. Yes, this was my last bed. All ready for tonight's residents. I was just looking at these tired, old curtains. Thought I might donate a pair."

"Well, thanks, Connie. That's very kind of you. I just wanted to say how pleased we are that you have joined our little family here. Your dedication and attention to detail have not gone unnoticed. I was wondering if you would like to be my assistant. Let's face it, your skills are kind of wasted on scrubbing floors and washing sheets."

Connie laughed. "A month ago, I would have hired a maid to do such mundane tasks. I thought they were so far beneath me. God has a way of putting you right back in your place. What would I be doing as your assistant? My legal hearing is coming up soon, and I don't know if I can commit to anything right now."

"Come down to my office, and I'll show you." They went down the steps and down the hall to her office.

"There you are, Janet," said one of the cooks standing at the kitchen door with her hands on her hips. "Donald's back. He's causing a raucous in the kitchen, throwing pots and pans. Shall I get the police?"

"No. No. He's just off his medication. Disoriented. It's sad really. Each of these people discharged from the mental asylum is supposed to have a caseworker who sees to it that they have a place to stay and access to their medicine. Within days, they stop taking the pills and end up here. The case workers are afraid of them and won't visit. The whole system is flawed."

Connie followed Janet into the kitchen. A white man in a long, dirty green overcoat was opening cabinets. Cans of food were all over the floor. Connie knew immediately that he hadn't bathed for awhile as the smell permeated the kitchen.

"Donald," Janet called from the doorway. Then she turned to Connie and whispered, "Stay back, now. He's unpredictable. Be prepared to get help if he comes at me."

Connie's eyes grew large. "In that case, shouldn't we be calling for help now?"

"Not yet. Let me talk to him first. Donald, Donald! What are you doing?"

"There are bugs in here. Large bugs. You're poisoning people here, and I want it to stop right now. Tom was right about this place. Evil."

"Okay, Donald, stop moving the food. I'll get the exterminator in tomorrow. Donald, listen, come away now. You don't want me to get the cook, do you? She always calls the man."

Donald looked up for the first time and dropped a can of soup on the floor. "No, don't call the man. I'll go, I'll go." Janet and Connie backed away from the door entrance as he shot past them.

"Who's the man?" Connie asked when she saw that he had gone out the back door.

"Police. They always have to corner him, jump on him, and cuff him after he makes a swing at them. See, he has to make the first move or they can't touch him. Then they drag him kicking and screaming all the way to the jail. There they clean him up, feed him, and turn him loose again. He thinks jail is a level in Hell."

"But it's not. Why don't they keep him locked up, for the safety of the community?"

"Unless he actually attacks someone, and they press charges, the police can't do anything with the insane. They have to break the law. That's why Tom kept coming back to your building. They thought he was harmless, and they had no choice but to turn him loose. It's the same with Donald. Do me a favor and go see if you see him outside, hanging around. The cook won't come back unless he's gone."

Connie nodded and headed to the front door. From the safety of the door, she looked outside. She saw Donald talking to a man across the street. The man, dressed in a nice jacket and tie, was dragging Donald by the arm up the street.

Curious, Connie opened the door and looked up the street. Donald and the man had stopped at a red Impala. He was opening the door, and Donald was getting inside.

Connie knew that car. "Hey, stop!" Connie yelled, starting to run up the walk. The man turned, glanced at Connie, and ran to the driver's side. In a flurry of gravel, he spun away, Donald sitting in the front seat.

Connie stopped, trying to see the license plate. Too late. Janet came up. "What in the world is wrong, Connie? Why were you chasing that car?"

"Because it was a red Impala! Don't you read the papers?"

"Evidently not."

"The homeless men murders! The killer drives a red Impala. My nephew saw it the night he was attacked. Donald is riding with a man who wants to murder him. Call the police!"

Connie and Janet went back into the shelter. Janet went to call the police while Connie sat in her chair.

"I can't believe it," she was saying. "I just saw the killer everyone is looking for."

Janet hung up the phone and lay a hand on Connie's shoulder. "More importantly, Connie, he just saw you."

### Chapter Twenty-One

That night Connie, Sam, Mary, and Joey sat around the dining table, finishing up a heavy meal of fried chicken, salad, assorted vegetables, and homemade bread. Connie retreated to the kitchen to warm up the peach pie she had made for dessert and to make coffee.

"She really outdid herself," Sam said loudly so that Connie would hear in the kitchen. He patted his stomach. "I've gained a lot of weight since I met you, Mary. I used to be a skinny man. Never had hair, though."

Mary smiled. "You're still skinny, Sam. Men are so lucky. They never seem to gain weight. Me, I have to fight it all the time. But I warned you. It's the new Connie. I'm living with a stranger who is kind, considerate, and a joy to be with. I love it!"

Joey patted his stomach. "The food has certainly improved around here," he said. "Mom's cooking was okay, but Connie's is gourmet!"

Mary laughed. "You don't have to be nice, Joey. I hate cooking, and it's no secret that my cooking stinks!"

Sam put his hand on Joey's shoulder. "Son, I wanted to announce that your mother and I are officially dating. I hope I have your approval to court your mother."

Joey laughed. "No one says "court" anymore, Sam. I thought you were already dating. You spend so much time together that I assumed you were an item. There's rumors all over town."

"What? What did you hear?" Mary asked him.

"Well, Mr. Simpson asked me if you two were married. His wife helps at his funeral home too. Then there was Jim that one day."

"Jim?" Sam said, frowning. "Should I be jealous?"

"Maybe. He asked me if Mom was dating you. I think he had eyes for you, Mom. Connie wasn't his type. He preferred sane women."

"I heard that," Connie called from the kitchen.

"What did you tell him? In case this doesn't work out with Sam, I want to leave my options open," Mary said, watching Sam cross his arms and stick out his tongue across the table.

"I said you and Sam were like peas in a pod. I couldn't separate you two with a sledgehammer. He said Sam was getting a good woman."

"I always liked Jim," Mary announced.

Connie entered with cups and a mug of coffee. "Jim's a good man, I admit. I shouldn't have ever let him go. I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me."

Mary poured a cup. "Just tell him that, Connie. You might be surprised how quickly he would take you back."

Connie sighed. "After all I did, I just can't face him. I'm too ashamed of how I acted. He probably hates me."

Connie left and returned with the slice of peach pie. She handed out the plates.

Sam took a big piece pie. "Did the police have any luck finding that red Impala? Any sign of this Donald guy?"

"I haven't heard anything. You can imagine how thrilled Jim and Harry were to come by the Mission and see me. I hope what I told them helps their case. They're worried that I'm on the hit list along with Joey. I'm not allowed to go back to the Mission until he's caught. That was on Janet's orders."

Joey dug into his peach pie. "I wonder why the homeless man got into his car. Never hitch with strangers."

"Jim thinks they know each other," Mary answered.

Connie picked up her fork. "If anyone cares, my hearing starts tomorrow at ten. Family is allowed to attend so I expect to be supported. The hearing is closed to the rest of the public. Shame. I've bought a new suit for the occasion, but I am under strict orders to go easy on the make-up. I have to look as conservative as possible."

Joey nodded. "Don't want to look like a street walker, huh? Guess your mini-skirt is right out."

Connie smacked him lightly in the head with her napkin. "I have to look normal, you idiot. Like everyone else. I can't stand out like an upper-class rich miss."

"But I thought that was normal for you," Joey explained, ducking.

"It used to be. Now I'm just plain old Connie. Connie, your devoted aunt. Connie the Mission lady. Not a murderer. I wouldn't hurt a fly. Have I convinced you?"

Sam laughed. "The cooking won me over. Is your psychologist

going to testify?" Sam asked.

"Yes. This means more of my personal business slung all over town. Now everyone will learn how I was abused as a child and suffered post-traumatic stress. That's my only defense. By the way, Janet's also going to testify on my behalf. She's going to tell the judge what Tom Powers was really like."

Sam finished his pie. "How are you going to explain why you ran away after the attack and destroyed the evidence? That you lied to the police? That's the real charge, isn't it? Withholding evidence and lying to the police?" He looked at her sternly.

Connie sighed. "Sure. I've pleaded guilty to all of that. I've come clean. I don't really have an excuse except I was scared. Irrational. Not thinking straight. Lost my job over it, didn't I? Let the unpleasantness between Jim and me cloud my thinking. I just wanted to forget it and have things go on as they always had. Now I know I was wrong. I'm sorry and ready to make up for it."

Joey crossed his arms. "What's the worst thing that could happen, Connie?"

"A couple of years in prison, my lawyer told me. I'm still hoping that the legal system will see that I can be of more use in society than locked up in jail. I want to mend fences. You know, when all of this is over, I want to sit down with Jim and apologize for treating him so badly. He didn't deserve it. I'll try to make peace."

"Speaking of relationships, Sam is dating Mom, Connie. What do you think of that?" Joey announced.

"I think Mary deserves someone who cares about her and shares her interests, no matter how morbid they are. Undertakers! They're in a class all by themselves. I guess you will have to take up hunting and fishing now, won't you, Mary?"

"I'm willing to try. We were actually planning a weekend trip up to the cabin after your hearing is over. Sam is going to show me the ropes. Getting back to nature and all that."

Sam got up to leave. "Well, I've got to go and check in with my sister and nephew. I'll need an early start tomorrow to cover for Mary while she's at the hearing. Check outside, Joey, and see if the police car is still there. I won't leave unless I know you guys are safe."

Joey went to the window. "Yep, he's still there. I think Connie should offer him some peach pie. He's doing us a favor guarding us from some Satan-crazed devils. Oh, I almost forgot, Mom. The library called and said the book you ordered is in."

"What book was that?" Sam asked.

"The one on witches and devil worship recommended by that professor at the college. We should know what we are dealing with. It's always a good idea to know your enemy, don't you think?"

Joey looked out into the darkness. "Perhaps. I'd prefer that our enemy didn't know us at all, but I guess we're beyond that now. He's made that perfectly clear. Our enemy knows us all too well. But I can't help thinking he's out there now, watching and waiting." He closed the blinds.

A block away, a red Impala stopped and pulled beside a vacant lot. Between the houses, he could see the lights of Joey Pruett's home on the next street. A black sedan sat at the curb under the streetlight.

The man got out in the darkness and went around to the trunk. He unlocked the latch, and the lid flew open.

"Thanks, Donald, for the gift. It was fun, talking about old times. You haven't changed much. But I have. I'm going places. See you in Hell."

He reached inside and pulled a large trash bag out of the trunk. He staggered under the heavy load and dropped the bag beside the car. Then he rolled it across the vacant lawn.

Backing out, he didn't turn on his lights until he was on the street. He paused there a moment, looking back in the car light at the bag left in the vacant lot.

A hand hung limply from the opening of the bag. The man waved back and drove off laughing into the darkness.

### Chapter Twenty-Two

The courthouse was packed when Mary arrived the next morning. She wiggled her way through the crowd of reporters and onlookers outside the hearing doors and squeezed into a seat behind Connie and her lawyer.

Cameras were not allowed in the courtroom and neither were the reporters.

"What are all those people doing out there? Who told the press that you were here?" Mary whispered to Connie.

"You'd think this was the hearing of the century," she answered. "I think my old boss had something to do with it. He wants to make sure I'm ruined. He couldn't take the competition. I just say no comment when they descend on me. Don't you say anything either."

"Don't worry. I thought the first newspaper article when you were first arrested said it all. I don't know what else they're after."

Connie turned her head. "Dirt. I have a lot of enemies in this town. I haven't been the most pleasant person. I admit that. There's several people that want to see me go to jail including old boyfriends."

"You don't mean Ben Lorner, Connie! He adored you."

"I was thinking of Jim. He arrested me, after all."

"That's his job, Connie. You gave him a pack of lies, and he taught you a lesson."

"Yeah, I know. But it still hurts. I'm facing the end of my life." Connie suddenly got tearful. Mary patted her shoulder.

"Maybe not. You screwed up, but I think the judge will see that it's pointless to put you in jail. Let's look on the bright side. You've already changed your life. You're not the same person that was in that alley that night."

Connie agreed. "Tell that to the judge, Mary."

"I'm sure your lawyer has arranged all kinds of testimonies on your behalf. Be positive. Didn't the prosecutor offer you a deal?"

"Not yet. I mean I haven't seen it in writing. I'll hear it today for the first time. Keep your fingers crossed."

She would, Mary thought. Talking ceased as the bailiff came into the courtroom. Everyone took a seat. Mary saw Jim and Harry enter in the back. To her surprise she saw Ben Lorner trailing behind them. Connie's lawyer, Mr. Koble, also settled into his place, squeezing Connie's hand and smiling. "It's going to be fine," he assured her.

The bailiff came forward to the center of the room and announced the start of the hearing. They all stood as the judge entered the room.

Mary thought Connie looked harmless in her new green suit, librarian-like hair bun, and loafers. Gone for the duration of the hearing were the long hair, mini-skirt, and high heels.

The judge came in and took his seat. He was an elderly man with black glasses. He didn't smile, but waved the bailiff to continue. The bailiff read the charges. Then the judge cleared his throat.

"This is not a trial. This is a hearing. You have already entered a guilty plea to the charges presented so I am now contemplating your sentence. I will listen to several testimonies in order to decide a just sentence, according to the law in the state of Virginia. First will be the prosecutor. Mr. Gurdley?"

The prosecutor stood, papers in his hand.

Connie Shepard had killed Tom Powers, he told the judge. "Yes, she was attacked. Mr. Powers grabbed her purse and threatened her with his knife. But that's where self-defense ends, your Honor. Miss Shepard turned the knife against her attacker and repeatedly stabbed him eleven times. Self-defense? As Mr. Powers lay dying in that filthy alley, did Miss Shepard get help? No. She fled the scene, went home, and then tried to destroy the evidence. When the police later questioned her, she denied her crime. Over and over she denied it. Those are not the actions of a distraught woman. She chose not to call the police. She chose to hide her crime. She was rational and cunning. She deserves a harsh sentence, your Honor, because what she did was deliberate and not the actions of an honest woman."

Connie looked down at the table, avoiding eye contact while the prosecutor talked. She realized he was speaking the truth, that she had done all those things, and that Tom Powers was dead because of her. Her fingers clutched the handkerchief in her lap in anguish. She wanted to cry but held back the tears. Most of all, she just wanted the hearing to be over.

When she looked up, Mr. Koble, the defense attorney, was getting up to counter with his opening remarks. He mentioned Connie's childhood, her recent therapy sessions, and how the unleashing of pent-up emotions led her to temporarily lose of control that night when her life was threatened. "Miss Shepard is no killer, your Honor. She could have been the one lying dead in that alley instead of Tom Powers, if she hadn't wrestled that knife away from him. Under the same circumstances, would you have stopped at one strike? Tom Powers was a big man with the strength of an ox. And legally insane, a schizophrenic off his medication who heard voices urging him to use violence. He was frightening, trying to choke the life out of her. Miss Shepard knew only one of them was getting out of the alley alive. Mentally, she checked out. Snapped. She knows that leaving the scene wasn't a responsible thing to do, but she wasn't thinking rationally. Would you?"

The judge called Detective Harry Lincoln to the stand and asked him to describe the alley scene when the police arrived that night. Harry mentioned the earring and locket that Connie denied having. A mate to the earring was found among her bloody clothes in the dumpster that linked her to the crime.

"Would you say you've known Connie for awhile, Detective?" the judge asked him.

"She dated a cop on the force. Then she went out with the medical examiner. They talked about her down at the station. She was always calling 911 to get Mr. Powers hauled down to the station. She wanted him put away for good."

"What kind of woman was she described as down at the station?"

"A nut," Harry said honestly. "She was a total nuisance."

Connie again fought back the tears. Was everyone in this town against her? Did they all think she was unbalanced? She felt Mary's hand on her shoulder. "It's going to be fine. Don't give up now," Mary whispered.

Dr. Lorner took the stand next and described the death of Tom Powers. He refused to look at Connie. "Eleven stab wounds," he told the jury. "The one in the lungs was fatal, causing collapse and suffocation as blood filled the lungs."

"Can you describe the other wounds?"

"Random stabbings, breaking the skin but not striking organs or vital parts. Done without thought. Wild strikes without purpose. They didn't kill him. In fact, he probably lived a short while after the assailant left, choking to death finally in his own blood."

"So it is your professional opinion that he could have been saved if Miss Shepard had called 911 at that point? Did her negligence cause his death?"

"It's hard to tell if Tom would have recovered even if he had had prompt medical attention. He was weak from overexposure, undernourished, and suffering from untreated diabetes. It's possible no amount of medical attention would have saved him. His body was failing before Connie came into that alley," Dr. Lorner told the judge.

The judge continued to read down his questions. "Dr. Lorner, what was your relationship with the accused?"

"We dated for a couple of months," he answered, looking at Connie across the room. She smiled.

"Did she seem like a person who could kill someone?"

"No, of course not. Her only problem was conceit. She was totally self-absorbed. Everything had to be about her. I knew she was seeing a therapist, but she never told me why. She's no killer. Whatever happened in that alley, I can only think she temporarily lost her mind. On the brink of death, you do whatever you have to do to survive. Your mind doesn't always think logically in a life or death situation. Connie retreated into her own head. I think she was just trying to pretend none of it ever happened. That's why she denied it to the police. She wanted it all to go away."

Dr. Lorner left the stand but stayed to hear the rest of the testimony. Connie smiled again as he walked to the back of the courtroom. She was ashamed of how she had treated him, but at least he had tried to understand her. All he had said was true, she thought. He knew her better than she knew herself.

"I owe him a lot," she whispered to her lawyer.

Various people came and went on the stand. The fired guard Jerry testified to Tom Power's activities the day he died and how he had beaten him up on Connie's orders. Sean was brought up, and he told the judge how Connie had had to stay after work to rectify a difficult account. Next came her therapist who testified that Connie was suffering from post-traumatic syndrome. Molested as a child, she saw men as enemies.

"It is my opinion that Tom Powers became her father on that fatal night, and she got even. In a stressful situation like that, she reverted back to that five-year-old child and fought back. She didn't become Connie again until the next day when she realized what she had done. Then it was too late. She had to cover it up because she knew no one would understand."

Tears flowed down Connie's cheeks. Mary passed her another handkerchief. "Now everyone knows. Things will never be the same," she whispered to Mary. She wasn't sure what was worse, killing a man or being molested as a child.

"You will overcome all of this," Mary assured her. "You will rise again from the ashes of your life and be stronger for it. You have us, Joey and me, and that's all you need."

"Thanks so much," Connie said, wiping her tears. Then she heard her name and walked up to the stand.

"Tell us what happened that night, Miss Shepard," the judge said to her as she sat down.

Connie took a big breath and began. She started with Tom's spitting on her leg after lunch and Jerry's beating. Then she talked about how she had gone past the alley that night only to be stopped by Tom.

"He wanted my purse, but I had office money in it that I should have deposited that morning. I couldn't give it to him or I'd get fired. So we struggled, and then he went for my throat. He pulled out his knife, and somehow I got it out of his hand. After that, I'm not clear. I know I stabbed him, many times they tell me. Suddenly he was on the ground, and I wasn't sure who I was or what had just happened. All I could think of was getting home where I'd be safe."

"Did he threaten to kill you or did he just want your purse, Miss Shepard?"

"He said he would pay me back for all the times I had him run off from the building. He tried to choke me, and I had no doubt in my mind that he intended to kill me, right there in that dirty alley. My instincts took over."

"Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I didn't remember I had killed Tom at first. I was numb. Then it all came back to me. I thought I was safe. I had disposed of the bloody clothes and purse. I had cleaned my car. He was just another homeless man that died in an alley. Who would care, I told myself."

"Do you still feel that way, Miss Shepard?"

"Oh no. Tom didn't deserve to die that way."

"Go on then. What happened the day after you realized your actions?" the judge asked.

"The next morning I read that he'd been found in Serenity Gardens. I couldn't understand how that had happened. I realized I'd been watched. I didn't want the police to think I had killed other homeless men or had anything to do with chopping off his leg. There was no way out for me. I was trapped in my lies," Connie explained.

"Are you sorry you killed Tom Powers?"

"Yes. He was insane. I'm sorry that I had to kill him to save my life."

Connie wasn't sure whether she had helped or hurt her case when she finally sat down. The last person called to testify at the hearing was Tom's sister Janet. She told the judge about Tom's descent into madness and his growing aggression toward her and other people at the shelter.

"He wouldn't take his medication. He stole cardboard from the shelter and hoarded it in a pile outside Miss Shepard's building. There was no rhyme or reason to most of the things he did. He was arrested many times for threatening people on the street. Connie was just one of his victims. He seemed fixated on her. She doesn't deserve to go to jail for this. Tom would have killed someone sooner or later. It was just a matter of time before he was committed for good."

Connie nodded from her table. Overall, she thought the hearing was going well. The judge called for a fifteen minute recess so he could review all that had been said. Mary got up and stretched. She decided to run to the bathroom.

Slipping out the door, she was surprised to see Dr. Grisman, the professor from the university, sitting on a bench in the hall.

"Dr. Grisman? What brings you to the courthouse?" Mary asked him. He looked up in surprise.

"Oh, speeding ticket," he quickly replied. His eyes darted away, and Mary wondered what he was really doing there. He should have paid the ticket at the window on the other side of the courthouse. The lie was obvious. "Got to go." He got up and disappeared down the hall.

"Odd," Mary said aloud.

When she returned from the bathroom, she saw Sam standing at the courtroom door. "I'm stopping by for an update. Has the judge thrown Connie in jail yet?"

"Sam! We are talking about my sister here. She has some good points. You like her pie."

"Sure, she makes a mean pie. I'm a little grumpy because I haven't had lunch yet."

"Well, go to lunch. We don't need any pessimism here. No, Connie is not in jail, for your information. It's recess. Guess who I just saw sitting there on that bench."

"Don't know. Another wounded soul ruined by Connie."

Mary rolled her eyes. "You never quit. No, Dr. Grisman from the university. I wonder why he was here. He mumbled something about a speeding ticket, but I know there isn't any other business going on today one this side of the courthouse but Connie's hearing. Why would he lie to me? He looked like he was embarrassed I saw him out here. I think he was waiting for some word about the hearing."

"Why would he care?" Sam asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. What do you have there?"

He handed her a brochure. "Fresh from the printers. I thought you'd like to see our newest advertisement that David put together."

Mary opened the brochure. "Gorgeous. That David is a public relations genius. The cemetery looks wonderful! And the text. We sound so competent and caring. He has a real way with words."

"That's why we hired him. Listen, I've got some bad news. That's the real reason I came here. I don't want Connie to hear about this from the newspaper."

"What? Is Joey okay?"

"He's fine. Remember that Donald fellow Connie saw get into the red Impala at the shelter yesterday?"

"Did they find him?"

"Yeah, dead. Just one street over from your house in a vacant lot. A neighbor reported that a bag of trash had been dropped sometime during the night. When the cop got there, he found human parts in a bag. Poor Donald was cut up in small pieces. Except for a hand. He left that intact. I understand it was hanging out of the trash bag, almost waving. This guy has no scruples at all."

Mary looked shocked. "How awful! What part was missing? He always takes something."

"True. Jim and Harry are keeping that to themselves. They wanted you to tell Connie, preferably after the hearing."

Mary agreed. "Right. She's upset enough."

"The cop said something else."

"Oh?"

"He could see your house from the alley where the Impala was parked. Remember, Joey said he felt like he was being watched. He is. Be extra careful."

"Will this never end? Can't we go back to the carefree days at the funeral home? Embalming dead people, sorting flowers, and filling in sunken graves. They better solve this fast. My patience is wearing out!"

"You tell them, Mary! I'd better go. See you back at the home. I hope it will be good news."

Mary sighed. "So do I."

### Chapter Twenty-Three

"I'm on trial for my life, and you're selling cemetery plots," Connie whined, arms crossed. "Are you even paying attention to what is going on?" She tossed the brochure back to Mary. "I could be going to jail today. Orange was never my color."

Mary put the brochure in her purse. "I still have a business to run, regardless. Besides, I think you'll be acquitted. The judge is on your side, dear. I can tell. Just relax. These brochures are lovely, Connie. I'm going to put them in the foyer. Now, we'll need a newspaper ad, something in the Sunday paper. Big and flashy!"

"Mary! I need you to focus. On me."

"Right. Of course." Mary continued to read the brochure. Some things about Connie never changed. "Did you get a chance to talk to Ben while I was gone?

"Yes, he stopped by on his way back to the hospital. He wished me luck. Said maybe we could meet for coffee sometime."

"Well, that's encouraging. Think you might?"

"I doubt if he would date someone who killed a homeless man in an alley and works at the Mission. He liked the old Connie. That ship has sailed."

Connie stretched in her seat and saw the bailiff coming back in. "Here we go," she said, straightening up.

People returned to their seats as the bailiff announced the resumption of the hearing. Her lawyer came to her side. He had a paper in his hand that he laid on the table in front of Connie. Connie looked up, puzzled.

"The judge is going to explain," he said, sitting down beside her. The judge began.

"I have read the sentence recommendations from the prosecutor and listened to various testimonies. Miss Shepard, this has been a rather complex case. You seem to have been an innocent victim in the attack in the alley. No one doubts that you were fighting for your life, and the death of Tom Powers was an act of self-defense."

Connie, relieved, smiled at Mary.

"But the matter of lying to the police and destroying evidence is a serious charge. This carries a sentence of two years in jail. I have chosen, however, to suspend the sentence and have you serve three hundred hours of community service and two years probation instead. All evidence points to a confused, disoriented woman suffering from post-traumatic syndrome. Jail time would be a waste of the tax-payers' money. Justice would be better served if you make restitution for your carelessness and continue to contribute to society in a meaningful way. Can you do that, Miss Shepard?"

"Oh, yes Sir! Thank you so much." Connie was all smiles.

There was an audible sigh of relief from Mary.

"Thank God," she whispered to Connie.

"I'm saved," Connie said out loud. "I have my life back."

"The bailiff has some papers for you to sign, Miss Shepard. This hearing has ended." The judge rose and left the courtroom. Connie remained in shock.

"Was this just a bad dream?" she said to her lawyer.

"A bad dream with a good ending," he assured her. "You have to sign the agreement. The court will set you up with a probation officer. You have to go through with every detail, Connie, or the judge will put you in jail."

"Don't worry, Mr. Koble. I intend to follow the court's instructions to the letter. I'll never be back here!"

Janet Haverty hung back outside the courtroom until Connie had finished signing her court papers. Then she came forward and congratulated Connie. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of you the next two years."

"You bet!" Connie said. "I'll be practically living there. Three hundred hours of community service will keep me there every day."

"I'd pay you," Janet said, "But then it wouldn't be community service."

"Don't worry. I've got savings and some loyal customers that need small jobs. I'll make it. Sure, my lifestyle will be low key for a while, but the main thing is I get to start over. A clean slate. I could be in jail."

"I'm glad this is all over," Mary told them. "Now that you're cleared, you can walk down the street with your head up. No more hiding at my house."

"I prefer to say I was regrouping at your house. And I must say, you'll miss me when I'm gone. Who's going to do the laundry or cook great meals? Face it, Mary. Your place was sorely neglected until I moved in."

Mary didn't reply. They made their way out of the courtroom where more reporters were waiting. Through the crowd, Mary again saw Professor Grisman standing along the wall to the right. He was staring at them. Uneasiness washed over Mary. She turned her eyes away, and in that second, he vanished.

"Miss Shepard, care to comment on the hearing? Were you indicted?" a voice shouted. A microphone appeared.

"Community service and probation. I'm a free woman. The judge agreed it was self-defense. Tom Powers' death was not a homicide. I'm free to go!" Connie told them.

"Will you be returning to your old job?" someone else asked.

"No. I am now self-employed," Connie said, working her way toward the outside door.

"Where will you be doing your community service?"

"The Mission downtown. There are good people down there. Good things are happening. Come down and lend us a hand."

Mary continued to shove Connie out the door and toward her car. There they found Dr. Ben Lorner leaning on the frame.

"I thought you were at the hospital," Connie said surprised.

"The dead can wait. I was rooting for you, back there in the courtroom. I knew you'd be alright."

"Thanks, Ben. You were the only one with confidence in me, I'm sure."

Mary cleared her throat. "Not quite true, Connie. I was the cheering section."

"That offer for coffee still stands. I'll call you. You still at Mary's?"

"Only for a short time. I'm off to start a new life. Mary will just have to do without me."

Mary sighed. "What ever will I do?"

"They found Donald? On the next street? Hacked to pieces? I'm going to be sick," Connie later told her on the way back to the house. "Does Janet know?"

"I'm sure Harry and Jim told her. They asked me to tell you, after the hearing. They didn't want you to fall apart in the courtroom."

A tear rolled down her cheek. "I keep wondering if I could have saved him. Screamed louder and got his attention. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten into that car."

"Connie, you did all you could do. He didn't know you. Besides, he was off his meds. For all you know, the voices in his head were telling him to go with that man. You said he acted like he knew the man in the Impala. I doubt if any amount of screaming would have changed his mind."

"I feel bad, though. He got killed. He didn't deserve that."

"None of them did, Connie. That's why it's important that you not become a victim either. Stay inside the house until further notice. You don't go anywhere alone, get it?"

"Got it. He's watching our house, isn't he? I can see that vacant lot from my bedroom window."

"I think so." Connie turned away and looked out the window, thinking. They were silent the rest of the way home.

### Chapter Twenty-Four

Mary laid her two suitcases by the front door. In them, she had packed jeans, sweatshirts, and various other things she hoped would be useful on a camping trip. After all, she had never camped before. She had also slipped the small handgun she supposedly had gotten rid of last summer into her purse along with two clips. Better safe than sorry. What if that madman followed them up there? Sure, Sam had guns galore, but she had faith in her old handgun. It had already saved her life once.

"Bugs, spiders, snakes. That's all I see when I think about the great outdoors," she told Joey. "Will you be alright here while I'm gone a couple of days? I hate leaving you and Connie alone with that mad man loose."

"Don't worry, Mom. There's a policeman right outside the door. We'll be careful. I'm studying for midterms, and Connie's down at the Mission in the soup kitchen with a cop following her around. Janet has made Connie her new assistant. I can't get over the change in my aunt. She's so pleasant."

"I know. I have to rub my eyes to make sure I'm not dreaming. This is the Connie that was buried deep down inside. It took the death of Tom to bring it out."

A car honked outside. "That's Sam," Joey said, peeking out the window. "Wait. He's getting out and talking to the cop across the street."

Mary grabbed her suitcases and waddled through the door. Sam was writing something on the cop's pad and handing it back through the car window. He met her at the car and hoisted her bags in the back seat.

"Goodness, Mary. It's just for a weekend. Are you sure you needed to bring all this stuff?" he asked her.

"Yes. No. I'm not sure of anything. Never been trapped in the wild before."

Sam pointed to a plastic bag in the back seat. "A change of underwear and a flannel shirt is all I'm taking."

"Men," Mary huffed.

"Women," he huffed back. "I left my cell phone number and address of the cabin with Mr. Policeman here, in case of emergency. I left it with David too. I don't think a day off is too much to ask, but death never takes a holiday. I thought you'd feel better if you kept in touch with the office. Mike and Bill are on call while we're gone for body pick-up."

Mary opened the door and slid in. "Sounds like you have this all organized, Sam. I'm in your hands for the next two days. I just hate leaving Joey and Connie here when I know someone is out to get them."

Sam got in the driver's seat. "Don't worry, the police are watching the house. Anyway, Jim is coming over this afternoon to talk to Connie and get a signature on some papers. The officer told me himself that they were in excellent hands."

"Okay. Well, I'm giving this my best shot, Sam. I'm not the camping type. I wouldn't even join girl scouts as a kid. So, if you think you can change my mind, I'm open to the new experience."

"You'll be fine, Mary. No one has died on any of my trips," he laughed, backing out of the driveway. "And if you did, you still couldn't be in better hands."

Mary glared at him. "You and your undertaker jokes. Let's make a pact right now, Sam Goins. No talk about death. We're on vacation. We're just going to be like other people."

"We are other people. We just happen to be undertakers too. It's nothing to be ashamed about. It's what we're all about."

"Not this weekend, Sam. We're all about whatever people who live in cabins are all about. Moose. Bears. Wildcats. That kind of thing. No shop talk about fluids or urns. Got it?"

Sam nodded, still snickering. "I'll try for your sake, Mary. Does this mean I'll have to toss out my new _Modern Morticians_ magazine at the cabin? It's where I catch up on my reading."

"No, don't be silly. That has some great articles in it. Speaking about reading, I brought that library book I ordered on witchcraft. If it rains, we'll be set. We'll both have something interesting to do."

"Don't worry, you'll be too busy to read," Sam told her as they left Newlenberg behind and headed out to Hutchen Lake about forty miles away.

Sam pulled into the local convenience store to pick up some bait and other camping supplies. Mary remained in the car, looking at the lake and fishing boats. The store was a busy place as people came and went, filling their tanks with gas and carrying fishing rods over their shoulders.

Mary glanced over at the door, waiting for Sam to emerge when she saw the college professor, Dr. Grisman, pull up to the pump. Surprised to see him again, she started to wave, but then stopped. She decided she wouldn't call any attention to herself. His creepy behavior was beginning to get to her. He seemed to turn up at the oddest places, like the courthouse and Tom's funeral. He had known Gavin and spoken highly of him. Now she watched him pump gas into his old vehicle and then go inside the store. He was in jeans and a black hooded jacket. Then she realized he was driving a red Impala. Panic welled up inside her.

A few minutes later, Sam appeared carrying two bags of groceries and a bucket of worms. Mary climbed out and opened the back latch to the trunk of the Honda SUV.

Mary leaned forward and whispered. "Did you see Professor Grisman in the store? I remember he said he had a house around here."

Sam was puzzled. "That guy?" Sam asked. Professor Grisman had returned to his car and was pulling out. Mary hunched down behind Sam until she was sure he was gone. She watched him head back east, toward Newlenberg.

Sam turned. "That's Simon. Stays in the Smith cabin up on the lake. He comes into the store all the time. Why do you say he's Professor Grisman? He told Bob he drives a truck for a living. Kinda a loner."

Mary was now excited. "I'm telling you, Sam. That's Professor Grisman. He's the man at the university. He knew Gavin. He was at Tom's funeral, and yesterday he was at Connie's trial. Why do you say his name is Simon? That's some serial killer he was telling me about over lunch."

"That's how he introduced himself to Bob, the store owner a few months ago. I was in the aisle when he came in. They struck up a conversation, and he said he lived at the Smith place, not too far from me. He was renting the cabin with his son. Calm down, Mary. What's this all about? I recognize your panic look."

"He's driving an Impala, Sam. Everything is falling into place. I think I've solved all the murders."

"Nonsense, Mary. You don't know if this Simon is the same man you met at the university. He had his hood over his head when he came out. Are you absolutely certain? Did you get a good look at his face?"

"I think so," she told him as he set the groceries in the car. He slammed the latch shut.

Mary reached in the back seat and pulled her backpack to the front. She unzipped it and pulled out the library book.

"He told me he wrote this." She turned to the back jacket where there was a picture of the author. Mary gasped, looking for the first time at the photo.

"That's not him," Sam said, looking at the photo of an old man with gray hair and glasses in a suit and tie.

"He lied to me. Then who is this? Dr. John Grisman of Old Dominion University it says. A relative? This book was written twenty years ago. I bet he never thought I would actually get the book, since it was out of print. He forgot about inter-library loan. Look, this Grisman was a professor of anthropology too. I think our so-called Newlenburg professor has stolen the identity of this man. He's the Master. And there's something else, Sam."

Sam was gripping the edge of the steering wheel. "What else?"

Mary fastened her seat belt. "At the restaurant, I saw something under his white shirt that struck me at the time as odd. There was something red on his arm, and I could just make out the outline through his shirt. It had a tail."

"The snake tattoo!" Sam gasped.

"I think so. To your cabin, Sam. We've got to call Jim and warn Joey."

"Wait. Don't you think we should check out his cabin first? You don't really know anything at this point. Simon seemed like an ordinary guy in the store. Certainly not the insane devil-worshipper Jim is looking for. Let's go have a look for ourselves before we jump to conclusions. He was heading back to Newlenberg. This is our chance."

Mary shook her head. "Shouldn't we let the police handle this? This man is insane."

"We'll be quick. Come on. I know where he lives. Let's drop off these groceries, and then we'll dart up there. He'll be gone for hours."

Mary finally agreed. Sam's cabin was nicely tucked into the woods overlooking the lake. There was a small kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and a large fireplace already stacked with wood. "I'll be sleeping on the couch," Sam announced.

"Of course you will." Mary was impressed with the cleanliness of the place. Not a spider web in sight. She helped put the groceries in the refrigerator and went out on the deck to call Joey on her cell phone. Service went in and out, but finally she heard his voice.

She told him what she and Sam had just learned and how they were heading up to Grisman's cabin to investigate. He was to call Jim at the police station. While they were talking, Joey googled Dr. John Grisman on his computer. Joey's voice came and went. Mary heard "Died in 1998." Then she heard "Murdered by his son," and the line went dead for good.

"There's only a little service up here," Sam warned her. "No cell towers in the mountains." She tried to call back, and finally connected to the answering machine.

"Call Jim and tell him we're at Grisman's cabin. You stay put and keep all the doors locked." She wasn't sure how much got through.

Sam poked his head out the door. "Ready to go?" he asked as Mary closed her cell phone. He was carrying his hunting rifle and a box of tools.

"Dr. Grisman senior is dead, Sam. He died in 1998. I don't know who this professor is, but this book is a case study of a madman who strangled several women. He had multiple personalities, one who called himself Simon. I have a terrible feeling another one of them is Luke."

"Could be short for Lucifer?" Sam offered.

"But one thing is sure, Sam. He's not who he claims to be. Let's go. We've got to stop him before he gets to Joey."

They climbed back into the car and turned down a gravel road that lay parallel to the lake. On the way, they passed many resort homes. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at the mailbox that read "The Smiths" in bright red letters. A cloud of dust surrounded the car.

"I hope no one's home. They saw us coming the minute we turned on this lane," Mary said. No cars were visible as they pulled up to the house. The house was small, wooden in structure, with a leaning porch. Cautiously they got out of the car and Sam shouldered his rifle.

Mary clutched her purse to her side. "I've got the gun in it," Mary confessed when Sam asked her to leave it behind.

"The gun? Preston's gun. I thought you got rid of it."

"I lied. I can't get rid of it. It saved our lives last year. I didn't want Joey to know I had a gun in the house. Or you. You would have made me get rid of it."

"Damn straight. Well, come on. Bring it then. We'll talk about this later."

They climbed the rickety steps of the porch, and Sam opened the screen door. He knocked on the door. No answer. Then he pushed the door, and it opened.

"Doesn't believe in locking the door," Sam said unbelieving.

"He's insane," Mary mumbled. "What's he got to be afraid of?"

They came into the room, and Sam yelled, "Anybody here?" Again, no answer. They began to look around. Papers and trash littered the floor. Sam set his toolbox down on the filthy rug. Then he slid his rifle off his shoulder and laid it on the couch.

"Doesn't believe in cleaning, either," Mary noted.

"They don't teach them that in the insane asylum."

"Here is his briefcase. He was carrying it at the college," Mary said lifting the case from under newspapers in a chair. She flicked the latch. A grading book fell out. As she opened it, she held it up to Sam. The pages were blank.

"See, he's not really a professor. He's been faking it all this time."

"Look at this," Sam said, holding up a picture he had taken from the mantle. There was the old man from the jacket cover of the book with the man Simon, alias Professor Grisman.

Sam flipped it over and read out loud. "To Simon, with love. Dad."

"That's it!" Mary threw the case back in the chair. "He's assumed his father's identity. He's got all his papers, his Social Security number, and his resume. Wait, Joey said Dr. Grisman was murdered by his son. If that's true, why isn't he in jail? What's he doing out here?"

"He's insane," Sam said. "Suppose he was locked up in an institution. Maybe he got out and disappeared. They thought he was cured."

Mary frowned. "They don't let people out that kill, Sam. This guy escaped. And listen, it all makes sense. Tom Powers. In and out of mental institutions. He knew this man's secret. He knew who this guy is. That's why he died that night in the alley."

Sam opened a door and looked down into the darkness. "Here's the basement. We need to go down there."

"Why?"

"Because you don't hide body parts in your refrigerator, do you? Where do you think he been keeping the fluids he stole from me, not to mention the hands and feet of homeless people?"

"Oh, this is really too much," Mary protested.

"Let's go down real quick, before he comes back. Don't touch anything." Sam pulled out a handkerchief and flipped on the light switches. He sniffed. "Formaldehyde. I think we've hit the jackpot."

Single file they walked down the steps and gazed with amazement at the dirty, hand-dug basement. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling over an old wooden table. A yellowed refrigerator stood in the corner. Around the table were boxes of fluids.

"Here's my stuff," Sam pointed. "Damn thief. No wonder Gavin came to work for us. He had a list from his master."

"I think that's blood on the table," Mary said.

"No doubt. Oh, look at this. Pictures. The fiends took pictures of their murders. Here's that poor guy we found hanging up on the shed. And here's Tom! Now, for the answer to all of our questions." Sam again used his handkerchief and reached for the latch on the old refrigerator. He opened it, and Mary stared in horror.

Pans of formaldehyde lined the shelves. Mary saw a hand and foot floating in the fluid.

"Look!" she grabbed Sam's jacket. "Over there, behind the table!"

They inched toward the old galvanized tank shoved against the wall. "Oh my God!" Mary said as they peered inside. A torso floated in the liquid, minus arms and legs.

"Male. Arms and legs sawed off. We've got him now. Let's get out of here and call the police. I don't want to spend another minute in this Hell."

They turned and raced up the stairs. Then they stopped. Sam couldn't budge the door knob. "That's funny. It opened easily enough. Now it acts like there's something blocking the door. I bet he set a trap." Sam heaved himself against the door. It still refused to move. "I left my tools in the living room or I'd take the damn thing off the hinges. Let me have a look around here and see what Mr. Nutball left behind."

They heard the front door slam. "Listen," Mary whispered. They heard footsteps overhead. They waited silently in the basement, holding their breath. Then the footsteps returned to the front door and went outside. Sam rushed up the stairs and tried the door. It was locked tight.

"He's locked us in. Probably doubled back when he spotted us at the store and followed us back here. You still have your gun?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Mary said, clutching her purse. "Could we shoot the lock off the door?"

"As a last resort. Let me see what I can do first. We've got to get out of here before he comes back."

Mary reached for her cell phone. The window showed no service.

She tugged on Sam's sleeve. "The phone won't work."

"Barely works at my cabin. I hope your last call got through to Joey."

Mary sat down on the steps while Sam returned to the basement to look for anything to pry open the door. "I think he's got us right where he wants us."

"We aren't dead yet, Mary. Old Sam Goins isn't that easy to kill. I'll think of something."

### Chapter Twenty-Five

Luke Grisman, with a ball cap on his head and dark shades shielding the rest of his face, set his gym bag down on the pavement and tapped on the policeman's window. When the man lowered his window, Luke began to ask him where Savemart was. As he reached for a map, Luke expertly slipped his knotted rope around the man's neck and pulled with all his might. The policeman, caught unaware, quickly died in the front seat, unable to reach his gun resting in the next seat.

Luke looked around. It would have been easier to shoot the officer, but that would have brought the neighbors out. Not a soul was about, he observed. He went around to the other side of the car and let himself in. He slid the gun into his coat pocket. He straightened the body up to appear normal behind the wheel, gave the dead man a pat on the shoulder, and then got out. "You stay right there," he ordered. "Don't be running off, now."

Now he made his way across the street to the Shepard house. Boldly, he knocked on the front door, lowering the hood on his jacket. A few seconds later, Connie opened the door.

"Is Joey Pruett here? I'm a professor from the university, a friend of Mary's. The policeman checked me out."

Connie stared at him, and then looked past him at the police car. The police officer was still in his car.

"I guess you can come in. Have a seat while I get him." She pointed to the chair in the living room. While she left the room, he calmly opened his gym bag and took out what he would need. Duct tape and handcuffs were sitting on the coffee table when Connie and Joey appeared.

"What's this all about?" Joey managed to say before Luke pulled out the police gun from his pocket.

"Hello, my friends. We have a prophecy to fulfill. Joey, put these cuffs on your aunt. Connie, I haven't seen you since I picked up Donald at the Mission. Shame you didn't recognize me without the shades and ball cap. Didn't your mother tell you not to open the door to strangers? I never got the chance to thank you for killing Tom Powers. You did me a favor." He handed Joey the cuffs and pointed the gun at Connie's head.

Horror filled Connie's eyes. "You're the one killing all those homeless men. You killed my cat!"

Joey reluctantly slid the cuffs over her Connie's wrists.

"I didn't kill your cat. That was something my assistants thought of. For their stupidly, I killed them and put them in the lake. I'm sure you read about that in the newspapers. You were avenged so we're even. Joey, hold out your wrists."

Joey gave him a hard look and shook his head no.

Luke put the gun to Connie's head and cocked it. "They say I'm insane. A misconception for sure. But I'll kill her. I've killed lots of people. I'm particularly partial to women."

Joey painfully extended his broken wrist. After Joey was cuffed, Luke made them both sit down on the couch. He began unrolling the duct tape.

Connie squirmed, twisting her cuffs. "There's a cop out there. You'll never get away with this."

"I visited the cop already. Strangling people is somewhat a hobby of mine. The policeman's dead, I'm afraid. Not much of a cop."

Connie and Joey looked at each other. "What do you want with us? We never did anything to you," Connie whined.

"No, you didn't, that's true. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time in that alley, Connie. But Joey here killed my beloved servant Gavin. The Master needs a sacrifice. I never leave witnesses behind."

"My mom knows all about you," Joey quickly said. "She just called me and said she knew you were the killer. She finally figured it out. You're not a professor at all."

"Oh, one of me is. Mr. Luke. I'm Simon today, though. Not your lucky day. Mary and the man are at my cabin. Don't worry, we'll all have a happy reunion in just a little while. They're securely locked in the basement. As I said, I leave no witnesses."

He taped their mouths, pulled them roughly to their feet and then pushed them through the kitchen and into Connie's car in the garage. They scrunched together in the back seat.

"Connie, you always were too trusting," he said as he reached for the keys left in the ignition.

Sam tried wedging the hacksaw in between the door and the jam to pry open the door but the saw bent. He then tried knocking out the hinge screws with a mallet he found under some boxes.

"Damn it!" he yelled in frustration. "I can't get a good whack at it from this angle. Too close to the wall. Give me your gun, Mary. I'll blow the lock off."

Mary loaded a clip into her handgun and edged down the steps to avoid the splinters. Sam took aim, covered his eyes with his free hand, and fired. The noise echoed throughout the cabin and wood chunks flew like missiles at Sam. He shook the chips off his clothes and peered at the hole in the old door.

"Well?" Mary asked from below.

"The lock's gone, but I can't see a thing. There's something big and heavy blocking the door. Hold on. I'm going to try to move it."

Mary came back up the stairs and watched as Sam inserted his hand through the jagged hole in the door. He felt the object on the other side. Then he shoved the door. It didn't bulge. After several tries, Sam finally stopped and sat down beside Mary on the steps.

"More gun power?"

"No. Save the bullets. This is useless. As long as you have bullets, we can always shoot the bastard."

"Unless he leaves us here to starve. Maybe he's not coming back," Mary said.

"I'll dig us out of here if I have to," Sam tried to sound confidant. Mary laid her head on his shoulder. Together they waited.

It wasn't long before they heard the footsteps return. Sam grabbed Mary's gun and stood at the top of the stairs. He waited as he heard something large and heavy being pulled away from the basement door. Sam got ready to come out shooting.

"Mr. Goins and Ms. Shepard. Before I open this door, I want you to know that I have a gun on Joey and Connie. They're here, and my gun is cocked. I won't hesitate to kill either one of them if you come out shooting. I'm assuming you didn't come here without a gun or some weapon. Neither of you is stupid. So I will count to ten and by then you must come out of the basement or I will shoot one of them. One . . . Two . . ."

Sam and Mary came out of the basement, Sam holding Mary's gun. "Don't shoot anyone," he said. "Here's the gun."

Luke Grisman stood beside Connie, his police handgun on her neck. A large dresser was beside the basement door.

"Wise choice," Luke said. On the dirty green couch sat Joey and Connie, hands tied and mouths duct taped. Their eyes were pleading for help.

"I'll take that," Luke said, removing the gun from Sam's frozen hand. He slipped it into his pocket. Sam didn't see his rifle anywhere. Luke laughed. "Your rifle's in the lake, Sam. We meet again, Mary. As you can see from the door, I was counting on you joining my little party when I saw you at the store. This old dresser finally turned out to be useful."

Mary started to move toward her sister. "Have a seat, Mary. That's it. Next to your sister. Your son has told me you have figured out that I am not really a professor. Yes, it's true. I did assume my late father's life when I returned to society. A few forged papers, a suit, and a new resume. Presto. I am Dr. Grisman. Luke is the teacher, you see. Simon is the servant of Satan."

Mary looked at her sister. "What do you want with Joey and Connie? Why are they tied up? They never did anything to you!"

"Joey and Satan have a score to settle. He killed his faithful servant so he will have to make amends. Connie knows everything. Can't have that. I must put an end to this complicated situation."

"Situation? You're a murderer. There are body parts in the refrigerator downstairs. You're going away for a long time, buster! The police are on to you!" Mary yelled at him. Sam motioned her to be quiet.

He put his hand on hers. "Don't, Mary. He's not sane. He has a gun, and we don't. Come on. Sit down." Sam moved to a chair. Tears poured down Connie's face while Joey twisted at his ropes.

"Obviously the police will figure it out in due time. I'll be gone though when they get here, and you'll be dead. That is your situation, Mary. I might be persuaded to let Mary go, however, if you cooperate, Sam. I need you to put the body together."

Mary's eyes went wide. "What! You are insane!"

"No. Not insane at all. Satan has told me he needs a body to return to earth in. I have been chosen to construct that body. When Satan returns to his rightful place on the earth, then his followers will be rewarded with dominion over the earth. All others will be slaves. You too will be rewarded with your life, Sam."

"You can't mean that pile of body parts in the basement!" Mary protested. "You can't put soft tissue together."

"I beg to differ. Downstairs, you will find all you need to connect the parts I've so carefully gathered for Satan," Luke explained.

"There's not a whole body down there," Sam said.

Luke suddenly laughed. "Yes, that's true. Satan needs a head. That's where Joey comes in. His gift to Satan will be the most important part of the resurrection. He will give his head, and you will sew it on. The last step. Satan will return when all is completed. You'll see."

Joey's eyes were wild. He continued to tug at the ropes around his hands, and Mary saw blood dripping down his arm.

"I refuse, you monster," Sam said flatly.

"Then I kill Mary and Connie. Then you. If you help me, I may leave them alive when I depart from here."

He pointed the gun at Mary. "What is your answer now?"

"Buy us some time, Sam," Mary whispered to Sam.

"Okay, Okay. But I want your word that you won't kill anyone. I'll build your body for you. Mary can help me. She's really skilled at reconstruction. Is it agreed that you won't kill anyone?"

"For now." Luke looked at his watch. "Let's hurry this up, please. I have a schedule to keep."

Sam and Mary descended again into the basement. "What do we do?" Mary asked him, keeping her voice low.

"Look for a weapon, anything we can throw at him. I'll pretend to be working. Look, here's my missing body thread. Gavin was stealing us blind. All for this lunatic!"

Sam opened the refrigerator and pulled out the jars containing body parts. The first pan contained an arm.

"He's had experience at this," Mary told him. "He probably cut up his father."

"Great. He's a certified madman, and I gave him your gun. How stupid can I be?"

"For a madman, he's certainly organized." Mary dug through the old boxes around the basement. "Could we make some kind of acid that would blind him?"

"That's an idea. See what we've got." Sam laid the arm on the table and went back for the foot. They both turned when they heard steps behind them.

Luke stood at the bottom of the steps with a gun pointing at Mary. "Any tricks and you die. What are you looking for, Mary?"

"The needle. It's not with the thread," Sam said quickly. He removed another leg from the pans of formaldehyde and placed it on the table. Without lowering the gun, Luke moved to an old bureau beside the refrigerator and opened a drawer. He threw the small box onto the table.

"Gloves?" Mary ventured. They appeared also. "Where are my son and sister?"

"Sitting comfortably upstairs. I tied them to chairs so they couldn't take a walk. Now continue, please."

Mary looked at the Sam, and he nodded. "Help me move the torso, Mary." They slipped on the gloves and then moved to the large vat containing the body of a man. "Gavin, I bet," Sam mumbled.

Together with much effort, they lifted the body out of the liquid and onto the table. Formaldehyde poured over the table. Sam and Mary were soaked. Sam handed Mary a needle and a package of thread.

She stared at the needle. "You've got to be kidding. This is never going to work."

"We're going to need a sheet to carry the body out," Sam called over his shoulder to Luke. Then he whispered to Mary. "The longer we take, then maybe the police will come. Just join the skin to skin."

"But it's too soft. The stitches will tear loose the minute we move the body. It won't stay together."

"Illusion, Mary. Give the illusion it will work. We're trying to buy time here." Reluctantly, under the watchful glare of Luke, they started their grisly work.

### Chapter Twenty-Six

At three o'clock, Harry and Jim drove up to Mary's house to check out why police officer Bertram had failed to report in. They found him dead, slumped back in his seat. As Harry radioed for help, Jim ran across the street to the house. The door was unlocked, and he drew his gun. Cautiously he moved across the threshold and observed the rope and empty rolls of duct tape on the couch. A few minutes later he was joined by Harry. Together they searched the house.

"Gone," Jim announced. "Connie's car is missing from the garage. I bet he didn't come on foot. Have the men check the streets for a car that doesn't belong. No blood. They were alive when they left here. Don't know how long that will last. He's had quite a head start. Did you say Mary and Sam are fishing up at the lake?"

"Yeah, Connie and Joey were here alone. Shall I call Mary?"

"Yes, she'll want to get back here. Play back the messages on the phone and see who called last. Maybe he left a calling card."

Harry slipped on a glove from his pocket and punched the message button. He heard Mary, her voice going in and out talking to Joey. She and Sam were heading to Grisman's cabin to check it out. They were to remain locked up and safe in the house. He checked the time. Two hours ago.

Jim was standing in the garage, looking for clues when Harry burst through the screen door. "Who's Grisman? Mary said she and Sam were checking his cabin out."

"Grisman? Grisman?" Jim repeated, thinking. "That was the professor we interviewed about Gavin. Remember, Mary said he'd written a book on witchcraft or something. He claimed Gavin was his student."

Harry nodded. "But we couldn't find his name on the rolls."

"Mary's figured something out and gone to investigate. It's just like her. We'd better get up there before he kills all of them. Find this guy's address. Get the university if you have too. I'll call for more backup and contact the state patrol."

Ten minutes later, Grisman's Impala was found on the next block. They traced the tags immediately but they were stolen. Harry got through to the university registrar, and a few minutes later Harry and Jim left for Hutchen Lake.

"He was using his father's identity," Harry told Jim when he got off his cell phone with headquarters. "Simon Grisman escaped from St. Catherine's back in June. He's had various diagnoses throughout the years since he killed his father. Cut his father into pieces, by the way. One doctor said he was schizophrenic. Another said he had split personalities. He is capable of appearing perfectly sane when the situation calls for it. He was very friendly with the doctors."

"Fooled them, you mean?" Jim said.

"He was the perfect model of behavior, right up to the

time he donned a doctor's coat and signed himself out. Then he came back and got his groupies."

Jim shook his head. "Then he's a loony of the worst kind. He doesn't stand out. He's smart and organized. What did the police shrink say after she read his records?"

"That he had fantasies involving Satan. The voices were guiding his actions, moving toward a climax. He was building something out of the body parts he's taken, perhaps an image of his dead father who he sees as Satan. She's afraid Joey might be a part of that since he singled him out. Joey might be the last piece to his creation."

Siren blasting, Jim pushed on the gas pedal.

"I don't like the sound of that, Harry."

Sam and Mary patiently sewed the legs and arms onto the torso. Sections were missing so the body was distorted, appearing disjointed and shortened. They continued without talking until a commotion upstairs forced Luke to run up the steps. Mary and Sam heard yelling, and Mary listened for a gunshot.

Instead, a large thumping was heard. Sam quickly bounded up the stairs to see what had happened. Carefully peering around the basement door, he saw Luke punching Joey's chest, threatening to kill him. He had managed to get one hand free from the rope and was trying to wiggle out of the bindings that kept him in the chair. Duct tape dangled from his mouth where he had ripped one edge off. Luke lowered his handgun from his pocket and fired at Joey's foot. Mary screamed from the basement and ran up the steps.

Joey yelled in pain as he looked at the hole near his ankle. Blood poured over his tennis shoe. Sam kept Mary back. "An ankle will heal," he whispered to Mary.

"I only need your head. Next time it will be your heart," Luke warned, his voice cold and harsh. Then he turned.

"Mary," Luke said to Mary standing at the door. "Joey is anxious to be a sacrifice to the Great Master. Fetch a sheet from the bedroom, please, and let's get the body to its receiving circle."

Mary, softly crying, pulled a sheet off the disheveled bed she found in the next room. She desperately looked around for something to use against Luke. There was nothing. Just a bed in the center of the room.

"Hurry up!" she heard the madman yell from the next room. "I'm impatient!" Sheet in hand, she ran back to the living room.

"What are you waiting for? Get the body," Luke ordered. Mary and Sam returned to the basement and carefully wrapped the body in the sheet. The formaldehyde soaked the sheet.

"What are we going to do?" Mary whispered.

"Let's get outside. He'll be vulnerable out there, not to mention outnumbered. He can't shoot all of us."

"That's your plan?" Mary gasped. "Run away? He's got Joey and Connie, for God's sake. He'll kill Joey for sure."

"I know that. I'll hold him off. You run away and get help. I guess the police didn't get Joey's message because they should have been here by now."

They then started up the steps with the body, grunting and stopping often to rest. Luke stood at the top of the stairs, watching. When they finally reached the top, he pulled out a sharp knife from his other pocket and cut the ropes from Connie's chair. He pushed her toward the door. He kicked Joey's chair, and Joey yelped in pain. Luke cut the bindings. They were free from the chair, but their hands were still tied and duct tape kept their mouths shut.

He pointed toward the door. Mary and Sam went forward, dragging the body onto the porch. Joey, limping in pain, followed leaving a trail of blood on the wood floor. Connie followed Joey, nudged on by Luke's gun in her back.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, keeping his voice level.

Luke pointed toward a path to the right of the porch. Tall grass outlined the well-worn trail that curved up the hill and disappeared into the woods.

"To the altar of Satan," Luke answered. Mary and Sam struggled down the steps with the heavy body and wet sheet. Then Luke instructed Connie and Joey to help. Joey and Connie grabbed the sheet as best they could with their hands tied and helped move the body with Mary and Sam up the path. Luke followed with the gun, singing to himself. In his other hand, he held the knife.

Mary could see the lake below them as they climbed upwards. She was praying for a miracle as they trudged along in silence. She glanced back at Joey, his face full of pain and his foot still bleeding profusely. He looked back at Luke, and Mary knew he was planning something. Joey looked at Sam.

Sam was also making eye contact with Joey, signaling with his head. They entered the woods and found a man-made clearing. A circle had been dug out of the forest floor, and a pole sat in the center. Mary could see traces of dried blood on the pole and ground. This was a killing place. Now she knew what had happened to those boys who ended up in the lake.

Suddenly, Luke threw down the gun and grabbed the back of Joey's head. Surprised, Joey fell backwards. Luke forced him down on the ground with a wrenching thud. Luke came down with the knife, but Joey swerved away from the blade aimed at his neck. Mary screamed and let go on her end of the sheet. The body fell to the ground, limbs tearing loose from the makeshift sewing. In the confusion, Connie ripped off her duct tape and began screaming. She ran up the hill and disappeared into the woods.

While Connie rushed by, Sam sprang into action, and jumped on Luke's back, prying him away from Joey. Mary tugged on Joey's waist to pull him away from Luke who now tried to stab Sam. Sam grunted and tightened his arm around Luke's neck.

"Run, Mary! Get help!" Sam ordered. But Mary couldn't move. She watched helplessly as the two men rolled on the ground. Joey got to his feet and found the gun in the grass. Sam yelled as Luke buried the knife in his thigh, blood spurting on the ground. Joey aimed the gun, despite his tied wrists, and fired. Luke, eyes full of rage, flew backwards with the force of the bullet in his chest.

### Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Hold it right there," Jim said, racing into the clearing with Harry at his side. Luke lay on the ground, twitching. "Come out, Connie, you're safe now."

"Take me, Satan, from this cursed world. Let me serve you in Hell. I am your faithful servant," he mumbled. Jim quickly pulled Mary's gun from Luke's pocket and checked for other weapons. He kept his gun aimed at Luke's head.

"Ambulance is on the way," Harry told Sam who was sitting in the grass and staring at the knife protruding from his leg. "Looks nasty, Sam. Weren't you shot in that same leg last summer?"

"Other leg," he grimaced. Mary took off her coat to slow the blood flow.

"That was a brave thing you did, Sam," Mary smiled at Sam. "You saved us, just like you planned. You're a hero in my eyes."

"I guess that makes this knife wound worth it. That and nailing this idiot. But you should have run, like Connie. She knows when to run like a chicken."

Connie had walked in from the woods. "I knew you would save us, Sam. It's what you do. Just in case, though, I thought it was in my best interest to hide. Does that make me a chicken, Jim?"

"Makes you smart in my book," he told her.

"He's dying, isn't he?" Connie took off her sweater.

"Use this to stop the blood," she offered. Harry stared at her. "We don't want him dying on us, do we? There's the trial to think about."

"Sure, Connie. Thanks. Say goodbye to your sweater. Designer?" Harry pressed the sweater into the wound in the chest, trying to slow the loss of blood. Luke had gone silent now, his face white and his breathing shallow. "They'd better hurry or we're going to lose him. I wonder if they can even find this God forsaken-place."

Mary sat beside Sam on the ground. "Don't yank it out. I know that's what you're thinking. You might rip the tendon or do permanent damage to your leg. He missed the artery. Let a professional remove it."

"It smarts," Sam moaned.

"No kidding," Joey said, also sitting down. "I took a bullet in my foot. I think it went all the way through, though. I'll never finish college at this rate. And I'm sure he re-broke my wrist when he tied those ropes on me."

"You guys are lucky to be alive," Jim told them. "I was tipped off by the message you left on the phone, Mary. Then we got the address from the university. How many times have I told you not to play detective without a license?"

Sam smiled. "It was my idea to come here and look around. I'm as bad as she is," Sam confessed. "Next time, I'll leave the lunatics to you. I think I've learned my lesson. All I wanted was a quiet vacation with Mary, hunting and fishing. But I knew that if I didn't catch Luke, she would never pay attention to me. I got more than I bargained for in that dirty basement, though. Some hero."

"You're still my hero," said Mary. "I'll never forget how you saved my son." She put her arms around him.

"Well, at least there is some good from this evil. I still have a girlfriend."

Mary reached down and kissed him for the first time.

"Get a room," Connie said.

Joey pointed downhill. "Here comes the ambulance." After trudging up the hill, the ambulance technicians arrived with stretchers.

Harry signaled them up the hill. Jim stood beside him. "Harry, take Connie and Mary to the hospital. Get their statements. I'll get the boys to clean up here. There's a lot of evidence in that cabin. They'll be some digging too. Who knows what this guy had going on here."

"There are pictures in the basement of his victims," Mary told him.

"My missing embalming fluid is in the basement too along with some equipment. I want all that back!" Sam shouted. "And my rifle that he threw in the lake. I was really attached to that hunk of metal."

"As soon as this is all cleared up," Jim assured them.

"Oh my God," Connie shouted, pointing at the sheet on the ground. A naked leg was protruding. "What was that thing we were carrying? It's so gross!"

"You should have had to sew it together," Sam mumbled.

Connie looked at them in horror. Then she ran to the woods to throw up.

They lifted Luke onto the stretcher and secured him while Mary watched. Then they carefully lifted Sam and carried him down in the hill to the waiting ambulances. More cops arrived and pulled around into the yard.

Harry stood beside Jim, watching the techs go back down the hill to the ambulance. Jim looked at the makeshift body on the ground. "A combination of homeless men. He thought he was creating Satan. Or his father. This is one for the shrinks to figure out."

### Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mary and Sam sat along the dock at the lake, fishing. Sam's leg was bandaged and resting on a pillow from the cabin. The knife wound, though deep, had missed the tendons and nerves. It would heal. His crutch was nearby on the pier.

Both wore heavy coats and knitted caps. Mary leaned over. "It's supposed to snow in a couple of days. You and your sister and nephew are invited to spend Thanksgiving at Connie's new apartment. She'll want you to make over all the new decorating she's done with the place."

"No doubt. I guess that new business of hers is paying off. Giving her old boss lots of competition. I think he hoped she was going to jail at that hearing."

"Yeah, I imagine he's sorry he was mean to her. She's getting even now. You know, she's still volunteering down at the Mission every Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. It won't be long before her community service will be done."

"Will she work there? For money, I mean."

"She told me there was no end to the good she thought she could accomplish in this town if she and Janet put their heads together. She has great plans for the homeless and poor in this town."

Sam chuckled. "So she's making up for lost and much wasted time in her life."

"Yes. She went out to dinner with Jim the other night, and I think they're friends again. She finally met Ben for coffee, and he told her he's moving to Atlanta. Newlenberg was just too small for him."

"So, she's without a man."

"She's not really ready to date again, Sam. Connie is finally in a good place with her life, and she wants to stay there."

"About time." Sam jiggled his line, trying to entice a fish to bite at his bait. "A whole lot of good came out of a whole lot of evil, didn't it?"

"Yes. Why did it take a madman to make us see how short life is?" Mary asked him.

Mary's line went taut, and she reeled the line up to the surface. A small fish dangled off the hook. Sam laid his pole on the dock and reached for Mary's. He unhooked the fish and tossed it back in.

Mary looked up. "Joey called his father last night."

Sam was shocked. "How did it go?"

"He said Ned was speechless at first, then very talkative. He didn't really offer an excuse for not calling his son most of his life. Joey thought they could talk about that later. First he wanted to break the ice. I think they're planning to meet some time in the not so distant future."

"Good for him. Not taking life for granted."

"No. He's wants relationship with his father, and he's not stopping until things are patched up." Mary's fishing line went taunt again, and Sam recovered a larger fish. He unhooked the wiggling form and threw it in the bucket for dinner.

"The fish like you today," Sam said.

"I'm spoken for," Mary grinned and hugged Sam. Together they watched the sun set over the lake.
