Bernadette sat beside Sue.

Sue stared at her. "What did you do to me?" she asked in a low, hard voice.

"I didn't do anything." Bernadette looked at her with innocent dark eyes. "Maybe your blood sugar is low-not only from lack of eating, but from worry."

Sue said nothing. She just stared straight ahead, wishing Billy would come back.

Bernadette leaned in to her. "It's not your fault, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Sue snapped. "Why do you think you know so much about me?"

Bernadette smiled kindly. "You-you really don't know, do you?" She peered at Sue, her eyes narrowed. "No, you don't." She shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense to me." She c.o.c.ked her head as though she were listening to someone, and then nodded. "That makes it even more wrong. Yes, you're right, I do understand. I will pray for her."

She's insane, Sue thought, her eyes widening. Sue thought, her eyes widening. She's listening to voices no one else can hear. She's listening to voices no one else can hear.

"You don't have to be afraid of me." Bernadette moved to touch Sue's arm, then seemed to think better of it, and stopped. She clasped her hands back in her lap with her rosary beads. "Maybe I can even help you, Sue."

"I don't need any help," Sue told her.

"No one wants to harm you, Sue. That's not a part of the plan."

"Plan?"

She's crazy, that's it, she is completely insane. The best thing to do is to get as far away from her as possible.

"G.o.d's plan." Bernadette shrugged. "We are all just p.a.w.ns, you know. He moves us around in His infinite wisdom. That's why He sent the Holy Mother to speak to me-that's why He allowed you to be born, despite the great danger to you and all the rest of us. It's not for us to understand."

Sue was fed up with her. "What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l are you talking about?" are you talking about?"

"You can't help what you are, after all." Bernadette went on as though Sue hadn't interrupted her. "And now I understand somewhat better than I did before. You don't know-you really don't know."

"I'm going out to the car to wait for Billy," Sue said, standing.

"They never told you the truth, did they?"

Sue glared down at her. "Who?"

"Your grandparents." Bernadette's eyes widened in sympathy. "Oh, you poor thing. When the Holy Mother told me about you, I couldn't understand how you could do these things, how you could live with yourself. But now that I understand, it's so much worse." Her eyes filled with tears. "Because you don't know. They're just using you-just as they used your mother."

"You don't make any sense!" Sue shouted.

"And yet they are victims, too, I suppose. The true villain is the darkness that comes into their hearts, the darkness sent by..." The girl looked at Sue with strange, wide eyes. "I call him Lucifer Morning Star. Does the name mean anything to you, Sue?"

"You're crazy."

"Lucifer Morning Star. Who one night met your mother and..."

"You crazy b.i.t.c.h, stop saying these things!" Sue shouted, covering her ears with her hands. "What do you know about my mother? My mother is dead!"

"No, she isn't," Bernadette said sadly. "I'm so very sorry, Sue."

Sue turned and ran out of the room. She couldn't listen to any more of this. She ran down the hallway and out into the parking lot, but her stomach heaved before she could make it to the car. The Diet c.o.ke came spewing forth from her mouth and her nose, burning the insides of her nostrils. She sank to her knees on the pavement and started to cry.

She doesn't know what she's talking about, Sue told herself over and over again. Sue told herself over and over again. She's a crazy girl! That's why they had her locked up! She's a crazy girl! That's why they had her locked up!

But how did she know about my grandparents?

What lies did they tell me?

They told me that my mother is dead.

Sue stood, bracing herself against the wall.

But my mother is alive.

44.

Perry Holland loosened his tie and forked a french fry into his mouth.

Marj was standing behind the counter watching him eat with eyes filled with sympathy. She still had on her Sunday best-her dark navy blue dress with the short rope of pearls at her throat. She hadn't changed from the funeral. Neither had Wally, who'd simply doffed his sport coat to whip up Perry's chili burger and fries. They'd insisted Perry come back with them to the Yellow Bird and eat. He'd gone days without a good meal. Every day, in fact, since his father was murdered.

"That's it, Perry, you eat up now," Marjorie told him.

"It was a nice service, wasn't it?" Perry asked.

"Sure was. So many people turned out. This town loved your father."

Perry nodded.

The sheriff's death had sent shock waves through Lebanon. Miles Holland had been popular, and for days afterward, his death was the prime topic of conversation around town. Discussion of things like Thanksgiving plans, the high school football team's loss in the state playoffs, Heidi Swettenham's miraculous recovery-all of those conversational gambits were forgotten as the townsfolk talked breathlessly about the sheriff's tragic death. Those who knew him best were in shock. "What was he doing climbing trees on Laurel Grove Road?" they asked. "I'd heard he was losing his mind." This only seemed to confirm it.

Perry knew now that his father's mind had never been clearer. That was what made his death so difficult. Perry had been prepared for his mother's death, watching the cancer slowly diminish her for months, the chemotherapy brutalizinbg her as much as the disease itself. When she had finally stopped fighting and slipped away, it had been a merciful release. Perry had mourned and wept for her, but at that time he'd also had Jennifer to hold him at night until he went to sleep.

But his dad's death-this was out of the blue, completely unexpected. Perry had fallen into a kind of black hole in the days leading up to the funeral. He'd stopped answering the door, forcing well-meaning friends and neighbors to leave covered plates for him on the front step. Ca.s.seroles and pies, cobblers and lasagnas-more food than Perry could ever possibly eat in a year. He had no room left for all of it in his refrigerator. He'd started dumping it into his trash can, letting the dirty plates pile up in his sink.

Like father, like son, he thought ironically. he thought ironically.

This morning Marjorie had come by, wearing her imitation pearls under her dirty gray coat. Perry had been sleeping on the couch in his underwear, and Marjorie stood over him with a stern expression. "Get showered and dressed," she said, removing her coat and tossing it on the couch. "I'm not going to let you be late for your own father's funeral. I'll make some coffee."

"I can't go," Perry protested.

"I said get in the G.o.dd.a.m.ned shower." Marjorie walked over and cupped his chin in her right hand. "You look like h.e.l.l, Perry. Your father deserves better."

Perry didn't have the energy to argue with her, so he got up off the couch and walked into the bedroom. He turned the shower on, and looked at himself in the mirror. You do look like h.e.l.l. You need to shave and shower and get your act together. You do look like h.e.l.l. You need to shave and shower and get your act together. He turned on the faucet and washed his face thoroughly, splashing it with hot water. He walked back into the bedroom and got out the black suit he'd bought at the JCPenney's in Senandaga for his mother's funeral. He laid it on the bed, and found a pressed white shirt, still in the bag from the dry cleaner. He turned on the faucet and washed his face thoroughly, splashing it with hot water. He walked back into the bedroom and got out the black suit he'd bought at the JCPenney's in Senandaga for his mother's funeral. He laid it on the bed, and found a pressed white shirt, still in the bag from the dry cleaner. I haven't worn that shirt since Mom's funeral. I haven't worn that shirt since Mom's funeral. He felt hysteria rising in him, but he closed his eyes and fought it back down. He walked back into the foggy bathroom and climbed into the shower. He felt hysteria rising in him, but he closed his eyes and fought it back down. He walked back into the foggy bathroom and climbed into the shower.

When he'd stumbled back out into the kitchen, there had been a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon waiting for him on the dining table. And now here she was, cooking for him again. The funeral had pa.s.sed in a blur. Nothing felt real anymore to Perry.

Marjorie seemed to be reading his thoughts. She reached across the counter and took his hand. Hers was rough and red, her fingernails chewed down below the quick.

"We never expect death, Perry," she told him softly. "Even when someone's been ill, like your mother, we always hope that somehow we can cheat it, that it won't happen if we pray hard enough or hope hard enough. But it's a part of life. We don't want to think about losing the people we love, because it's painful. But pain-" Marj hesitated, squeezing his hand harder. "Pain is also a part of life. It's why we go to church, why we read the Bible. We try to make sense out of a senseless world."

Perry felt his eyes burn.

"Go on now," Marjorie urged. "Eat your lunch."

He took a bite of his burger, then set it down. His fries were soaking in a pool of ketchup. Truth was, he just wasn't hungry.

"That was a nice bouquet that Jennifer sent," Marj said. "I think she still has a thing for you, Perry. I don't want you to be all alone and moping now. You should call her-"

"I'm sorry," Perry said, blinking. "Call who?"

Marjorie shook her head. "You weren't listening to a word I said."

"I'm sorry." Perry sighed. The funeral had been hard. Saying good-bye to Dad, watching them lower his casket into the ground, a military trumpet player sounding "Taps."

"It's okay, hon," Marj said. "It's going to be a while before you're back to feeling like yourself."

Perry doubted he'd ever feel like himself again. What was worse than his grief, though, was the roiling anger down in his gut. Dad wasn't climbing any trees! He was dropped! He was picked up by something and dropped! He was murdered! Dad wasn't climbing any trees! He was dropped! He was picked up by something and dropped! He was murdered!

A couple of the state cops who were investigating the Wilbourne girls' disappearances had come up to Perry and told him they appreciated all the work Miles had done on the cases. "Then why not follow up on his leads?" Perry barked. They promised they would, but Perry didn't believe them.

And would anyone find Miles's killer? Perry doubted it. It hadn't even officially been ruled a homicide. No fingerprints. No sign of a fight. Just some crazy theory that Dad had climbed a tree and fallen- Why the f.u.c.k would he be out climbing trees on Laurel Grove Road?

Perry knew why his father had been on that road. He was driving out to the college. Because that's where the answer was-the answer to who kidnapped those girls. And that's where Perry knew he would find the same answer to the question of who killed Sheriff Miles Holland.

Perry stood. "Thanks for the food, Marj, but I have to go."

"You hardly ate anything! Where do you have to rush off to?"

"I've got a case to solve."

The blood was suddenly pulsing through his veins again. A rush of adrenaline seemed to propel him off the stool.

I need to find out who killed my father!

Marjorie wrung her hands. "Sweetie, the state cops are working on it-"

"The h.e.l.l they are!" Perry calmed down, managing a smile for her. "Thanks for all your concern, Marj. But I've got someone I just have to see."

He was out of the diner before she could make another objection.

Perry sped out of town, driving past the spot on Laurel Grove where Dad's body had been found in the middle of the road. If he fell out of a tree, he'd have had to leap to land that far out in the road.

No. It had been no fall. Someone-or something-lifted Dad off the ground, snapped his neck, and dropped him. That's what the coroner said. Just because the state police could come up with no plausible way that could have happened didn't mean it wasn't true.

At the Wilbourne gate, Perry flashed the guard his badge, and was waved through.

He'd planned on calling Dean Gregory and making an appointment to talk to him. But why give him time to prepare? Better to catch him without warning.

Of course, since it was Sat.u.r.day, he might not be in his office. If that were the case, Perry would try him at his house. Or find out where he was-and wherever the f.u.c.k he was, he'd confront him there.

Turned out, however, that Gregory was easy to find. He was working on a Sat.u.r.day. Lots of s.h.i.t had been going down on the campus of late. Perry suspected he was in his office working on a little damage control.

"I'm sorry, Dean Gregory isn't seeing anyone today," the secretary told Perry. "I can give you an appointment Monday, Deputy..."

"This can't wait," Perry said, pushing past her into Gregory's office.

The dean was at his desk, poring over a pile of folders. He looked up as Perry entered, clearly annoyed.

What a weasel face, Perry thought, discarding any notions about innocent until proven guilty. Perry thought, discarding any notions about innocent until proven guilty. This guy is implicated in all of it. I'm certain. This guy is implicated in all of it. I'm certain.

"Deputy," Gregory said, folding the papers he'd been looking at and placing them in his top drawer. "How sorry I was to hear about your father."

The secretary rushed in behind Perry. "Sir, I tried to tell him you were busy..."

Gregory waved her away. "It's okay. I always have time for the law."

The secretary shut the door behind her.

"Sit down, Deputy," Gregory said, making a grand gesture with his hand.

"I prefer to remain standing," Perry told him. "What I have to ask you won't take long."

"All right." Gregory smiled up at him, his rat's teeth showing from between his thin lips. "Ask away."

"How do you explain the pattern of deaths and disappearances on this campus every twenty years?"

The smile didn't leave the dean's face. "Well, actually, it hasn't quite been every twenty years. Sometimes it's been nineteen, sometimes twenty-one..."

"How do you explain it?" Perry asked, raising his voice impatiently.

"I can't. Can you? After all, you're the law."

Perry frowned. "I just find it a very odd coincidence-"

"Well, so do I. That such a small, seemingly tranquil town should harbor a killer..."

"Don't blame the town!"

Gregory sat back in his chair. "Well, surely you're not blaming the college. After all, we've been the victims here, and the local and state police have never apprehended a culprit." He narrowed his beady little eyes at Perry. "I should think I should be barging into your your office and accusing office and accusing you you."

Perry kept his cool. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Accusing you?"